Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Rutger Kopland

I CAVALLI DI LEONARDO

All those sketches he left behind –

endless series of repetitions: bunches of muscles, sinews,
knuckles, joints, the entire machinery
of driving-belts and levers with which
a horse moves,

and out of thousands of hair-thin little lines, the skin
almost invisibly gently disappearing into the paper
of ears and eyelids, nostrils,
skin of the soul –

he must have wanted to find out how a horse
is made and have realized
it can’t be done,

how the secret of a horse grew and grew
beneath his pencil.

Made the most splendid designs, studied them,
discarded them.

I CAVALLI DI LEONARDO

I CAVALLI DI LEONARDO

Al die schetsen die hij naliet –

eindeloze reeksen herhalingen: spierbundels, pezen,
knoken, gewrichten, die hele machinerie
van drijfriemen en hefbomen waarmee
een paard beweegt,

en uit duizenden haarfijne lijntjes haast onzichtbaar
zacht in het papier verdwijnende huid
van oorschelpen, oogleden, neusvleugels,
huid van de ziel –

hij moet hebben willen weten hoe een paard
wordt gemaakt, en hebben gezien
dat dat niet kon,

hoe het geheim van een paard zich uitbreidde
onder zijn potlood.

Maakte de prachtigste afbeeldingen, bekeek ze,
verwierp ze.
Close

I CAVALLI DI LEONARDO

All those sketches he left behind –

endless series of repetitions: bunches of muscles, sinews,
knuckles, joints, the entire machinery
of driving-belts and levers with which
a horse moves,

and out of thousands of hair-thin little lines, the skin
almost invisibly gently disappearing into the paper
of ears and eyelids, nostrils,
skin of the soul –

he must have wanted to find out how a horse
is made and have realized
it can’t be done,

how the secret of a horse grew and grew
beneath his pencil.

Made the most splendid designs, studied them,
discarded them.

I CAVALLI DI LEONARDO

All those sketches he left behind –

endless series of repetitions: bunches of muscles, sinews,
knuckles, joints, the entire machinery
of driving-belts and levers with which
a horse moves,

and out of thousands of hair-thin little lines, the skin
almost invisibly gently disappearing into the paper
of ears and eyelids, nostrils,
skin of the soul –

he must have wanted to find out how a horse
is made and have realized
it can’t be done,

how the secret of a horse grew and grew
beneath his pencil.

Made the most splendid designs, studied them,
discarded them.
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