Poem
John Leefmans
’F NEED BE
’f need be I’ll steal fire from the heavensmidriff from my mother
to build crumbling words with them
or a kravana trap for the bird
language which admits defeat
forgotten jaw (in a child’s sweaty hand)
but I just fear the possible magic
of priests full of power
that would overwhelm me in that case
sonst war ich doch zahnarzt geworden
to pull teeth from people’s gums
and to banish falsity in dentures and bites
haughtily from their mouths.
but in the lead chamber it’s sure to be acid again
and in the hollanders the production is stepped up
for moloch and monopsonist, although
I only want to make a blue word
or write a white one on white, although
it may come out as prussian red
a trumpet blows the name of (perhaps)
grudge-bearer or guncotton or wham
although it should be love
or if need be what passes for love.
there can be no question now
of taking the next hour in hand
like a taunted caiman
he cries incomes and tears
for curtailed powers:
abc and iqr pacts.
who wants to be the detonator or the cap?
who will the trembling meddling fulminate
his remaining remnant
call it dignity call it navel
call it salt biscuit, so there, sal
call it sley (sabachthani!)
call it parsleysal or
caustic nitrous acid…
who will dissolve the navel problem
in this red-smoking nitrous acid?
a child can wash this pig
and learns how from its, how many?
say eight times eighty-eight
fathers
and one, little, hair, which under the cap
of correctness and knowledge of
(his remnant is misused guano manure
drenched and melted) frizzed and kinked
thinned and offended,
makes us all into hares;
hare, hop for your master!
for the artzybashev crackers
are already cracking our grottoes and valleys
demolishing and burning up the venereal mountains
waiting for the martian spring offensive
knowing that pluto will triumph in the end
over uranos and urania, urether and catheter and cathedra
will dance on the belly and head of gaia, yes
we must have a liebig condenser ready, an
extremely liebig condenser bready (readier than bread).
with children’s drawings
I’ve decorated my daily grave
but if need be I’ll jump to the ceiling
(if the need is great enough)
to sing the dog in the moon
into his grave
orpheus at heaven’s gate
’SNOODS
’SNOODS
’snoods zal ik vuur uit de hemelrif uit mijn moeder stelen
om er brokkelwoorden van te bouwen
of een val kravana voor de vogel
taal die zich gewonnen geeft
vergeten kaak (in een bezwete kinderhand)
maar ’t is dat ik de mooglijke magie
van priesters vol vermogen vrees
die mij in dat geval zou overvallen
sonst war ich doch zahnartzt geworden
om tanden uit de bekken te breken
en valsheid in gebitten en beten
hooghartig uit de mond te wijzen.
maar in de lodenkamer zal het wel weer zuur zijn
en in de hollanders wordt de productie opgevoerd
voor moloch en monopsonist, en dat terwijl
ik alleen maar een blauw woord wil maken
of schrijven een wit op wit, en dat terwijl
het misschien valt als pruisisch rood
een trompet blaast de naam van (misschien)
wrokkebrok of schietkatoen of jetje
terwijl het liefde moest zijn
of ’snoods wat er voor door gaat.
sprake kan er daar nu niet van zijn
het volgend uur in handen nemen
als een getergde kaaiman
inkomens schreit hij en tranen
om afgekorte machten:
abc en iqr-pacten.
wie wil de initiaal zijn of het hoedje?
wie zal het lillebedillerig kwik
zijn hem resterend restje
noem het waardigheid noem het naveltje
noem het zoutje ziezo sal
noem het selie (sabhakthanih!)
noem het peterseliepetersal of
brandend salpeterzuur,
wie lost het navelprobleempje op
in dit roodrokendsalpeterzuur?
een kind kan dit varken wassen
en leert het van zijn, hoeveel?
schrijf acht maal achtentachtig
vaders
en één, klein, haartje, dat onder de hoed
van het gelijk en weten van
(zijn restje is misbruikt guanodrek
gedrenkt en gesmolten) gekroesd gekinkt
gekrent gekrenkt,
maakt ons allen tot het haasje;
haasje, wip voor het baasje!
want de artzybashevse krakers
kraken ons reeds de grotten en dalen
slopen en verstoken de venerische bergen
wachten op het martiaans lente-offensief
weten dat pluto in ’t eind zal zegevieren
over oeranos en urania, urether en katheter en katheder
zal dansen op buik en hoofd van gaia, ja
wij hebben een liebigse koeler nodig, een
uiterst liebigse koeler brodig (nodiger dan brood).
