Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Admiel Kosman

ODE TO THE AUTHORITIES IN CHARGE OF FANTASY


This is an ode to the fantasy authorities who have begun to cross-examine me personally in my dreams.
An ode to the fantasy authorities and tax collectors carrying candles and blazing fire in their hands.
An ode to the fantasy authorities and tax collectors, the entire crew that pulled me
naked out of bed, wrapped in a plaster cast,
and who are gently opening a zipper now.

They collect taxes. Fill large sacks with sand,
with court orders for demolition in their hands. Wage a private war against me during summer
vacation. Because your stolen fantasies were government property a long, long time ago,
and the newly appointed clerks are just this year’s emissaries.

But also emissaries of an ideal! Of a concept! Of logic, of thought – who delve deep –
emissaries of philosophy and devotion, 
of volunteerism and enlistment, emissaries of a great, pregnant nation!!

Oh, this is an ode to the dear authorities who have begun a series of arrests against me, 
who have begun to cross-examine me in my dreams. Oh, an ode to the fantasy 
authorities and the dozens of tax collectors with votive candles and blazing fire in their hands.  It is 
an inflamed ode, sung by me now with all my might, to the dear authorities of fantasy, 
the entire crew that pulled me out of bed naked, wrapped in a plaster cast.
Now they are gently opening a zipper.

They’ve issued a private demolition order against me in particular.
Taken all the necessary steps in reality,
that is to say, on the practical side of things. For this they charge,
these tax assessors, collectors and preachers, take
a piece of the pie. Here are forms, sheets of paper, confidential information 
about the authorized signer and his duly empowered attorney who signed the back of the deed in his own hand.
And the leader of the first invading force, one kick into the dream.   

Oh, this is an ode to the authorities, the police and the court. It is an ode about transgression,
investigation and an escaped prisoner. It is a tender ode, properly consecrated, according to the law,
an ode dedicated to the dear authorities of fantasy, who have begun to cross-examine me personally in my dreams.

This is an ode dedicated to my authorities and to dozens of tax collectors, to everyone who took part in the great
effort of the raid. That is, as aforementioned, to the dozens of tax collectors, who hold little bells in their hands
now, lighted candles and blazing fire. This is an ode about authorities, about trembling fantasy. It is an inflamed
ode, secreting slowly now, very sadly, at the amputation ceremony.

This is an ode about authorities and dozens of tax assessors, dozens, perhaps hundreds, in any case the entire crew,
the dedicated staff which gently pulled me out of bed. Now that I’m erect, naked, wrapped in a plaster cast, now they
are opening a zipper on the terrace in the public square.

We’ve let them know we’re on call for the deployed troops.
Secrets are parachuted down tonight toward my dream
like snowflakes. Upon a dry fantasy.

ODE AAN DE FANTASIEAUTORITEITEN


Ode aan de fantasieautoriteiten die mij in de dromen aan een privé-kruisverhoor onderwerpen.
Ode aan de fantasieautoriteiten en douanebeambten met kaarsen en vlammend vuur in de hand.
Ode aan de fantasieautoriteit en douanebeambten, het hele team dat mij
Naakt, in gips gehuld, uit bed trok.
Nu trekken ze de rits voorzichtig open.

Ze innen het quotum. Ze vullen de ene na de andere grote zak met zand en zwaaien
Al doende met een gerechtelijk sloopbevel. Ze voeren oorlog tegen mij persoonlijk in de grote
Vakantie. Uw gestolen fantasieën waren eeuw geleden tenslotte staatseigendom
Terwijl de nu benoemde ambtenaren slechts afgezanten zijn van de slaap.

Maar wel afgezanten van een ideaal! Van een idee! Doordenkende afgezanten van de logica,
Van het denken en het nadenken, afgezanten van de toewijding, van de toewijding en de
Belangeloosheid en de inzet, afgezanten van een groot land, een land in verwachting!!

O, ode aan de dierbare autoriteiten die mij aan een reeks aanhoudingen onderwerpen,
Die mij in de dromen aan interne kruisverhoren onderwerpen. O, ode aan de autoriteiten
Van de fantasie en aan de tientallen douanebeambten met hun bidkaarsen en vlammende vuur. Een vurige ode, door mij gezongen, nu, uit alle macht, voor de dierbare fantasieautoriteiten, voor
Het hele team, het hele team dat mij vandaag naakt, in gips gehuld, uit bed trok.
Nu trekken ze de rits uiterst voorzichtig open.

Er is al tegen mij persoonlijk een sloopbevel uitgevaardigd.
Alle handelingen die de werkelijkheid vereist, ofwel
De praktische kant. Daarop vorderen die ambtenaren
Belastingen en heffingen en ze lezen je de les. Het quotum
Moet geïnd. Alstublieft, formulieren, papieren en dossiers, geheime gegevens van
De vergunninghouder door zijn gevolmachtigde eigenhandig op de achterkant ondertekend.
En de voorhoede, die met een enkele schop de droom binnentrapt.

Het is een ode aan de autoriteiten, de politie, de rechtbank. Een ode die over misdrijven, verhoren en een gevluchte gevangene gaat. Een tedere ode, een keurig netjes opgedragen ode, een ode die is opgedragen aan de dierbare autoriteiten van de fantasie die mij in de dromen aan een intern kruisverhoor onderwerpen.

Het is een ode die opgedragen is aan mijn autoriteiten en aan de tientallen d ouanebeambten, aan eenieder die zich mede ingespannen heeft voor de inval, te weten de bovengenoemde tientallen douanebeambten, nu met kleine klokjes, brandende kaarsjes en vlammend vuur in de hand. Een ode die gaat over autoriteiten en spannende fantasie. Een enthousiaste ode, een ode die nu met groot verdriet druppel voor druppel leegbloedt bij het afsnijdingsritueel.

Het is een ode die gaat over autoriteiten en tientallen douanebeambten, tientallen, misschien wel honderden douanebeambten, hoe het ook zij, over alle teamleden, het hele toegewijde team dat mij voorzichtig uit bed trok. Nu ik opsta, naakt, in gips gehuld, trekken ze op het balkon aan het plein uiterst voorzichtig de rits open.

We hebben al een spoedbericht doen uitgaan over de ingezette troepen.
Geheime gegevens worden vannacht in mijn droom gedropt, als
Sneeuwvlokken op een droge fantasie.

Close

ODE TO THE AUTHORITIES IN CHARGE OF FANTASY


This is an ode to the fantasy authorities who have begun to cross-examine me personally in my dreams.
An ode to the fantasy authorities and tax collectors carrying candles and blazing fire in their hands.
An ode to the fantasy authorities and tax collectors, the entire crew that pulled me
naked out of bed, wrapped in a plaster cast,
and who are gently opening a zipper now.

They collect taxes. Fill large sacks with sand,
with court orders for demolition in their hands. Wage a private war against me during summer
vacation. Because your stolen fantasies were government property a long, long time ago,
and the newly appointed clerks are just this year’s emissaries.

But also emissaries of an ideal! Of a concept! Of logic, of thought – who delve deep –
emissaries of philosophy and devotion, 
of volunteerism and enlistment, emissaries of a great, pregnant nation!!

Oh, this is an ode to the dear authorities who have begun a series of arrests against me, 
who have begun to cross-examine me in my dreams. Oh, an ode to the fantasy 
authorities and the dozens of tax collectors with votive candles and blazing fire in their hands.  It is 
an inflamed ode, sung by me now with all my might, to the dear authorities of fantasy, 
the entire crew that pulled me out of bed naked, wrapped in a plaster cast.
Now they are gently opening a zipper.

They’ve issued a private demolition order against me in particular.
Taken all the necessary steps in reality,
that is to say, on the practical side of things. For this they charge,
these tax assessors, collectors and preachers, take
a piece of the pie. Here are forms, sheets of paper, confidential information 
about the authorized signer and his duly empowered attorney who signed the back of the deed in his own hand.
And the leader of the first invading force, one kick into the dream.   

Oh, this is an ode to the authorities, the police and the court. It is an ode about transgression,
investigation and an escaped prisoner. It is a tender ode, properly consecrated, according to the law,
an ode dedicated to the dear authorities of fantasy, who have begun to cross-examine me personally in my dreams.

This is an ode dedicated to my authorities and to dozens of tax collectors, to everyone who took part in the great
effort of the raid. That is, as aforementioned, to the dozens of tax collectors, who hold little bells in their hands
now, lighted candles and blazing fire. This is an ode about authorities, about trembling fantasy. It is an inflamed
ode, secreting slowly now, very sadly, at the amputation ceremony.

This is an ode about authorities and dozens of tax assessors, dozens, perhaps hundreds, in any case the entire crew,
the dedicated staff which gently pulled me out of bed. Now that I’m erect, naked, wrapped in a plaster cast, now they
are opening a zipper on the terrace in the public square.

We’ve let them know we’re on call for the deployed troops.
Secrets are parachuted down tonight toward my dream
like snowflakes. Upon a dry fantasy.

ODE TO THE AUTHORITIES IN CHARGE OF FANTASY


This is an ode to the fantasy authorities who have begun to cross-examine me personally in my dreams.
An ode to the fantasy authorities and tax collectors carrying candles and blazing fire in their hands.
An ode to the fantasy authorities and tax collectors, the entire crew that pulled me
naked out of bed, wrapped in a plaster cast,
and who are gently opening a zipper now.

They collect taxes. Fill large sacks with sand,
with court orders for demolition in their hands. Wage a private war against me during summer
vacation. Because your stolen fantasies were government property a long, long time ago,
and the newly appointed clerks are just this year’s emissaries.

But also emissaries of an ideal! Of a concept! Of logic, of thought – who delve deep –
emissaries of philosophy and devotion, 
of volunteerism and enlistment, emissaries of a great, pregnant nation!!

Oh, this is an ode to the dear authorities who have begun a series of arrests against me, 
who have begun to cross-examine me in my dreams. Oh, an ode to the fantasy 
authorities and the dozens of tax collectors with votive candles and blazing fire in their hands.  It is 
an inflamed ode, sung by me now with all my might, to the dear authorities of fantasy, 
the entire crew that pulled me out of bed naked, wrapped in a plaster cast.
Now they are gently opening a zipper.

They’ve issued a private demolition order against me in particular.
Taken all the necessary steps in reality,
that is to say, on the practical side of things. For this they charge,
these tax assessors, collectors and preachers, take
a piece of the pie. Here are forms, sheets of paper, confidential information 
about the authorized signer and his duly empowered attorney who signed the back of the deed in his own hand.
And the leader of the first invading force, one kick into the dream.   

Oh, this is an ode to the authorities, the police and the court. It is an ode about transgression,
investigation and an escaped prisoner. It is a tender ode, properly consecrated, according to the law,
an ode dedicated to the dear authorities of fantasy, who have begun to cross-examine me personally in my dreams.

This is an ode dedicated to my authorities and to dozens of tax collectors, to everyone who took part in the great
effort of the raid. That is, as aforementioned, to the dozens of tax collectors, who hold little bells in their hands
now, lighted candles and blazing fire. This is an ode about authorities, about trembling fantasy. It is an inflamed
ode, secreting slowly now, very sadly, at the amputation ceremony.

This is an ode about authorities and dozens of tax assessors, dozens, perhaps hundreds, in any case the entire crew,
the dedicated staff which gently pulled me out of bed. Now that I’m erect, naked, wrapped in a plaster cast, now they
are opening a zipper on the terrace in the public square.

We’ve let them know we’re on call for the deployed troops.
Secrets are parachuted down tonight toward my dream
like snowflakes. Upon a dry fantasy.
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