Poem
Mark Boog
LOVE
The sky lies flat on the ground,invisible and solid.
You are dressed in the colour of your hair,
in your eyes, your steps and your words.
You’re here and elsewhere. I give chase to you
and shudder. You are too tall perhaps,
or too near. Your inapproachability
is unforgivable. If I could be a bird –
but the precision escapes me
as does the trust. I look at you
and shudder. Talk to me, as I’ll keep quiet,
suffer my stranglehold, suffer
the awkwardness, suffer me, love.
© Translation: 2006, Willem Groenewegen
LIEFDE
LIEFDE
De lucht ligt als een blok op het land,onzichtbaar en massief.
Je gaat gekleed in de kleur van je haar,
in je ogen, je passen en je woorden.
Je bent hier en elders. Ik draag je me na
en huiver. Je bent te groot misschien,
of te dichtbij. Je onbereikbaarheid
is onvergeeflijk. Kon ik een vogel zijn −
maar de nauwkeurigheid ontbreekt me
zoals het vertrouwen. Ik kijk naar je
en huiver. Spreek me aan, want ik zwijg,
verdraag mijn wurggreep, verdraag
de onbeholpenheid, verdraag mij, liefde.
© 2005, Mark Boog
From: De encyclopedie van de grote woorden
Publisher: Cossee, Amsterdam
From: De encyclopedie van de grote woorden
Publisher: Cossee, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Mark Boog
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LOVE
The sky lies flat on the ground,invisible and solid.
You are dressed in the colour of your hair,
in your eyes, your steps and your words.
You’re here and elsewhere. I give chase to you
and shudder. You are too tall perhaps,
or too near. Your inapproachability
is unforgivable. If I could be a bird –
but the precision escapes me
as does the trust. I look at you
and shudder. Talk to me, as I’ll keep quiet,
suffer my stranglehold, suffer
the awkwardness, suffer me, love.
© 2006, Willem Groenewegen
From: De encyclopedie van de grote woorden
From: De encyclopedie van de grote woorden
LOVE
The sky lies flat on the ground,invisible and solid.
You are dressed in the colour of your hair,
in your eyes, your steps and your words.
You’re here and elsewhere. I give chase to you
and shudder. You are too tall perhaps,
or too near. Your inapproachability
is unforgivable. If I could be a bird –
but the precision escapes me
as does the trust. I look at you
and shudder. Talk to me, as I’ll keep quiet,
suffer my stranglehold, suffer
the awkwardness, suffer me, love.
© 2006, Willem Groenewegen
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