Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Maria van Daalen

Gospel

1
In the beginning was the word and the word was grass. Bluegrass, from here to the Dragon Mountains, buoyantly bending like the long rolling waves of the deep sea. Golden grass, from the Dragon Mountains to Slave Bay, crackling like ripe corn during the dog days. And from Slave Bay up to here, where I stand, the ruddy plumes of the rooigras, tall after the rains on the savannah. The cheetah rests in the rooigras. 


2
Hail thee, beauty,
ebb tide of love,
neap tide of the body.

Cool as the night in an aeroplane,
in and out breathes the sleep time,
night in the windows, a blue, swaying
darkness and the hatches open.
Boeing sails softly, almost at the bottom
of shivering sea water, deep reeling fathoms.
A hand waves along a window
with a ring of pink polyps and pearl oyster.
Cool is the journey, the infinite time
and the night is alive.

Hail thee, beauty,
burnt, scattered, dust
along the roadside.

Warm as the red colours of the earth,
fiery fertile with iron and clay,
wood colour and pine resin, flame,
extinguished along the dusty roads
a compass rose lies between two eyes precisely
a bullet wound flowers.

Hail thee, beauty,
white and gold in the bridal room,
cool and padded like a coffin.
Hail thee,
body in the rooigras.


3
The other cheetah / rises from the lair / and approaches.

Evangelie

Evangelie

1
In den beginne was het woord en het woord was gras. Blauwgras, van hier tot aan de Drakenbergen, veerkrachtig buigend als de langlopende golven van de diepzee. Goudgeel gras, van de Drakenbergen tot aan de Slavenbaai, knisperend als rijpe maïs met de hondsdagen. En van de Slavenbaai tot hier, waar ik sta, de rossige pluimen van het rooigras, hoog na de regens op de savanne. De jachtluipaard rust in het rooigras.


2
Wees gegroet, schoonheid,
eb van de liefde,
doodtij van het lichaam.

Koel als de nacht in een vliegtuig,
in en uit ademt de slaaptijd,
nacht in de ramen, een blauwe, deinende
donkerte en de luiken geopend.
Boeing zweeft zacht, bijna op de bodem
van rillend zeewater, diep duizelende vadems.
Er wuift een hand langs een raampje
met een ring van roze poliepen en pareloester.
Koel is de reis, de oneindige tijd
en de nacht leeft.

Wees gegroet, schoonheid,
verbrand, verstrooid, stof
langs de wegkant.

Warm als de kleuren rood van de aarde,
vurig vruchtbaar met ijzer en leem,
houtkleur en pijnhars, vlam
uitgeblust langs de stoffige wegen
ligt tussen twee ogen een windroos, precies
bloeit een schotwond.

Wees gegroet, schoonheid,
wit en goud in de bruidskamer,
koel en gecapitonneerd als een doodskist.
Wees gegroet,
lichaam in het rooigras.


3
De andere jachtluipaard / staat op van de rustplaats / en nadert.
Close

Gospel

1
In the beginning was the word and the word was grass. Bluegrass, from here to the Dragon Mountains, buoyantly bending like the long rolling waves of the deep sea. Golden grass, from the Dragon Mountains to Slave Bay, crackling like ripe corn during the dog days. And from Slave Bay up to here, where I stand, the ruddy plumes of the rooigras, tall after the rains on the savannah. The cheetah rests in the rooigras. 


2
Hail thee, beauty,
ebb tide of love,
neap tide of the body.

Cool as the night in an aeroplane,
in and out breathes the sleep time,
night in the windows, a blue, swaying
darkness and the hatches open.
Boeing sails softly, almost at the bottom
of shivering sea water, deep reeling fathoms.
A hand waves along a window
with a ring of pink polyps and pearl oyster.
Cool is the journey, the infinite time
and the night is alive.

Hail thee, beauty,
burnt, scattered, dust
along the roadside.

Warm as the red colours of the earth,
fiery fertile with iron and clay,
wood colour and pine resin, flame,
extinguished along the dusty roads
a compass rose lies between two eyes precisely
a bullet wound flowers.

Hail thee, beauty,
white and gold in the bridal room,
cool and padded like a coffin.
Hail thee,
body in the rooigras.


3
The other cheetah / rises from the lair / and approaches.

Gospel

1
In the beginning was the word and the word was grass. Bluegrass, from here to the Dragon Mountains, buoyantly bending like the long rolling waves of the deep sea. Golden grass, from the Dragon Mountains to Slave Bay, crackling like ripe corn during the dog days. And from Slave Bay up to here, where I stand, the ruddy plumes of the rooigras, tall after the rains on the savannah. The cheetah rests in the rooigras. 


2
Hail thee, beauty,
ebb tide of love,
neap tide of the body.

Cool as the night in an aeroplane,
in and out breathes the sleep time,
night in the windows, a blue, swaying
darkness and the hatches open.
Boeing sails softly, almost at the bottom
of shivering sea water, deep reeling fathoms.
A hand waves along a window
with a ring of pink polyps and pearl oyster.
Cool is the journey, the infinite time
and the night is alive.

Hail thee, beauty,
burnt, scattered, dust
along the roadside.

Warm as the red colours of the earth,
fiery fertile with iron and clay,
wood colour and pine resin, flame,
extinguished along the dusty roads
a compass rose lies between two eyes precisely
a bullet wound flowers.

Hail thee, beauty,
white and gold in the bridal room,
cool and padded like a coffin.
Hail thee,
body in the rooigras.


3
The other cheetah / rises from the lair / and approaches.
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