Poem
Rogi Wieg
NOT REVOLVERS
It’s raining, the last flowers letgo, but people blossom.
Hölderlin reads clearly for a bit,
then grows obscure; curtains are
drawn in daytime. Doors close
without keyholes. It rains hard.
Yet: beings think the world is getting
better, women draw lipstick
not revolvers. Women bathe children,
but heaven turns their water black.
Yet: time unfolds to give people
more time and now Hölderlin will snigger a bit
at the last pears. But he’s wrong:
it’s his madness that dances to the tune of ash.
It’s raining, the last flowers
Strew children on the old earth.
And Hölderlin bends over his poem,
deletes some words, drinks and prays.
© Translation: 2007, Paul Vincent
Dedicated to Bert Schierbeek – sadly deceased. I miss the friendliness and breeziness of his company.
GEEN REVOLVER
GEEN REVOLVER
Het regent, de laatste bloemenlaten los, maar de mensen bloeien.
Hölderlin leest even helder,
verduistert dan; gordijnen worden
dichtgetrokken overdag. Deuren sluiten
zonder sleutelgat. Het regent hard.
Toch: wezens denken dat de wereld
beter wordt, vrouwen trekken lippenstift
en geen revolver. Vrouwen baden kinderen,
maar de hemel maakt hun water zwart.
Toch: tijd rolt zich uit om mensen langer
tijd te geven en nu zal Hölderlin wat gniffelen
om de laatste peren. Maar hij heeft ongelijk:
het is zijn waanzin die naar de pijpen danst van as.
Het regent, de laatste bloemen
strooien kindjes op de oude aarde.
En Hölderlin buigt zich over zijn gedicht,
schrapt wat woorden, drinkt en bidt.
© 2007, Rogi Wieg
From: De kam
Publisher: De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam
From: De kam
Publisher: De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam
Opgedragen aan Bert Schierbeek – helaas overleden. Ik mis zijn vriendelijkheid en luchtigheid in de omgang met mij.
Poems
Poems of Rogi Wieg
Close
NOT REVOLVERS
It’s raining, the last flowers letgo, but people blossom.
Hölderlin reads clearly for a bit,
then grows obscure; curtains are
drawn in daytime. Doors close
without keyholes. It rains hard.
Yet: beings think the world is getting
better, women draw lipstick
not revolvers. Women bathe children,
but heaven turns their water black.
Yet: time unfolds to give people
more time and now Hölderlin will snigger a bit
at the last pears. But he’s wrong:
it’s his madness that dances to the tune of ash.
It’s raining, the last flowers
Strew children on the old earth.
And Hölderlin bends over his poem,
deletes some words, drinks and prays.
© 2007, Paul Vincent
From: De kam
From: De kam
Dedicated to Bert Schierbeek – sadly deceased. I miss the friendliness and breeziness of his company.
NOT REVOLVERS
It’s raining, the last flowers letgo, but people blossom.
Hölderlin reads clearly for a bit,
then grows obscure; curtains are
drawn in daytime. Doors close
without keyholes. It rains hard.
Yet: beings think the world is getting
better, women draw lipstick
not revolvers. Women bathe children,
but heaven turns their water black.
Yet: time unfolds to give people
more time and now Hölderlin will snigger a bit
at the last pears. But he’s wrong:
it’s his madness that dances to the tune of ash.
It’s raining, the last flowers
Strew children on the old earth.
And Hölderlin bends over his poem,
deletes some words, drinks and prays.
© 2007, Paul Vincent
Dedicated to Bert Schierbeek – sadly deceased. I miss the friendliness and breeziness of his company.
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