Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Paul van Ostaijen

BAROQUE ACCOUNT

Sometimes
— when the boats of their senses' beat
against the ever-swelling cliff
of a fragrance that's sti1l open
to fantastic beasts
        and plants that
        shot through with fear
        between the sea's blue and the blue of the sky
        are a sheer metaphor —
sometimes desire flames up in people so high
that they tackle the flimsy boat
and take to sea
the wind plays a delusion in the sails
        an old delusion that lies
        in a slump beyond the horizon
        till the wind has blown the hull to bits
        and from the pieces wafts the wine of the delusion
        this old delusion
None knows the SOS beyond the senses' horizon
and that at the bottoms of our souls there are antennae
that pick up only the vibrations
from beyond
Sometimes the urge will force the dream into a shape
and the body turns to dream

Facture Baroque

Facture Baroque

Soms
— wanneer de boten van hun zinnen sloegen
aan de immer deinende rotswand
van een reuk die openstaat
op wonderlike dieren
        en planten die
        koortsdoorschoten
        tussen de blauwheid van de zee en de blauwheid van de lucht
        slechts zijn een vergelijken —
soms slaat het verlangen der mensen zo hoog uit
dat zij takelen de nederige boot
en ter zee gaan
in de zeilen speelt de wind een waan
        een oude waan
        die over de kim gekelderd lag
        tot de wind de hulzen stuk woei
        en uit de scherven walmt de wijn van deze waan
        van deze oude waan
Geen kent het S.O.S.-gesein geenzijds der zinnekim
en dat aan de boôm van onze ziel er sprieten steken
die alleen het trillen vatten
van gene zijde
Soms dringt de drang de droom tot een gestalte
en wordt het lichaam droom
Close

BAROQUE ACCOUNT

Sometimes
— when the boats of their senses' beat
against the ever-swelling cliff
of a fragrance that's sti1l open
to fantastic beasts
        and plants that
        shot through with fear
        between the sea's blue and the blue of the sky
        are a sheer metaphor —
sometimes desire flames up in people so high
that they tackle the flimsy boat
and take to sea
the wind plays a delusion in the sails
        an old delusion that lies
        in a slump beyond the horizon
        till the wind has blown the hull to bits
        and from the pieces wafts the wine of the delusion
        this old delusion
None knows the SOS beyond the senses' horizon
and that at the bottoms of our souls there are antennae
that pick up only the vibrations
from beyond
Sometimes the urge will force the dream into a shape
and the body turns to dream

BAROQUE ACCOUNT

Sometimes
— when the boats of their senses' beat
against the ever-swelling cliff
of a fragrance that's sti1l open
to fantastic beasts
        and plants that
        shot through with fear
        between the sea's blue and the blue of the sky
        are a sheer metaphor —
sometimes desire flames up in people so high
that they tackle the flimsy boat
and take to sea
the wind plays a delusion in the sails
        an old delusion that lies
        in a slump beyond the horizon
        till the wind has blown the hull to bits
        and from the pieces wafts the wine of the delusion
        this old delusion
None knows the SOS beyond the senses' horizon
and that at the bottoms of our souls there are antennae
that pick up only the vibrations
from beyond
Sometimes the urge will force the dream into a shape
and the body turns to dream
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