met kindertekeningen
heb ik mijn daaglijks graf omhangen
maar ’snoods wil ik tot ’t plafond wel springen
(als de nood komt aan de man)
om de hond uit de maan
in zijn graf te zingen
orfeus aan de hemelpoort
Poems
Poems of John Leefmans
Close
’F NEED BE
’f need be I’ll steal fire from the heavensmidriff from my mother
to build crumbling words with them
or a kravana trap for the bird
language which admits defeat
forgotten jaw (in a child’s sweaty hand)
but I just fear the possible magic
of priests full of power
that would overwhelm me in that case
sonst war ich doch zahnarzt geworden
to pull teeth from people’s gums
and to banish falsity in dentures and bites
haughtily from their mouths.
but in the lead chamber it’s sure to be acid again
and in the hollanders the production is stepped up
for moloch and monopsonist, although
I only want to make a blue word
or write a white one on white, although
it may come out as prussian red
a trumpet blows the name of (perhaps)
grudge-bearer or guncotton or wham
although it should be love
or if need be what passes for love.
there can be no question now
of taking the next hour in hand
like a taunted caiman
he cries incomes and tears
for curtailed powers:
abc and iqr pacts.
who wants to be the detonator or the cap?
who will the trembling meddling fulminate
his remaining remnant
call it dignity call it navel
call it salt biscuit, so there, sal
call it sley (sabachthani!)
call it parsleysal or
caustic nitrous acid…
who will dissolve the navel problem
in this red-smoking nitrous acid?
a child can wash this pig
and learns how from its, how many?
say eight times eighty-eight
fathers
and one, little, hair, which under the cap
of correctness and knowledge of
(his remnant is misused guano manure
drenched and melted) frizzed and kinked
thinned and offended,
makes us all into hares;
hare, hop for your master!
for the artzybashev crackers
are already cracking our grottoes and valleys
demolishing and burning up the venereal mountains
waiting for the martian spring offensive
knowing that pluto will triumph in the end
over uranos and urania, urether and catheter and cathedra
will dance on the belly and head of gaia, yes
we must have a liebig condenser ready, an
extremely liebig condenser bready (readier than bread).
with children’s drawings
I’ve decorated my daily grave
but if need be I’ll jump to the ceiling
(if the need is great enough)
to sing the dog in the moon
into his grave
orpheus at heaven’s gate
’F NEED BE
’f need be I’ll steal fire from the heavensmidriff from my mother
to build crumbling words with them
or a kravana trap for the bird
language which admits defeat
forgotten jaw (in a child’s sweaty hand)
but I just fear the possible magic
of priests full of power
that would overwhelm me in that case
sonst war ich doch zahnarzt geworden
to pull teeth from people’s gums
and to banish falsity in dentures and bites
haughtily from their mouths.
but in the lead chamber it’s sure to be acid again
and in the hollanders the production is stepped up
for moloch and monopsonist, although
I only want to make a blue word
or write a white one on white, although
it may come out as prussian red
a trumpet blows the name of (perhaps)
grudge-bearer or guncotton or wham
although it should be love
or if need be what passes for love.
there can be no question now
of taking the next hour in hand
like a taunted caiman
he cries incomes and tears
for curtailed powers:
abc and iqr pacts.
who wants to be the detonator or the cap?
who will the trembling meddling fulminate
his remaining remnant
call it dignity call it navel
call it salt biscuit, so there, sal
call it sley (sabachthani!)
call it parsleysal or
caustic nitrous acid…
who will dissolve the navel problem
in this red-smoking nitrous acid?
a child can wash this pig
and learns how from its, how many?
say eight times eighty-eight
fathers
and one, little, hair, which under the cap
of correctness and knowledge of
(his remnant is misused guano manure
drenched and melted) frizzed and kinked
thinned and offended,
makes us all into hares;
hare, hop for your master!
for the artzybashev crackers
are already cracking our grottoes and valleys
demolishing and burning up the venereal mountains
waiting for the martian spring offensive
knowing that pluto will triumph in the end
over uranos and urania, urether and catheter and cathedra
will dance on the belly and head of gaia, yes
we must have a liebig condenser ready, an
extremely liebig condenser bready (readier than bread).
with children’s drawings
I’ve decorated my daily grave
but if need be I’ll jump to the ceiling
(if the need is great enough)
to sing the dog in the moon
into his grave
orpheus at heaven’s gate
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