Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Rutger Kopland

in the morning

There must be something as we go to sleep
we lay down and went to sleep

what was it then – as the final words
for the world grew fainter and fainter:
moonlight: far-off a dog, quiet breathing,
odour of a man, a woman,
night and once again night

that said, as even the last word night had been
put out: these are still our own arms
in which we fall apart into this black hole
this is still our own body

that said something, while there were no more words left

there must be something now the word morning
slowly lights up and it becomes morning
that held us together and lets us go
as we lie here like this

in de morgen

in de morgen

Er moet iets zijn als we inslapen
we gingen liggen en sliepen in

wat was het dan – terwijl de laatste woorden
voor de wereld ijler en ijler werden:
maanlicht, verre hond, zacht ademen,
geuren van een man, een vrouw,
nacht, nacht en nog eens – wat was het

dat zei, terwijl ook het laatste woord nacht
was gedoofd: dit zijn onze eigen armen nog
waarin we uiteenvallen in dit zwarte gat
dit is nog ons eigen lichaam

dat iets zei, terwijl er geen woorden meer waren

er moet iets zijn nu het woord morgen
langzaam oplicht en het morgen is
dat ons bijeen hield en loslaat
zoals we hier liggen
Close

in the morning

There must be something as we go to sleep
we lay down and went to sleep

what was it then – as the final words
for the world grew fainter and fainter:
moonlight: far-off a dog, quiet breathing,
odour of a man, a woman,
night and once again night

that said, as even the last word night had been
put out: these are still our own arms
in which we fall apart into this black hole
this is still our own body

that said something, while there were no more words left

there must be something now the word morning
slowly lights up and it becomes morning
that held us together and lets us go
as we lie here like this

in the morning

There must be something as we go to sleep
we lay down and went to sleep

what was it then – as the final words
for the world grew fainter and fainter:
moonlight: far-off a dog, quiet breathing,
odour of a man, a woman,
night and once again night

that said, as even the last word night had been
put out: these are still our own arms
in which we fall apart into this black hole
this is still our own body

that said something, while there were no more words left

there must be something now the word morning
slowly lights up and it becomes morning
that held us together and lets us go
as we lie here like this
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