Hugues C. Pernath
The Ten Poems of Solitude III
In my strange sorrow I suspect petrifactionOf many lives, sometimes the foulness of the source
The lily or the shady foliage.
Sometimes I suspect the trembling of your hands
That will never repeat themselves in the running line
Of the infectious ordeal.
Because I realise how, sleepless, I maim myself
Into a useless tool, while my tissues die off
In the clammy cold fear of every new night.
And I move toward my image, nameless
More fearful than before, and exchange my gallows for
For the rattling rains of ritual
That will slaughter descendants and livestock, purge
On the old way to the newly-built city.
Till all is lost and founders ignominiously
In a darkness where no sun ever germinates seeds.
As if true. As if lies.
Speaking: one languages, the same word of disquiet
In the surf raised above all bonds.
I feel the absence as a difficult revelation.
As shards of relics, of worlds, untrue
And outside time. Thus I became a witness
Against the one who interpreted my tenderness.
No sleep will ever unite us, no waking
Free us. For my shadow will be a shadow.
De tien gedichten van de eenzaamheid III
De tien gedichten van de eenzaamheid III
In mijn vreemd verdriet vermoed ik het verstijven
Van vele levens, soms de vunsheid van de bron
De lelie of het belommerd lover.
Soms vermoed ik het trillen van jouw handen
Die zich nooit zullen herhalen in de looplijn
Van de besmettelijke beproeving.
Omdat ik besef hoe ik slapeloos, mezelve vermink
Tot nutteloos zintuig, terwijl mijn weefsels versterven
In het klamme koudvuur van iedere nieuwe nacht.
En naar mijn beeld beweeg ik, naamloos
Angstiger dan voorheen, en ruil mijn galg in
Tegen de ratelende regens van het ritueel
Dat nakomelingen en vee zal slachten, gereinigd
Op de oude weg van de nieuwgebouwde staat.
Tot alles zal verloren gaan en roemloos stranden
In een duisternis waarin geen zon ooit zaden kiemt.
Als naar waarheid. Als naar leugen.
Sprekende: één taal, eenzelfde woord van onrust
In de branding verheven boven alle banden.
Ik voel de afwezigheid als een moeilijke openbaring,
Als scherven van relikwieën, van werelden, onwaarachtig
En buiten de tijd. Zo werd ik een getuige
Tegen diegene die de tolk was van mijn tederheid.
Geen slaap zal ons nog ooit verenigen, geen ontwaken
Ons bevrijden. Want mijn schaduw zal een schaduw zijn.
From: Gedichten
Publisher: Lannoo/Atlas, Tielt/Amsterdam
The Ten Poems of Solitude III
In my strange sorrow I suspect petrifactionOf many lives, sometimes the foulness of the source
The lily or the shady foliage.
Sometimes I suspect the trembling of your hands
That will never repeat themselves in the running line
Of the infectious ordeal.
Because I realise how, sleepless, I maim myself
Into a useless tool, while my tissues die off
In the clammy cold fear of every new night.
And I move toward my image, nameless
More fearful than before, and exchange my gallows for
For the rattling rains of ritual
That will slaughter descendants and livestock, purge
On the old way to the newly-built city.
Till all is lost and founders ignominiously
In a darkness where no sun ever germinates seeds.
As if true. As if lies.
Speaking: one languages, the same word of disquiet
In the surf raised above all bonds.
I feel the absence as a difficult revelation.
As shards of relics, of worlds, untrue
And outside time. Thus I became a witness
Against the one who interpreted my tenderness.
No sleep will ever unite us, no waking
Free us. For my shadow will be a shadow.
From: Gedichten
The Ten Poems of Solitude III
In my strange sorrow I suspect petrifactionOf many lives, sometimes the foulness of the source
The lily or the shady foliage.
Sometimes I suspect the trembling of your hands
That will never repeat themselves in the running line
Of the infectious ordeal.
Because I realise how, sleepless, I maim myself
Into a useless tool, while my tissues die off
In the clammy cold fear of every new night.
And I move toward my image, nameless
More fearful than before, and exchange my gallows for
For the rattling rains of ritual
That will slaughter descendants and livestock, purge
On the old way to the newly-built city.
Till all is lost and founders ignominiously
In a darkness where no sun ever germinates seeds.
As if true. As if lies.
Speaking: one languages, the same word of disquiet
In the surf raised above all bonds.
I feel the absence as a difficult revelation.
As shards of relics, of worlds, untrue
And outside time. Thus I became a witness
Against the one who interpreted my tenderness.
No sleep will ever unite us, no waking
Free us. For my shadow will be a shadow.
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