Poem
Bernke Klein Zandvoort
EAR SHELL
on a bench in a park with my back against a brass plaquethe view that our T.
loved so much (1947-2015)
I listen to aeroplanes
almost incessantly, the sound draws the sky shut
like a thick theatre curtain
astronomers, I heard recently, listen more than they watch
in a star lives the sound recording of a life that no longer exists
when two stars pass one another you can hear a wood
through which the wind is blowing
sometimes I'm scared that metaphors are diluting reality
worse still, I’m scared that all that exists
is the same things expressed in one another
to find answers, we point great ear shells
at space we break open stones burrow into barrows
throw off the earth like a coverlet
calling that dis-covery
I think because, really early on
we, ourselves, got shut in
under the shifting plates of our cranial cupola
has anyone ever gazed through a baby's head at the universe?
© Translation: 2021, Rosalind Buck
OORSCHELP
OORSCHELP
op een bankje in een park met mijn rug op een koperen plaatjehet uitzicht waar onze T.
zo van hield (1947-2015)
luister ik naar vliegtuigen
bijna onafgebroken trekt het geluid de lucht dicht
alsof het een dicht theatergordijn is
astronomen, hoorde ik laatst, luisteren meer dan ze kijken
in een ster woont de geluidsopname van een leven dat niet meer bestaat
als twee sterren elkaar passeren klinkt er een bos
waar de wind doorheen gaat
soms ben ik bang dat metaforen de werkelijkheid verdunnen
banger ben ik dat er niets anders bestaat
dan dezelfde dingen uitgedrukt in elkaar
om antwoorden te vinden plaatsen we grote oorschelpen
naar de ruimte breken we stenen open graven graven op
slaan de aarde als een deken weg
noemen dat ont-dekking
ik denk omdat we zelf in alle vroegte
onder de bewegende platen
van ons schedeldak raakten ingesloten
heeft er weleens iemand door het hoofd van een baby naar het heelal gekeken?
© 2020, Bernke Klein Zandvoort
From: Veldwerk
Publisher: Querido,
From: Veldwerk
Publisher: Querido,
Poems
Poems of Bernke Klein Zandvoort
Close
EAR SHELL
on a bench in a park with my back against a brass plaquethe view that our T.
loved so much (1947-2015)
I listen to aeroplanes
almost incessantly, the sound draws the sky shut
like a thick theatre curtain
astronomers, I heard recently, listen more than they watch
in a star lives the sound recording of a life that no longer exists
when two stars pass one another you can hear a wood
through which the wind is blowing
sometimes I'm scared that metaphors are diluting reality
worse still, I’m scared that all that exists
is the same things expressed in one another
to find answers, we point great ear shells
at space we break open stones burrow into barrows
throw off the earth like a coverlet
calling that dis-covery
I think because, really early on
we, ourselves, got shut in
under the shifting plates of our cranial cupola
has anyone ever gazed through a baby's head at the universe?
© 2021, Rosalind Buck
From: Veldwerk
From: Veldwerk
EAR SHELL
on a bench in a park with my back against a brass plaquethe view that our T.
loved so much (1947-2015)
I listen to aeroplanes
almost incessantly, the sound draws the sky shut
like a thick theatre curtain
astronomers, I heard recently, listen more than they watch
in a star lives the sound recording of a life that no longer exists
when two stars pass one another you can hear a wood
through which the wind is blowing
sometimes I'm scared that metaphors are diluting reality
worse still, I’m scared that all that exists
is the same things expressed in one another
to find answers, we point great ear shells
at space we break open stones burrow into barrows
throw off the earth like a coverlet
calling that dis-covery
I think because, really early on
we, ourselves, got shut in
under the shifting plates of our cranial cupola
has anyone ever gazed through a baby's head at the universe?
© 2021, Rosalind Buck
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