Bernke Klein Zandvoort
THE OTHER
there is a night within the night and when I wake up there
I wonder where I live when my eyes bring me nothing
and find myself in the mere flare-up of a battery
somewhere at the back of the room and in my heartbeat
from years ago
in a bed beside the railway line where in the day
every fifteen minutes trains raced a silence through our conversations
we were geared to it
nonetheless, each time, in that silence the other person appeared as an other
afraid I would no longer be able to translate the other into my mother
I polished the enigma away by focusing on the curtains
and by waiting
seconds lasted years
until, last week, in my room I asked two people
to keep looking at each other
and tied a string round their forefingers
which they had to move once they no longer recognised the other
and in the face an animal emerges
that a face becomes so forsaken
that you're left with your own looking
DE ANDER
DE ANDER
er is een nacht in de nacht en als ik daarin wakker word
vraag ik me af waar ik woon als mijn ogen me niets komen brengen
vind mezelf alleen in het opflitsen van een accu
ergens achter in de kamer en in mijn hartslag
van jaren terug
in een bed naast de spoorlijn waar treinen overdag
elk kwartier een stilte raasden door onze gesprekken
ar waren we op gestemd
toch werd in die stilte elke keer de ander als een ander zichtbaar
bang dat ik de ander niet meer naar mijn moeder zou kunnen vertalen
poetste ik het raadsel weg door scherp te stellen op de gordijnenen
te wachten
seconden duurden jaren
tot ik vorige week twee mensen in mijn kamer vroeg
om naar elkaar te blijven kijken
en een touwtje om hun wijsvinger bond
die ze moesten bewegen als ze de ander niet meer herkenden
er in het gezicht een dier loskomt
dat een gezicht zó verlaten wordt
dat je overblijft met je eigen kijken
From: Veldwerk
Publisher: Querido,
THE OTHER
there is a night within the night and when I wake up there
I wonder where I live when my eyes bring me nothing
and find myself in the mere flare-up of a battery
somewhere at the back of the room and in my heartbeat
from years ago
in a bed beside the railway line where in the day
every fifteen minutes trains raced a silence through our conversations
we were geared to it
nonetheless, each time, in that silence the other person appeared as an other
afraid I would no longer be able to translate the other into my mother
I polished the enigma away by focusing on the curtains
and by waiting
seconds lasted years
until, last week, in my room I asked two people
to keep looking at each other
and tied a string round their forefingers
which they had to move once they no longer recognised the other
and in the face an animal emerges
that a face becomes so forsaken
that you're left with your own looking
THE OTHER
there is a night within the night and when I wake up there
I wonder where I live when my eyes bring me nothing
and find myself in the mere flare-up of a battery
somewhere at the back of the room and in my heartbeat
from years ago
in a bed beside the railway line where in the day
every fifteen minutes trains raced a silence through our conversations
we were geared to it
nonetheless, each time, in that silence the other person appeared as an other
afraid I would no longer be able to translate the other into my mother
I polished the enigma away by focusing on the curtains
and by waiting
seconds lasted years
until, last week, in my room I asked two people
to keep looking at each other
and tied a string round their forefingers
which they had to move once they no longer recognised the other
and in the face an animal emerges
that a face becomes so forsaken
that you're left with your own looking
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