Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Lucebert

STATE OF AFFAIRS

in the big nest there is always violence
god who like good gold leafs
like a madman though his own book
and counts and counts the mutilated
the harvest is considered lost
all the peaches lie bruised in the parched grass
the apples rot under the most exquisite trees
and books have suffered irreparable water damage
even the smile lies bewildered and people
have disposed of the bacon of the neck
malevolence peeps through every chink and even
at the smallest graveside speeches are no longer made

the outstretched hand will first cheat and then threaten us
it is burning hands into which the eggs disappear
and even blue love lies stiff in the bluestone bed
oh all the efforts to postpone the great death as far as
the stars to petrify the last breath in a smile
in a wry smile above an empty stomach
full of snow full of bone meal and everywhere the fleeing
foot digs into the weak spots in the firm flesh

where can I find the suspicion of a real god
or even that of a demigod born
out of rubble and sulphur and superfluous seed
big tyrants have secured themselves in small rooms
mere hideouts with faded wallpaper and leaking pipes
telephones are available there are thousands of telephones
only connected to peculiar people on all the lines crackles
their wrangling they pull faces out of creaking cupboards
they can also cut faces from limbs
and every new face is connected to the uncontrolled tyrant
his room is filled with cursing and swearing
there is no end to the suffering
with every new face the cries of distress are multiplied
never is anything without violence and nowhere is it quiet

STAND VAN ZAKEN

STAND VAN ZAKEN

in het grote nest is er altijd wel geweld
god die als goed gold bladert
als een waanzinnige in zijn eigen boek
en telt en telt de verminkten
de oogst beschouwt men als verloren
alle perziken liggen gekwetst in het dorre gras
de appels rotten onder de meest uitgelezen bomen
en boeken hebben onherstelbare waterschade opgelopen
ook de glimlach ligt bestorven en men heeft
van de nek het spek afgelegd
kwaadwilligheid kijkt door alle kieren
en zelfs aan het kleinste graf wordt niet meer gesproken

de uitgestoken hand zal ons eerst bedriegen dan bedreigen
het zijn brandende handen waarin de eieren verdwijnen
en zelfs de blauwe liefde ligt verstijfd in het hardstenen bed
oh al de pogingen het grote sterven tot aan de sterren
uit te stellen de laatste adem in een glimlach te verstenen
in een wrange glimlach boven een lege maag
vol sneeuw vol beendermeel en overal de voortvluchtige
voet steekt in de zwakke plekken van het stevige vlees

waar vind ik de achterdocht van een echte god
of al was het maar die van een halfgod geboren
uit puin en zwavel en overbodig zaad
grote tirannen hebben zich geborgen in kleine kamers
optrekjes slechts met vaal behang en leidingen lek
wel telefoons beschikbaar er zijn wel duizend telefoons
alleen verbonden met zonderlingen op alle lijnen kraakt
hun gekrakeel zij trekken gezichten uit krakende kasten
ook kunnen zij gezichten snijden uit ledematen
en elk nieuw gezicht is met de tomeloze tiran verbonden
zijn kamer hangt vol getier en gevloek
er komt geen einde aan het leed
met elk nieuw gezicht vermenigvuldigen zich de noodkreten
nooit is iets zonder geweld en nergens is het stil
Close

STATE OF AFFAIRS

in the big nest there is always violence
god who like good gold leafs
like a madman though his own book
and counts and counts the mutilated
the harvest is considered lost
all the peaches lie bruised in the parched grass
the apples rot under the most exquisite trees
and books have suffered irreparable water damage
even the smile lies bewildered and people
have disposed of the bacon of the neck
malevolence peeps through every chink and even
at the smallest graveside speeches are no longer made

the outstretched hand will first cheat and then threaten us
it is burning hands into which the eggs disappear
and even blue love lies stiff in the bluestone bed
oh all the efforts to postpone the great death as far as
the stars to petrify the last breath in a smile
in a wry smile above an empty stomach
full of snow full of bone meal and everywhere the fleeing
foot digs into the weak spots in the firm flesh

where can I find the suspicion of a real god
or even that of a demigod born
out of rubble and sulphur and superfluous seed
big tyrants have secured themselves in small rooms
mere hideouts with faded wallpaper and leaking pipes
telephones are available there are thousands of telephones
only connected to peculiar people on all the lines crackles
their wrangling they pull faces out of creaking cupboards
they can also cut faces from limbs
and every new face is connected to the uncontrolled tyrant
his room is filled with cursing and swearing
there is no end to the suffering
with every new face the cries of distress are multiplied
never is anything without violence and nowhere is it quiet

STATE OF AFFAIRS

in the big nest there is always violence
god who like good gold leafs
like a madman though his own book
and counts and counts the mutilated
the harvest is considered lost
all the peaches lie bruised in the parched grass
the apples rot under the most exquisite trees
and books have suffered irreparable water damage
even the smile lies bewildered and people
have disposed of the bacon of the neck
malevolence peeps through every chink and even
at the smallest graveside speeches are no longer made

the outstretched hand will first cheat and then threaten us
it is burning hands into which the eggs disappear
and even blue love lies stiff in the bluestone bed
oh all the efforts to postpone the great death as far as
the stars to petrify the last breath in a smile
in a wry smile above an empty stomach
full of snow full of bone meal and everywhere the fleeing
foot digs into the weak spots in the firm flesh

where can I find the suspicion of a real god
or even that of a demigod born
out of rubble and sulphur and superfluous seed
big tyrants have secured themselves in small rooms
mere hideouts with faded wallpaper and leaking pipes
telephones are available there are thousands of telephones
only connected to peculiar people on all the lines crackles
their wrangling they pull faces out of creaking cupboards
they can also cut faces from limbs
and every new face is connected to the uncontrolled tyrant
his room is filled with cursing and swearing
there is no end to the suffering
with every new face the cries of distress are multiplied
never is anything without violence and nowhere is it quiet
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