Poem
Martin Reints
hofvijfer by night
The water in the ornamental pond reflectsin ripples the lamplight in which the prime minister sits
and the old moon
and the clouds transfused with gloomy orange
rising as a haze out of everything around
the conversation that has brought you and me here
falls silent
and the noise of the traffic goes on:
a light but steady wind blowing through the trees
as if we were still standing by a lake in the dunes:
a limp applause that is echoed by the corps
as if gentlemen ushers still showed us to our audience
and in this silent pomp we gaze, and attempt
to imagine the expensive poverty of the state departments
out of the background.
HOFVIJVER BIJ AVOND
HOFVIJVER BIJ AVOND
Het water in de vijver weerspiegeltin golven het lamplicht waar de minister-president in zit
en de oude maan
en de wolken waar het sombere oranje in blijft hangen
dat als een damp uit de hele omgeving komt
het gesprek dat u en mij hier heeft gebracht
valt stil
en het verkeer om ons heen is aan het ruisen:
een zwakke maar stage wind die door de bomen waait
alsof we nog aan een meer in de duinen stonden:
een slap applaus dat wordt weerkaatst door de coulissen
alsof we nog naar de garderobe van een schouwburg gingen
en in dit stille lawaai staren we, en proberen
de dure armoe van de ministeries uit de achtergrond
weg te denken.
Poems
Poems of Martin Reints
Close
hofvijfer by night
The water in the ornamental pond reflectsin ripples the lamplight in which the prime minister sits
and the old moon
and the clouds transfused with gloomy orange
rising as a haze out of everything around
the conversation that has brought you and me here
falls silent
and the noise of the traffic goes on:
a light but steady wind blowing through the trees
as if we were still standing by a lake in the dunes:
a limp applause that is echoed by the corps
as if gentlemen ushers still showed us to our audience
and in this silent pomp we gaze, and attempt
to imagine the expensive poverty of the state departments
out of the background.
hofvijfer by night
The water in the ornamental pond reflectsin ripples the lamplight in which the prime minister sits
and the old moon
and the clouds transfused with gloomy orange
rising as a haze out of everything around
the conversation that has brought you and me here
falls silent
and the noise of the traffic goes on:
a light but steady wind blowing through the trees
as if we were still standing by a lake in the dunes:
a limp applause that is echoed by the corps
as if gentlemen ushers still showed us to our audience
and in this silent pomp we gaze, and attempt
to imagine the expensive poverty of the state departments
out of the background.
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