Poem
Mark Boog
BETWEEN THE TENTS
It must have been visible:the execution of the sentence upon us,
slowly now, still not completed.
We soon shrivelled up, ahead of realisation.
Why did nobody stop us in our tracks?
Why did nobody warn us with a shrill voice
against this fateful course of action?
Now we’re sitting between army tents,
covered in dust and sweat,
telling each other stories of the past;
the past, which trails behind us rudderlessly
as if it were the future ahead of us.
© Translation: 2004, Willem Groenewegen
TUSSEN DE TENTEN
TUSSEN DE TENTEN
Het moet te zien geweest zijn:de voltrekking aan ons van het vonnis,
langzaam nu, nog altijd niet afgerond.
Wij verschrompelden snel, voor het besef uit.
Waarom heeft niemand ons staande gehouden?
Waarom heeft niemand ons met schrille stem
gewaarschuwd voor deze noodlottige weg?
Nu zitten wij tussen de legertenten,
met stof en zweet overdekt,
en vertellen elkaar verhalen van vroeger;
vroeger, dat stuurloos achter ons aanzwabbert
als was het de toekomst voor ons.
© 2002, Mark Boog
From: Zo helder zagen we het zelden
Publisher: Cossee, Amsterdam
From: Zo helder zagen we het zelden
Publisher: Cossee, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Mark Boog
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BETWEEN THE TENTS
It must have been visible:the execution of the sentence upon us,
slowly now, still not completed.
We soon shrivelled up, ahead of realisation.
Why did nobody stop us in our tracks?
Why did nobody warn us with a shrill voice
against this fateful course of action?
Now we’re sitting between army tents,
covered in dust and sweat,
telling each other stories of the past;
the past, which trails behind us rudderlessly
as if it were the future ahead of us.
© 2004, Willem Groenewegen
From: Zo helder zagen we het zelden
From: Zo helder zagen we het zelden
BETWEEN THE TENTS
It must have been visible:the execution of the sentence upon us,
slowly now, still not completed.
We soon shrivelled up, ahead of realisation.
Why did nobody stop us in our tracks?
Why did nobody warn us with a shrill voice
against this fateful course of action?
Now we’re sitting between army tents,
covered in dust and sweat,
telling each other stories of the past;
the past, which trails behind us rudderlessly
as if it were the future ahead of us.
© 2004, Willem Groenewegen
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