Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Luke Davies

LUCKY

GELUK

Hij sneed door winter en terug
op een prachtige plek; hij sneed
door water, schopte z’n benen door de golven.

Het water was ijskoud ondanks of dankzij
de roze schemering maar sommige surfers bleven.
De golven sloegen op hol;

een plank brak in tweeën. Boven het sonore
blanke geluid der branding was die krak
precies een zweep van licht en werd de wereld

eventjes heel erg ijl. Wel, zevenhonderd dollar
eigen pijn, maar ik kende die vent niet;
en pijn is er altijd wel. Het kernprobleem

was eerder tijd dan al die kleine pijntjes
van ons, die zuchten, zorgen, de wereld
die plotseling zomaar wat ijler wordt

dan waar we redelijkerwijs op mogen hopen: Leven.
De golven waren woest: gegeten worden door wat kan
betekent doodgewoon geluk, zelfs in de liefde.

LUCKY

He stabbed through winter and back
in a place of great beauty; he stabbed
through water; he kicked his legs through the waves.

The water was freezing despite or because of
a pink sky at dusk but some surfers stayed out there.
The waves were closing out now;

a board snapped in two. Above the so rounded
white noise of the breakers, that crack
was like a whip of light and the world

went very thin. Well, seven hundred dollars
of his own pain but I didn’t know that guy;
and there’ll always be pain. The central

problem was rather time than all the little injuries
that make us up, the gasps, the sorrow, the world
suddenly and for no reason making itself thinner

than what we could reasonably hope for: Life.
The waves were fury; to be consumed by the possible
meant simply to be lucky, even in love.
Close

LUCKY

He stabbed through winter and back
in a place of great beauty; he stabbed
through water; he kicked his legs through the waves.

The water was freezing despite or because of
a pink sky at dusk but some surfers stayed out there.
The waves were closing out now;

a board snapped in two. Above the so rounded
white noise of the breakers, that crack
was like a whip of light and the world

went very thin. Well, seven hundred dollars
of his own pain but I didn’t know that guy;
and there’ll always be pain. The central

problem was rather time than all the little injuries
that make us up, the gasps, the sorrow, the world
suddenly and for no reason making itself thinner

than what we could reasonably hope for: Life.
The waves were fury; to be consumed by the possible
meant simply to be lucky, even in love.

LUCKY

Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère