Poem
Gerrit Kouwenaar
a smell of burnt feathers
One comes home, it’s march, one opens upthe wintered house, absence and lack
have knotted webs, consumed freeloaders, driven
the owl through the chimney to death
the floor full of helpless down, the books
shit chalk-white, the glasses in smithers
on the eternal bed a tidy carcass
with huge wings
what did one do today?
picked up branches, bewailed the withering
elderberry, fueled a fire with trash –
© Translation: 1998, Lloyd Haft
een geur van verbrande veren
een geur van verbrande veren
Men komt thuis, het is maart, men ontsluithet verwinterde huis, afzijn gebrek
hebben webben gestrikt, mee-eters verteerd, de uil
door de schoorsteen de dood in gedreven
de vloer vol hulpeloos dons, de boeken kalk
wit bescheten, de glazen aan gruizels
op het eeuwige bed een proper karkas
met machtige vleugels
wat heeft men gedaan vandaag?
takken geraapt, de kwijnende vlier beklaagd
vuur gestookt van afval -
© 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
Close
a smell of burnt feathers
One comes home, it’s march, one opens upthe wintered house, absence and lack
have knotted webs, consumed freeloaders, driven
the owl through the chimney to death
the floor full of helpless down, the books
shit chalk-white, the glasses in smithers
on the eternal bed a tidy carcass
with huge wings
what did one do today?
picked up branches, bewailed the withering
elderberry, fueled a fire with trash –
© 1998, Lloyd Haft
From: Helder maar grijzer. Gedichten 1978 - 1996
From: Helder maar grijzer. Gedichten 1978 - 1996
a smell of burnt feathers
One comes home, it’s march, one opens upthe wintered house, absence and lack
have knotted webs, consumed freeloaders, driven
the owl through the chimney to death
the floor full of helpless down, the books
shit chalk-white, the glasses in smithers
on the eternal bed a tidy carcass
with huge wings
what did one do today?
picked up branches, bewailed the withering
elderberry, fueled a fire with trash –
© 1998, Lloyd Haft
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