Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Lucebert

SCHOOL OF POETRY

I am no sweet rhymer
I am the swift swindler
of love, the hate beneath it heed
and there above a cackling deed.

the lyrical is the mother of the political,
I am none other than the riot reporter
and my mysticism is the putrefied fodder
of deceit used by virtue to purge it all.

I proclaim that the velvet poets
are dying timidly and humanistically.
from now on the hot iron throat
of moved henchmen will open musically.

yet I, who in these sheaves abide
like a rat in a trap, yearn for the cesspool
of revolution and cry: rhyme-rats, deride,
deride still this far too pure poetry school.

SCHOOL DER POËZIE

SCHOOL DER POËZIE

ik ben geen lieflijke dichter
ik ben de schielijke oplichter
der liefde, zie onder haar de haat
en daarop een kaaklende daad.

lyriek is de moeder der politiek,
ik ben niets dan omroeper van oproer
en mijn mystiek is het bedorven voer
van leugen waarmee de deugd zich uitziekt.

ik bericht, dat de dichters van fluweel
schuw en humanisties dood gaan.
voortaan zal de hete ijzeren keel
der ontroerde beulen muzikaal opengaan.

nog ik, die in deze bundel woon
als een rat in de val, snak naar het riool
van revolutie en roep: rijmratten, hoon,
hoon nog deze veel te schone poëzieschool.
Close

SCHOOL OF POETRY

I am no sweet rhymer
I am the swift swindler
of love, the hate beneath it heed
and there above a cackling deed.

the lyrical is the mother of the political,
I am none other than the riot reporter
and my mysticism is the putrefied fodder
of deceit used by virtue to purge it all.

I proclaim that the velvet poets
are dying timidly and humanistically.
from now on the hot iron throat
of moved henchmen will open musically.

yet I, who in these sheaves abide
like a rat in a trap, yearn for the cesspool
of revolution and cry: rhyme-rats, deride,
deride still this far too pure poetry school.

SCHOOL OF POETRY

I am no sweet rhymer
I am the swift swindler
of love, the hate beneath it heed
and there above a cackling deed.

the lyrical is the mother of the political,
I am none other than the riot reporter
and my mysticism is the putrefied fodder
of deceit used by virtue to purge it all.

I proclaim that the velvet poets
are dying timidly and humanistically.
from now on the hot iron throat
of moved henchmen will open musically.

yet I, who in these sheaves abide
like a rat in a trap, yearn for the cesspool
of revolution and cry: rhyme-rats, deride,
deride still this far too pure poetry school.
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
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère