Poem
Erik Lindner
TEMPORARY STOP
1. Is this a town? Houses and tramtouch the street quite separately.
This an awning. A marble column.
A hair salon smelling of juice.
Here is a swimming pool. A glass front.
A shopping street where traffic doesn’t fit.
She doesn’t bend, wading through the paddling pool
and touching the crown of the child with her fingers.
At each movement on the photocopier
the supermarket door slides open.
So a passer-by explains what passing is:
a town you leave while you are staying there.
2. No one is silent for long in Ernie’s Bar.
The owner’s girlfriend dances
in the middle of the joint, reflects
rainbow-like in the clasp that lights up
and narrows her waist. All revolves around her.
The silver above the bar on the mirror
the projection through the smoke flower arrangements
in the window the slide screen half open
on loops low curtains, neighbours
going timidly past.
3. Look at the blood in that tray of lamb’s liver.
The olive oil in tins. The ispanak in a crate.
The TV screen that’s bobbing in the canal.
Two people having a talk –
their foreheads resting against each other.
On the man by the slivered ice between
moustache and beard a paper sticks
while he digs into the tobacco.
Watch how the blood washes
off the flesh.
4. It isn’t true
you’re just standing
still by a window
the place near-perfect
as if the image came
because you came past.
You must be cold
to show something
in words you explain
the glass to the street
the man and his paper
temperament.
© Translation: 2002, Paul Vincent
Tijdelijke halte
Tijdelijke halte
1. Is dit een stad? Huizen en tramsraken los van elkaar de straat.
Dit is een luifel. Een marmeren zuil.
Een kapsalon die nog ruikt naar jus.
Hier is een zwembad. Een glazen pui.
Een winkelstraat waar het verkeer niet past.
Ze bukt niet als ze door het kikkerbad waadt
en met haar vingers de kruin van het kind aanraakt.
Bij elke beweging aan het fotokopieerapparaat
schiet de schuifdeur van de supermarkt open.
Zo verklaart een passant wat passeren is:
een stad die je verlaat terwijl je er blijft.
2. Niemand zwijgt langdurig in Bar Ernst.
De vriendin van de uitbater danst
in het midden van de zaak, weerkaatst
multicolore in de gesp die haar taille
oplicht en verengt. Alles draait om haar.
Het zilver boven de bar op de spiegel
de projectie door de rook bloemstukken
in het raam halfgeopend het diascherm
aan lussen lage gordijnen, omwoners
die schichtig voorbijgaan.
3. Kijk naar het bloed in die bak met lamslever.
De olijfolie in blikken. De ispanak in een krat.
Het televisiescherm dat dobbert in de gracht.
Twee mensen die een gesprek voeren –
hun voorhoofden tegen elkaar geleund.
Bij de man aan het schaafijs kleeft
tussen snor en baard een vloeitje
terwijl hij in de tabak graaft.
Kijk toe hoe het bloed
van het vlees spoelt.
4. Het is niet waar
je staat maar
stil voor een ruit
is de plaats haast af
als kwam het beeld door
dat je langskwam.
Je moet koud zijn
om iets te tonen
in taal verklaar je
het glas aan de straat
de man en zijn papieren
temperament.
© 2000, Erik Lindner
From: Tong en trede
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam 2000
From: Tong en trede
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam 2000
Poems
Poems of Erik Lindner
Close
TEMPORARY STOP
1. Is this a town? Houses and tramtouch the street quite separately.
This an awning. A marble column.
A hair salon smelling of juice.
Here is a swimming pool. A glass front.
A shopping street where traffic doesn’t fit.
She doesn’t bend, wading through the paddling pool
and touching the crown of the child with her fingers.
At each movement on the photocopier
the supermarket door slides open.
So a passer-by explains what passing is:
a town you leave while you are staying there.
2. No one is silent for long in Ernie’s Bar.
The owner’s girlfriend dances
in the middle of the joint, reflects
rainbow-like in the clasp that lights up
and narrows her waist. All revolves around her.
The silver above the bar on the mirror
the projection through the smoke flower arrangements
in the window the slide screen half open
on loops low curtains, neighbours
going timidly past.
3. Look at the blood in that tray of lamb’s liver.
The olive oil in tins. The ispanak in a crate.
The TV screen that’s bobbing in the canal.
Two people having a talk –
their foreheads resting against each other.
On the man by the slivered ice between
moustache and beard a paper sticks
while he digs into the tobacco.
Watch how the blood washes
off the flesh.
4. It isn’t true
you’re just standing
still by a window
the place near-perfect
as if the image came
because you came past.
You must be cold
to show something
in words you explain
the glass to the street
the man and his paper
temperament.
© 2002, Paul Vincent
From: Tong en trede
From: Tong en trede
TEMPORARY STOP
1. Is this a town? Houses and tramtouch the street quite separately.
This an awning. A marble column.
A hair salon smelling of juice.
Here is a swimming pool. A glass front.
A shopping street where traffic doesn’t fit.
She doesn’t bend, wading through the paddling pool
and touching the crown of the child with her fingers.
At each movement on the photocopier
the supermarket door slides open.
So a passer-by explains what passing is:
a town you leave while you are staying there.
2. No one is silent for long in Ernie’s Bar.
The owner’s girlfriend dances
in the middle of the joint, reflects
rainbow-like in the clasp that lights up
and narrows her waist. All revolves around her.
The silver above the bar on the mirror
the projection through the smoke flower arrangements
in the window the slide screen half open
on loops low curtains, neighbours
going timidly past.
3. Look at the blood in that tray of lamb’s liver.
The olive oil in tins. The ispanak in a crate.
The TV screen that’s bobbing in the canal.
Two people having a talk –
their foreheads resting against each other.
On the man by the slivered ice between
moustache and beard a paper sticks
while he digs into the tobacco.
Watch how the blood washes
off the flesh.
4. It isn’t true
you’re just standing
still by a window
the place near-perfect
as if the image came
because you came past.
You must be cold
to show something
in words you explain
the glass to the street
the man and his paper
temperament.
© 2002, Paul Vincent
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