Poem
Hugues C. Pernath
The Ten Poems of Solitude II
As a relative, I have hope in common with no oneWith no one the choice of love
With which I live alone, with which I stagger
Moving but subdued by the boundless landscape
In which death gleans the corn
All we’re left with is time and not fleeing
And all that moves on the earth,
All we’re left with is the last journey of two weary people
Taking their leave of the womb at term.
Forever,
As everyone saw it, as everyone heard it
And as will happen to everyone
Depending on the distance from the distance, the glow
Through the shadow play of my shadow.
As a relative I turn to stone with the scent of the woman
And the convulsion of the beetles on the deadly moss.
While truth engenders horror,
Becomes a wild cloud, and worms arbitrarily
Gnaw through the first beam in our house,
I come to you and finger your clothes
I kiss you, bent over, crouching, torn in two.
Again we grow older and smaller
And more reckless in the steady rain,
In which we wear mourning for the many past bonds
Onward through the lowlands of depression.
© Translation: 2007, Paul Vincent
De tien gedichten van de eenzaamheid II
De tien gedichten van de eenzaamheid II
Als een verwante, met niemand heb ik de hoop gemeenMet niemand de keuze van de liefde
Waarmee ik eenzaam leef, waarmee ik wankel
Bewegend maar bedwongen door het mateloze landschap
Waarin de dood de aren leest
Ons blijft alleen de tijd en niet het vluchten
En alles dat op de aarde beweegt,
Ons blijft de laatste reis van twee vermoeide mensen
Het afscheid nemen van de voldragen schoot.
Voorgoed.
Zoals iedereen het zag, zoals iedereen het hoorde
En zoals het ook iedereen zal vergaan
Naargelang de afstand naar de verte, de gloed
Doorheen de schaduwspelen van mijn schaduw.
Als een verwante versteen ik met de geur van de vrouw
En het verkrimpen van de kevers op het dodelijke mos.
Terwijl de waarheid het afgrijzen verwekt,
Een wilde wolk wordt, en wormen willekeurig
De eerste balk van ons huis doorboren,
Kom ik naar je toe en betast ik jouw kleren
Ik kus je, gebogen, gehurkt en verscheurd.
Opnieuw worden wij ouder en kleiner
En roekelozer in de gestage regen,
Waarin wij de rouw dragen voor de vele voorbije banden
Verder door de lage landen van de landerigheid.
© 2004,
From: Gedichten
Publisher: Lannoo/Atlas, Tilet/Amsterdam
From: Gedichten
Publisher: Lannoo/Atlas, Tilet/Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Hugues C. Pernath
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The Ten Poems of Solitude II
As a relative, I have hope in common with no oneWith no one the choice of love
With which I live alone, with which I stagger
Moving but subdued by the boundless landscape
In which death gleans the corn
All we’re left with is time and not fleeing
And all that moves on the earth,
All we’re left with is the last journey of two weary people
Taking their leave of the womb at term.
Forever,
As everyone saw it, as everyone heard it
And as will happen to everyone
Depending on the distance from the distance, the glow
Through the shadow play of my shadow.
As a relative I turn to stone with the scent of the woman
And the convulsion of the beetles on the deadly moss.
While truth engenders horror,
Becomes a wild cloud, and worms arbitrarily
Gnaw through the first beam in our house,
I come to you and finger your clothes
I kiss you, bent over, crouching, torn in two.
Again we grow older and smaller
And more reckless in the steady rain,
In which we wear mourning for the many past bonds
Onward through the lowlands of depression.
© 2007, Paul Vincent
From: Gedichten
From: Gedichten
The Ten Poems of Solitude II
As a relative, I have hope in common with no oneWith no one the choice of love
With which I live alone, with which I stagger
Moving but subdued by the boundless landscape
In which death gleans the corn
All we’re left with is time and not fleeing
And all that moves on the earth,
All we’re left with is the last journey of two weary people
Taking their leave of the womb at term.
Forever,
As everyone saw it, as everyone heard it
And as will happen to everyone
Depending on the distance from the distance, the glow
Through the shadow play of my shadow.
As a relative I turn to stone with the scent of the woman
And the convulsion of the beetles on the deadly moss.
While truth engenders horror,
Becomes a wild cloud, and worms arbitrarily
Gnaw through the first beam in our house,
I come to you and finger your clothes
I kiss you, bent over, crouching, torn in two.
Again we grow older and smaller
And more reckless in the steady rain,
In which we wear mourning for the many past bonds
Onward through the lowlands of depression.
© 2007, Paul Vincent
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