Poem
Jos De Haes
A Kiss in Ter Kameren
Say in the fragmenting aira throttling fungus has its elm,
orange duck foot get stuck
in the freezing water,
I don’t know what I
The light however on slates,
abbot or abbess tuck in
the roofs of Ter Kameren,
squeeze all round broken bone,
although even if I
And again the lobed moorhen
that steps with a cracked foot
all the beheaded, the clogged pores,
in the name of all Saviours,
stalks, you would I
But love, the edge today,
fever on the wound’s thin edge,
black and wet on the edge,
sacred plague of history,
as I understand, I,
Moving lip flesh against bone,
on all sides it thrusts,
your cold spittle I suck,
if it ferments I shall,
it can’t be that I
© Translation: 2007, Paul Vincent
Een kus in Ter Kameren
Een kus in Ter Kameren
Zeg in de splinterende luchteen wurgzwam heeft haar olm,
oranje eendepoot loop vast
in het bevriezend water,
ik weet niet wat ik
Het licht nochtans op schaliën,
abt of abdis dek toe
de daken van Ter Kameren,
nijp alles rond gebroken bot,
hoewel al kon ik
En weer ’t gelobde waterhoen
dat stapt met een gekraakte poot
- alle onthalsden en verstikte pories,
in de naam van alle Heren,
stronken u zou ik
Maar lief, de rand vandaag,
koorts aan de dunne wondrand,
zwart en nat aan de rand,
heilige pest der geschiedenis,
naar mijn begrip, ik,
Bewegend lipvlees tegen been,
aan alle kanten duwt het,
jouw koude speeksel zuig ik,
als het gaat gisten zal ik,
het kan niet dat ik
From: Gedichten
Publisher: Lannoo/Atlas, Tielt/Amsterdam
Publisher: Lannoo/Atlas, Tielt/Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Jos De Haes
Close
A Kiss in Ter Kameren
Say in the fragmenting aira throttling fungus has its elm,
orange duck foot get stuck
in the freezing water,
I don’t know what I
The light however on slates,
abbot or abbess tuck in
the roofs of Ter Kameren,
squeeze all round broken bone,
although even if I
And again the lobed moorhen
that steps with a cracked foot
all the beheaded, the clogged pores,
in the name of all Saviours,
stalks, you would I
But love, the edge today,
fever on the wound’s thin edge,
black and wet on the edge,
sacred plague of history,
as I understand, I,
Moving lip flesh against bone,
on all sides it thrusts,
your cold spittle I suck,
if it ferments I shall,
it can’t be that I
© 2007, Paul Vincent
From: Gedichten
From: Gedichten
A Kiss in Ter Kameren
Say in the fragmenting aira throttling fungus has its elm,
orange duck foot get stuck
in the freezing water,
I don’t know what I
The light however on slates,
abbot or abbess tuck in
the roofs of Ter Kameren,
squeeze all round broken bone,
although even if I
And again the lobed moorhen
that steps with a cracked foot
all the beheaded, the clogged pores,
in the name of all Saviours,
stalks, you would I
But love, the edge today,
fever on the wound’s thin edge,
black and wet on the edge,
sacred plague of history,
as I understand, I,
Moving lip flesh against bone,
on all sides it thrusts,
your cold spittle I suck,
if it ferments I shall,
it can’t be that I
© 2007, Paul Vincent
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère