Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Ann Cotten

SADLY PLANTING

Earth, earth to jeezus to any captain!
We go down slowly and well served.
We serve others. Would fain know who
crap who crap who crap LISTEN TO ME.
STOP! Workers you smell. TV souls. Girls
you reflect joy but don’t know how to leave.
Will you not all greet me the king, the gallant counter.
The erroranians read ‘sounter’ and saunter around.
No one knows the hook for the fault in which everyone,
I mean every one of these pronouns could go home.
We try on ski suits, but the ski suits are backward.
Don’t believe all this, I am just a pair of
glasses stuck in the ground by one end.

TRAURIG PFLANZEN

TRAURIG PFLANZEN

Erdung, Erdung zu Herrgottna zu Kapitän.
Wir gehen unter, langsam und gut bedient.
Wir bedienen andere. Wer kack wer kack
wer kack wer kack wer kack HÖRT MIR ZU.
ZU! Arbeiter ihr stinkt. Mädchen ihr beleuchtet Freude
aber versteht es nicht zu gehen. Wollt ihr mir
nicht begrüßen den König, den Herrn Tresen.
Lesen die Irrtumfexen “äsen”. Ätzen daraufhin herum.
Niemand weiß, wo der Makel hängt, in dem alle,
ich meine alle Pronomen nach Hause gehen könnten.
Wir probieren Schianzüge, doch die Schianzüge sind schief.
Glaubt mir das alles nicht, ich bin eine in die
primitive Erde mit einem Ende gesteckte Brille.
Close

SADLY PLANTING

Earth, earth to jeezus to any captain!
We go down slowly and well served.
We serve others. Would fain know who
crap who crap who crap LISTEN TO ME.
STOP! Workers you smell. TV souls. Girls
you reflect joy but don’t know how to leave.
Will you not all greet me the king, the gallant counter.
The erroranians read ‘sounter’ and saunter around.
No one knows the hook for the fault in which everyone,
I mean every one of these pronouns could go home.
We try on ski suits, but the ski suits are backward.
Don’t believe all this, I am just a pair of
glasses stuck in the ground by one end.

SADLY PLANTING

Earth, earth to jeezus to any captain!
We go down slowly and well served.
We serve others. Would fain know who
crap who crap who crap LISTEN TO ME.
STOP! Workers you smell. TV souls. Girls
you reflect joy but don’t know how to leave.
Will you not all greet me the king, the gallant counter.
The erroranians read ‘sounter’ and saunter around.
No one knows the hook for the fault in which everyone,
I mean every one of these pronouns could go home.
We try on ski suits, but the ski suits are backward.
Don’t believe all this, I am just a pair of
glasses stuck in the ground by one end.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère