Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Sargon Boulus

TU FU IN EXILE

The smoke of war is blue
        Human bones are white

In the village where Tu Fu went
The fire had almost expired
        He arrived knowing that words,
Like a tired horse without oats,
Would not last after so many events

He had come across
Battle-fields where the wind had bleached
        Bones of horsemen entangled in
Bones of a steed. Grass would hide them soon!

Two hands warmed near a fire
The head hanging, the heart firewood

He had started to roam at twenty
And had not found a place to stay
        Wherever he was, a burdensome war was on

His daughter had died in a famine
In China they said, he wrote like the gods

Tu Fu arrived at another village
        Where kitchens emit smoke
                And hungry people wait at a baker’s

The bakers’ sweating faces
Bear witness of the heat of their fires

Tu Fu, You are, Sir, Lord of Exile

TOE FOE IN BALLINGSCHAP

In het dorp waar Toe Foe naartoe ging
was het vuur bijna gedoofd
Hij wist dat het woord
als een moe paard zonder haver
niet meer fris was na alle rampen.

Hij had veel slagvelden gezien
waar de wind
de beenderen van ridders
tussen paardenbotten had gebleekt en gras alles snel overdekte.

Bij een vuur warmden zich twee handen,
hoofd omlaag, het hart brandhout.

Twintig jaar oud begon hij te dwalen
en vond geen oord om te blijven
Waar hij kwam, woedde een oorlog.

Zijn dochter stierf in een hongersnood..
In China zei men dat hij goddelijk schreef!

Toe Foe kwam in een dorp
waar rook uit keukens opsteeg
  En hongerige mensen voor de deuren van bakkers wachtten.

De bezwete gezichten van bakkers
toonden de hitte van het vuur

Toe Foe, mijnheer, jij bent de Heer van de Ballingschap.

Close

TU FU IN EXILE

The smoke of war is blue
        Human bones are white

In the village where Tu Fu went
The fire had almost expired
        He arrived knowing that words,
Like a tired horse without oats,
Would not last after so many events

He had come across
Battle-fields where the wind had bleached
        Bones of horsemen entangled in
Bones of a steed. Grass would hide them soon!

Two hands warmed near a fire
The head hanging, the heart firewood

He had started to roam at twenty
And had not found a place to stay
        Wherever he was, a burdensome war was on

His daughter had died in a famine
In China they said, he wrote like the gods

Tu Fu arrived at another village
        Where kitchens emit smoke
                And hungry people wait at a baker’s

The bakers’ sweating faces
Bear witness of the heat of their fires

Tu Fu, You are, Sir, Lord of Exile

TU FU IN EXILE

The smoke of war is blue
        Human bones are white

In the village where Tu Fu went
The fire had almost expired
        He arrived knowing that words,
Like a tired horse without oats,
Would not last after so many events

He had come across
Battle-fields where the wind had bleached
        Bones of horsemen entangled in
Bones of a steed. Grass would hide them soon!

Two hands warmed near a fire
The head hanging, the heart firewood

He had started to roam at twenty
And had not found a place to stay
        Wherever he was, a burdensome war was on

His daughter had died in a famine
In China they said, he wrote like the gods

Tu Fu arrived at another village
        Where kitchens emit smoke
                And hungry people wait at a baker’s

The bakers’ sweating faces
Bear witness of the heat of their fires

Tu Fu, You are, Sir, Lord of Exile
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère