Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Gerrit Kouwenaar

A Joke that\'s Allowed

One may not shut one’s eyes
to what’s suffered every letter-second
between cement and rags.
And also: to whatever between ribs
and breast wall
occurred,
is occurring,
keeps occurring –
the smirky works
of the sharp-spectacled harpy.

But after the gearwheels of thought
to feel your feet
on the pavement,
let loose the reins
behind the curtains.
Abort the mark of Cain,
grind the marble hands down
to nice slabs of flesh,
doomed to fondly
washing up in the frothing
froth at the back of the mind.

EEN GRAPJE DAT MAG

EEN GRAPJE DAT MAG

Men mag zijn ogen niet sluiten
voor wat elke letter-seconde
gelededn wordt tussen cement en vodden.
En ook: voor wat tussen ribben
en ruggegraatwering
voorviel,
voorvalt,
voorvallen blijft –
het schampere werk
van de stekend gebrilde harpij.

Maar na het geraderde denken
om je voeten te voelen
op het plaveisel,
het leidsel vieren
achter het gordijn.
Het kaïnsteken afdrijven,
de marmeren handen uitslijpen
tot prettige vleesschijven,
gedoemd tot strelende
afwassen in de
achterhoofds schuimende
schuim.
Close

A Joke that\'s Allowed

One may not shut one’s eyes
to what’s suffered every letter-second
between cement and rags.
And also: to whatever between ribs
and breast wall
occurred,
is occurring,
keeps occurring –
the smirky works
of the sharp-spectacled harpy.

But after the gearwheels of thought
to feel your feet
on the pavement,
let loose the reins
behind the curtains.
Abort the mark of Cain,
grind the marble hands down
to nice slabs of flesh,
doomed to fondly
washing up in the frothing
froth at the back of the mind.

A Joke that\'s Allowed

One may not shut one’s eyes
to what’s suffered every letter-second
between cement and rags.
And also: to whatever between ribs
and breast wall
occurred,
is occurring,
keeps occurring –
the smirky works
of the sharp-spectacled harpy.

But after the gearwheels of thought
to feel your feet
on the pavement,
let loose the reins
behind the curtains.
Abort the mark of Cain,
grind the marble hands down
to nice slabs of flesh,
doomed to fondly
washing up in the frothing
froth at the back of the mind.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère