Poem
John Leefmans
PRINCE CALF
We were princes, ‑ Rev. said –because we were by heaven elected.
Stealthily I looked about in class
to see who else had been selected,
and found his assertion rather crass.
Myself I did however think a prince:
When she saw me, the Princess regally waved
again and again when from church I passed by,
and granted me Her Most Royal smile.
‘I have been chosen’ I thought with half
a mind, although her mother once named me ‘Calf’.
My mother thought the little swain
who daily would, even through rain
before daybreak go to church, a little saint.
She did not know, that shivering, I
would only receive dew and blessings
on the way home, causing the sun
to rise and me to be anointed; ‑
and crowned, anointed and consecrated I
would stride on cumulus clouds beneath the sky
in an odour of Limacol and sanctity.
When I had already drowned,
She moved elsewhere, and deposed,
I reverted to the rabble of cronies.
I now hardly ever went out and only
to church if compelled, with pain.
My father said: ‘He smells himself.’
But none saw that the prince dethroned,
a crippled calf for life, would painfully
hop between one thought only.
PRINS KALF
PRINS KALF
Wij waren prinsjes, – zei ‘pastoor’, –omdat wij door de hemel waren uitverkoren.
Steels keek ik rond in de klas
naar wie er verder verkoren was,
en vond zijn stelling nogal sterk.
Wel geloofde ik, dat ik een prinsje was:
de Prinses wuifde koninklijk als Zij mij zag,
telkens als ik kwam van de kerk,
en schonk mij Haar Royaalste Lach.
Ik ben uitverkoren, dacht ik half, –
al doopte haar moeder mij eens ‘’t Kalf’.
Mijn moeder zag in het zoontje
dat dagelijks, vóór dag en dauw, ook bij regen,
ter kerke ging, ’n heilig boontje.
Ze wist niet dat ik rillend, dauw en zegen
eerst op de weg terug ontving,
waardoor de zon opging,
waardoor ik werd gezalfd; –
en bekroond en gezalfd en gewijd,
schreed op cumulus-wolken onder de zon
in een geur van Limacol en heiligheid.
Toen ik al was verdronken,
verhuisde Zij, en vervallen van de troon
viel ik terug in het plebs van kornuiten.
Met moeite ging ik nu nog uit en
alleen als ’t moest naar de kerk, met pijn.
Mijn vader zei: ‘Hij ruikt z’n stinke.’
Maar niemand zag dat de onttroonde prins, –
zijn leven lang het manke kalf, – pijn-
lijk op één gedachte enkel voort zou hinken.
Poems
Poems of John Leefmans
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PRINCE CALF
We were princes, ‑ Rev. said –because we were by heaven elected.
Stealthily I looked about in class
to see who else had been selected,
and found his assertion rather crass.
Myself I did however think a prince:
When she saw me, the Princess regally waved
again and again when from church I passed by,
and granted me Her Most Royal smile.
‘I have been chosen’ I thought with half
a mind, although her mother once named me ‘Calf’.
My mother thought the little swain
who daily would, even through rain
before daybreak go to church, a little saint.
She did not know, that shivering, I
would only receive dew and blessings
on the way home, causing the sun
to rise and me to be anointed; ‑
and crowned, anointed and consecrated I
would stride on cumulus clouds beneath the sky
in an odour of Limacol and sanctity.
When I had already drowned,
She moved elsewhere, and deposed,
I reverted to the rabble of cronies.
I now hardly ever went out and only
to church if compelled, with pain.
My father said: ‘He smells himself.’
But none saw that the prince dethroned,
a crippled calf for life, would painfully
hop between one thought only.
PRINCE CALF
We were princes, ‑ Rev. said –because we were by heaven elected.
Stealthily I looked about in class
to see who else had been selected,
and found his assertion rather crass.
Myself I did however think a prince:
When she saw me, the Princess regally waved
again and again when from church I passed by,
and granted me Her Most Royal smile.
‘I have been chosen’ I thought with half
a mind, although her mother once named me ‘Calf’.
My mother thought the little swain
who daily would, even through rain
before daybreak go to church, a little saint.
She did not know, that shivering, I
would only receive dew and blessings
on the way home, causing the sun
to rise and me to be anointed; ‑
and crowned, anointed and consecrated I
would stride on cumulus clouds beneath the sky
in an odour of Limacol and sanctity.
When I had already drowned,
She moved elsewhere, and deposed,
I reverted to the rabble of cronies.
I now hardly ever went out and only
to church if compelled, with pain.
My father said: ‘He smells himself.’
But none saw that the prince dethroned,
a crippled calf for life, would painfully
hop between one thought only.
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