Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Esther Jansma

This here

You\'re walking on the beach: the sea, the horizon,
the sound that fills the bowl of the earth
up to the rim - no, smaller.

You set your shoes in the sand, cowhide,
eroded mountains, the one leaves an impression
behind on the other - no, different.

You\'re somewhere, it doesn\'t matter where,
always on the edge, this time between
land and water, it is about now - no,

you\'re lying on your belly. Sand sings itself onwards,
like water, ribbed. You choose the smallest rib.
Mountain. You choose the smallest grain. Earth.

Je loopt op het strand: de zee, de einder,

Je loopt op het strand: de zee, de einder,
het geluid dat de kom van de wereld
tot de rand toe vult - nee, kleiner.

Je zet je schoenen in het zand: koeiehuid,
geërodeerde bergen, het een laat
een afdruk na in het ander - nee, anders.

Je bent ergens, het doet er niet toe
waar, altijd aan een rand, dit keer tussen
land en water, het gaat over nu - nee

je ligt op je buik. Zand zingt zich voort
zoals water, geribd. Je kiest de kleinste rib.
Berg. Je kiest de kleinste korrel. Aarde.
Close

This here

You\'re walking on the beach: the sea, the horizon,
the sound that fills the bowl of the earth
up to the rim - no, smaller.

You set your shoes in the sand, cowhide,
eroded mountains, the one leaves an impression
behind on the other - no, different.

You\'re somewhere, it doesn\'t matter where,
always on the edge, this time between
land and water, it is about now - no,

you\'re lying on your belly. Sand sings itself onwards,
like water, ribbed. You choose the smallest rib.
Mountain. You choose the smallest grain. Earth.

This here

You\'re walking on the beach: the sea, the horizon,
the sound that fills the bowl of the earth
up to the rim - no, smaller.

You set your shoes in the sand, cowhide,
eroded mountains, the one leaves an impression
behind on the other - no, different.

You\'re somewhere, it doesn\'t matter where,
always on the edge, this time between
land and water, it is about now - no,

you\'re lying on your belly. Sand sings itself onwards,
like water, ribbed. You choose the smallest rib.
Mountain. You choose the smallest grain. Earth.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère