Poem
Willem Jan Otten
AN ARM THAT NEVER DID NOT LIE ON HIM
She’s journeying but out of the first morningof our lifelong life into a single life
came welling up out of my doze her arm,
floating feather-dove-light fondly down on me.
I definitely slept and something spoke right through me
saying: your life is mine. But now she was
not even in the bed, though it spoke with one voice:
your life is mine. There is no lighter yoke
than from the one who, arm on me, thus spoke.
© Translation: 2004, John Irons
EEN ARM DIE NOOIT NIET OP HEM LAG
EEN ARM DIE NOOIT NIET OP HEM LAG
Zij is op reis maar uit de eerste morgenvan ons levenslange leven in één leven
daar kwam uit mijn doezel opgeweld haar arm,
vederduiflichtdalende gevleid op mij.
Ik sliep beslist en iets sprak door mij heen
en zei: je leven is van mij. Maar nu was zij
niet eens in bed, toch sprak het met een stem:
je leven is van mij. Geen juk zo licht
als van degeen die, met haar arm op mij, dit zei.
© 2003, Willem-Jan Otten
From: Op de hoge
Publisher: G.A. van Oorschot, Amsterdam
From: Op de hoge
Publisher: G.A. van Oorschot, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Willem Jan Otten
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AN ARM THAT NEVER DID NOT LIE ON HIM
She’s journeying but out of the first morningof our lifelong life into a single life
came welling up out of my doze her arm,
floating feather-dove-light fondly down on me.
I definitely slept and something spoke right through me
saying: your life is mine. But now she was
not even in the bed, though it spoke with one voice:
your life is mine. There is no lighter yoke
than from the one who, arm on me, thus spoke.
© 2004, John Irons
From: Op de hoge
From: Op de hoge
AN ARM THAT NEVER DID NOT LIE ON HIM
She’s journeying but out of the first morningof our lifelong life into a single life
came welling up out of my doze her arm,
floating feather-dove-light fondly down on me.
I definitely slept and something spoke right through me
saying: your life is mine. But now she was
not even in the bed, though it spoke with one voice:
your life is mine. There is no lighter yoke
than from the one who, arm on me, thus spoke.
© 2004, John Irons
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