Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Maarten Inghels

Vigilant

The poet should be ever
vigilant, be above all tender.
Be willing to always fall from the sky for her,
take care the jazz loosens up his muscles. 

He should be ever
vigilant that there’s entertainment to our
heart’s content, that we might mumble
the poet’s verses into a woman’s ear. 

He should be ever
vigilant to be weak sometimes.
So that the wind will win against his hearing, whisper
lines to him with which he’ll build a body 

around his finger.
For then the poet can say: o, embrace me,
time has yet to pass me by.

Waakzaam

Waakzaam

De dichter moet immer waakzaam
blijven, vooral teder te zijn.
Elke dag voor haar uit de hemel willen vallen,
zorgen dat de jazz zijn spieren minder stram maakt.

Hij moet immer waakzaam
blijven, dat er genoeg verstrooiing
is voor ons hart, wil de dichter zijn verzen
nog kunnen prevelen in het oor van een vrouw.

Hij moet immer waakzaam
blijven, soms zwak te zijn.
Opdat de wind zal winnen van zijn gehoor, hem
zinnen influistert waarmee hij een lichaam

rond zijn vinger bouwt.
Waarna de dichter kan zeggen: o, omarm mij,
ik ben nog niet gauw voorbij.
Close

Vigilant

The poet should be ever
vigilant, be above all tender.
Be willing to always fall from the sky for her,
take care the jazz loosens up his muscles. 

He should be ever
vigilant that there’s entertainment to our
heart’s content, that we might mumble
the poet’s verses into a woman’s ear. 

He should be ever
vigilant to be weak sometimes.
So that the wind will win against his hearing, whisper
lines to him with which he’ll build a body 

around his finger.
For then the poet can say: o, embrace me,
time has yet to pass me by.

Vigilant

The poet should be ever
vigilant, be above all tender.
Be willing to always fall from the sky for her,
take care the jazz loosens up his muscles. 

He should be ever
vigilant that there’s entertainment to our
heart’s content, that we might mumble
the poet’s verses into a woman’s ear. 

He should be ever
vigilant to be weak sometimes.
So that the wind will win against his hearing, whisper
lines to him with which he’ll build a body 

around his finger.
For then the poet can say: o, embrace me,
time has yet to pass me by.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère