Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Jacob Groot

JEWELLERY DOESN’T STEAL

Because if I went west of where I don’t live
but reside to the seaside of the city
that I neither scorn nor cherish,
if I marched on through the shame
along the harbour’s gullet, the pied
piper, the final foliage looking fine
in death throes on the blank platter
that the jumbos

rob along the plumes of the forge, and if I came
closer, shoved myself
onto, dare I say it, a snake
through the dzjungle, to the game park
for the scrap that fostered hope
even though I spat my poison quickly
into the yards of sick rich folk, after which
I approached the target

in sight, call it the dunes, claptrap, baptize
it as the dried-out gardens of the rotten
sea, then I felt the love
stun them to save me
from their demise by helping them to treat
me thoroughly with lye, and I want both the metals
from the throat and the okays from the tales

of intrigue to be extracted,
till I no longer smelled the armpits
of the coyotes behind me conspire,
but shone with the blue that wished to suckle me
when I finally popped up from the syrup:
I don’t want to hang about where you

dry out, I sang, that is the only thing
I am still going for, in my hymn
through the halls of mothers’ arms
around the mud, the pilot boat’s whistle
by the pier, the death throe robot, sabre dream, apart
from the bulb in bloom, the rocking of the socket
for the grazes of the glitter

Had I actually wanted the light I would have
grabbed it, shot my blood
with it, and would have kept
it coming, at the to-ing and fro-ing
of the boats full of
the stuff, but now I lay
in the bijouterie of the spray
del sol and in for a dope of a time

Son of the summer, under the skirts
around the riddle of the sun I pulled
towards me, the buttocks taken
into my mouth to gobble them up
by taking from the pearl
the creams. For, if I were to look back now
along the coast, I would find the spew
in which I saw them suffocate

JUWELEN STELEN NIET

JUWELEN STELEN NIET

Want ging ik ten westen van waar ik niet woon
maar verblijf naar de zeezij van de stad
die ik hoon noch liefheb,
rukte ik op door de schande
langs de slokdarm van de haven, de vanger
der ratten, het laatste lover mooi
in doodsnood op de blanco schotel
die de jumbo’s

roven langs de pluim van de oven, en kwam ik
dichterbij, schoof me
op, mag ik het zeggen, een slang
door de dzjungel, naar de warande
om het schroot dat voedde de hoop
al spoot ik m’n gif nog wel
effe snel in de kranke rijkeluisranken, waarop
ik naderde het doel

voor ogen, noem het de duinen, kul, doop
het de uitgedroogde tuinen der verrotte
zee, dan voelde ik de liefde
ze bedwelmen me te redden
van hun ondergang door ze me grondig
te helpen logen, en dan bedoel ik de metalen
uit de strot en uit de tale

der complotten de okays
te halen, tot ik van de coyotes
achter me de zweren samen in hun oksels
niet meer rook, maar blonk
van het blauw dat me wou zogen
toen ik tenslotte opdook uit de stroop:
ik wil niet uithangen waar jullie

verdrogen, zong ik, dat is het enige
waar ik nog voor ga, in mijn hymne
door de gangen der moederarmen
om de modder, fluit van de loodsboot
bij de pier, de doodsnood robot, sabeldroom, los
van de bol in bloei, een trilling van de fitting
om de schaafwond van de schitter

Had ik namelijk het licht gewild had ik het
gepakt, had ik m’n bloed
ermee beschoten, en was ik blijven
komen, bij het heen en weer
gaan van de boten vol
van het spul, maar nu lag ik
in de bijouterie van de spray
del sol en kon m’n dope niet op

Zoon van de zomer, onder de rokken
rond het raadsel van de zon naar me
toegetrokken, de billen in m’n mond
genomen om ze op te slikken
door uit de parel te nemen
de romen. Want keek ik nu nog
terug, naar de kust, vond ik de spog
waarin ik ze zag stikken
Close

JEWELLERY DOESN’T STEAL

Because if I went west of where I don’t live
but reside to the seaside of the city
that I neither scorn nor cherish,
if I marched on through the shame
along the harbour’s gullet, the pied
piper, the final foliage looking fine
in death throes on the blank platter
that the jumbos

rob along the plumes of the forge, and if I came
closer, shoved myself
onto, dare I say it, a snake
through the dzjungle, to the game park
for the scrap that fostered hope
even though I spat my poison quickly
into the yards of sick rich folk, after which
I approached the target

in sight, call it the dunes, claptrap, baptize
it as the dried-out gardens of the rotten
sea, then I felt the love
stun them to save me
from their demise by helping them to treat
me thoroughly with lye, and I want both the metals
from the throat and the okays from the tales

of intrigue to be extracted,
till I no longer smelled the armpits
of the coyotes behind me conspire,
but shone with the blue that wished to suckle me
when I finally popped up from the syrup:
I don’t want to hang about where you

dry out, I sang, that is the only thing
I am still going for, in my hymn
through the halls of mothers’ arms
around the mud, the pilot boat’s whistle
by the pier, the death throe robot, sabre dream, apart
from the bulb in bloom, the rocking of the socket
for the grazes of the glitter

Had I actually wanted the light I would have
grabbed it, shot my blood
with it, and would have kept
it coming, at the to-ing and fro-ing
of the boats full of
the stuff, but now I lay
in the bijouterie of the spray
del sol and in for a dope of a time

Son of the summer, under the skirts
around the riddle of the sun I pulled
towards me, the buttocks taken
into my mouth to gobble them up
by taking from the pearl
the creams. For, if I were to look back now
along the coast, I would find the spew
in which I saw them suffocate

JEWELLERY DOESN’T STEAL

Because if I went west of where I don’t live
but reside to the seaside of the city
that I neither scorn nor cherish,
if I marched on through the shame
along the harbour’s gullet, the pied
piper, the final foliage looking fine
in death throes on the blank platter
that the jumbos

rob along the plumes of the forge, and if I came
closer, shoved myself
onto, dare I say it, a snake
through the dzjungle, to the game park
for the scrap that fostered hope
even though I spat my poison quickly
into the yards of sick rich folk, after which
I approached the target

in sight, call it the dunes, claptrap, baptize
it as the dried-out gardens of the rotten
sea, then I felt the love
stun them to save me
from their demise by helping them to treat
me thoroughly with lye, and I want both the metals
from the throat and the okays from the tales

of intrigue to be extracted,
till I no longer smelled the armpits
of the coyotes behind me conspire,
but shone with the blue that wished to suckle me
when I finally popped up from the syrup:
I don’t want to hang about where you

dry out, I sang, that is the only thing
I am still going for, in my hymn
through the halls of mothers’ arms
around the mud, the pilot boat’s whistle
by the pier, the death throe robot, sabre dream, apart
from the bulb in bloom, the rocking of the socket
for the grazes of the glitter

Had I actually wanted the light I would have
grabbed it, shot my blood
with it, and would have kept
it coming, at the to-ing and fro-ing
of the boats full of
the stuff, but now I lay
in the bijouterie of the spray
del sol and in for a dope of a time

Son of the summer, under the skirts
around the riddle of the sun I pulled
towards me, the buttocks taken
into my mouth to gobble them up
by taking from the pearl
the creams. For, if I were to look back now
along the coast, I would find the spew
in which I saw them suffocate
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
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