Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Olli Heikkonen

The crowned head looks at the world

The crowned head looks at the world. This forest,
behind the meadow, it’s mine, he might say, snorting,
as the smoke rises and the horizon grows pale.
The crowned head hears the machine’s thunder,
hears how steel bends across rivers and columns pass
one after another. Nothing can hold them back:
Ob, Lena, Yenisei. The ice breaks
like an eggshell. The frozen ground
splits open, becomes a highway. The crowned head
looks at the world, shrugs pitch off his flanks.
And under His Majesty’s eyelids
the columns keep on coming.

De gekroonde aanschouwt de wereld

 De gekroonde aanschouwt de wereld. Dit eigen
bos achter de weide, hij zou kunnen briesen,
als de rook opstijgt en de horizon verbleekt.
De gekroonde hoort hoe de machine dreunt,
het ijzer over de rivieren buigt en de colonnes
elkaar volgen. Niets weerhoudt ze:
Ob, Lena, Jenisei. Het ijs breekt
als een eierschaal. De rijksweg splijt de bevroren grond.
De gekroonde aanschouwt de wereld, schudt
de pek van zijn flanken. En onder de ogen van Zijne Majesteit
trekken de colonnes verder.

Kruunupää katselee maailmaa. Tämä oma
niityn takainen metsä, se voisi puuskahtaa,
kun savu nousee ja horisontti kalpenee.
Kruunupää kuulee kuinka kone jylisee,
rauta taipuu virtojen yli ja kolonnat
seuraavat toisiaan. Ei mikään pidättele:
Ob, Lena, Jenisei. Jää murtuu
kuin munan kuori. Routaan repeää valtatie.
Kruunupää katselee maailmaa, ravistaa
pikeä kyljistään. Ja Majesteetin luomien alla
kolonnat jatkavat kulkuaan. 
Close

The crowned head looks at the world

The crowned head looks at the world. This forest,
behind the meadow, it’s mine, he might say, snorting,
as the smoke rises and the horizon grows pale.
The crowned head hears the machine’s thunder,
hears how steel bends across rivers and columns pass
one after another. Nothing can hold them back:
Ob, Lena, Yenisei. The ice breaks
like an eggshell. The frozen ground
splits open, becomes a highway. The crowned head
looks at the world, shrugs pitch off his flanks.
And under His Majesty’s eyelids
the columns keep on coming.

The crowned head looks at the world

The crowned head looks at the world. This forest,
behind the meadow, it’s mine, he might say, snorting,
as the smoke rises and the horizon grows pale.
The crowned head hears the machine’s thunder,
hears how steel bends across rivers and columns pass
one after another. Nothing can hold them back:
Ob, Lena, Yenisei. The ice breaks
like an eggshell. The frozen ground
splits open, becomes a highway. The crowned head
looks at the world, shrugs pitch off his flanks.
And under His Majesty’s eyelids
the columns keep on coming.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère