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Gedicht

David Wheatley

My Back Pages

My Back Pages

My Back Pages

I crossed the sea. Half my address book
blew away and never came back.

It’s one way to weed the cabbage patch.
I never did like them all that much.

I stopped sending Christmas cards and letters.
The other half went. I never felt better.

Which left me and the takeaway man,
except when I got down to one

I wasn’t so sure I made the cut
so mine was the page that I ripped out.

I’d decided I liked me less and less
I’d done my throwing out in reverse.

I was the lack that I’d always lacked.
Get rid of me and you’re all welcome back.
David Wheatley

David Wheatley

(Ierland, 1970)

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My Back Pages

I crossed the sea. Half my address book
blew away and never came back.

It’s one way to weed the cabbage patch.
I never did like them all that much.

I stopped sending Christmas cards and letters.
The other half went. I never felt better.

Which left me and the takeaway man,
except when I got down to one

I wasn’t so sure I made the cut
so mine was the page that I ripped out.

I’d decided I liked me less and less
I’d done my throwing out in reverse.

I was the lack that I’d always lacked.
Get rid of me and you’re all welcome back.

My Back Pages

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Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
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Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
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VDM
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