Poem
Gerrit Kouwenaar
1890: 27-29 july
It didn’t work, one walks the road back, runningdown like a clock, and shall today lay
upon the bed what’s oozing, a straightjacket around
a bloodvessel, not much throbs, one had expected
it to liberate, cleanse, spirit
clarified in void, form of bread
but nothing, just that colour, red as a doornail, decay
that kept returning home, dead end
one leaves the room with oneself, one is
myself, above it crows, paint -
© Translation: 1998, Lloyd Haft
1890: 27-29 juli
1890: 27-29 juli
Mislukt, men loopt de weg terug, leeglopend als een klok, legt heden nog
wat afscheidt op het bed, een dwangbuis rond
een bloedvat, weinig klopt, men had gedacht
dat het bevrijden zou, schoonmaken, geest
in leegte opgehelderd, vorm van brood
maar niets, alleen die kleur, morsrood, bederf
dat altijd thuiskwam bij zichzelf, dood spoor
men gaat de kamer uit met zich, men is
ikzelf, kraaien erboven, verf -
© 1998, Gerrit Kouwenaar
From: Helder maar grijzer. Gedichten 1978 - 1996
Publisher: Em. Querido's Uitgeverij b.v. Amsterdam,
From: Helder maar grijzer. Gedichten 1978 - 1996
Publisher: Em. Querido's Uitgeverij b.v. Amsterdam,
Poems
Poems of Gerrit Kouwenaar
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1890: 27-29 july
It didn’t work, one walks the road back, runningdown like a clock, and shall today lay
upon the bed what’s oozing, a straightjacket around
a bloodvessel, not much throbs, one had expected
it to liberate, cleanse, spirit
clarified in void, form of bread
but nothing, just that colour, red as a doornail, decay
that kept returning home, dead end
one leaves the room with oneself, one is
myself, above it crows, paint -
© 1998, Lloyd Haft
From: Helder maar grijzer. Gedichten 1978 - 1996
From: Helder maar grijzer. Gedichten 1978 - 1996
1890: 27-29 july
It didn’t work, one walks the road back, runningdown like a clock, and shall today lay
upon the bed what’s oozing, a straightjacket around
a bloodvessel, not much throbs, one had expected
it to liberate, cleanse, spirit
clarified in void, form of bread
but nothing, just that colour, red as a doornail, decay
that kept returning home, dead end
one leaves the room with oneself, one is
myself, above it crows, paint -
© 1998, Lloyd Haft
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