Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Pieter Boskma

Lightning Visit

I landed on a lily and entered the calyx
down a spiral staircase of slender smells.
Highlight of honey flowing discreetly.
And the wind that whistled between the points
that birds marked with their tenuous song
that gleams like pearls in an early Rembrandt,
if sounds could gleam, and they did,
here they did! So in a tree there hung a whisper
of wavy gold brocade, and in the grass there trembled
the lament of a stray steppe wolf.
So here what sounded showed itself, here it did!
I sat in a calyx and buzzed
with attention to what was unfolding
under my hands: a languid silhouette
of a girl of course who was laughing
like water in summer past rocky
banks clad with exotic herbs,
and a cloud rose like a swarm
of bees escaping the hive for the
first time, and I too was a part
of wings in the spring, climbed beyond
the possibility of being happy and saw
a fountain that rose guffawing
on a dune that just now was gloomily
drying, and saw how the lily took off its
masks and the wrinkled mug of what was
and is and shall revealed itself.

Bliksemtocht

Bliksemtocht

Ik landde op een lelie en ging de bloemkelk binnen
langs een wenteltrap van ranke geuren.
Hooglicht van honing vloeide beschroomd.
En de wind die suizelde tussen de punten
die vogels markeerden met hun ijl gezang
dat blonk als parels op een vroege Rembrandt,
als geluiden konden blinken, en dat deden ze,
hier wel! Zo hing in een boom een fluister van
golvend goudbrokaat, en in het gras trilde
de klacht van een verdwaalde steppewolf.
Zo toonde wat klonk zich, hier wel!
Ik zat in de bloemkelk en gonsde
van aandacht voor wat zich ontvouwde
onder mijn handen: een loom silhouet
van een meisje natuurlijk dat lachte
als water des zomers langs rotsige
oevers begroeid met exotische kruiden,
en het wolkte omhoog als een zwerm
voor het eerst aan de korf ontkomen
bijen, en ook ik maakte deel uit
van vleugels in voorjaar, klom boven
de mogelijkheid van geluk uit en zag
een fontein die zich proestend verhief
op een duin dat zo even nog somber
verdroogde, en zag hoe de lelie haar
maskers afzette en de gerimpelde tronie
zich toonde van wat was en is en zal.
Close

Lightning Visit

I landed on a lily and entered the calyx
down a spiral staircase of slender smells.
Highlight of honey flowing discreetly.
And the wind that whistled between the points
that birds marked with their tenuous song
that gleams like pearls in an early Rembrandt,
if sounds could gleam, and they did,
here they did! So in a tree there hung a whisper
of wavy gold brocade, and in the grass there trembled
the lament of a stray steppe wolf.
So here what sounded showed itself, here it did!
I sat in a calyx and buzzed
with attention to what was unfolding
under my hands: a languid silhouette
of a girl of course who was laughing
like water in summer past rocky
banks clad with exotic herbs,
and a cloud rose like a swarm
of bees escaping the hive for the
first time, and I too was a part
of wings in the spring, climbed beyond
the possibility of being happy and saw
a fountain that rose guffawing
on a dune that just now was gloomily
drying, and saw how the lily took off its
masks and the wrinkled mug of what was
and is and shall revealed itself.

Lightning Visit

I landed on a lily and entered the calyx
down a spiral staircase of slender smells.
Highlight of honey flowing discreetly.
And the wind that whistled between the points
that birds marked with their tenuous song
that gleams like pearls in an early Rembrandt,
if sounds could gleam, and they did,
here they did! So in a tree there hung a whisper
of wavy gold brocade, and in the grass there trembled
the lament of a stray steppe wolf.
So here what sounded showed itself, here it did!
I sat in a calyx and buzzed
with attention to what was unfolding
under my hands: a languid silhouette
of a girl of course who was laughing
like water in summer past rocky
banks clad with exotic herbs,
and a cloud rose like a swarm
of bees escaping the hive for the
first time, and I too was a part
of wings in the spring, climbed beyond
the possibility of being happy and saw
a fountain that rose guffawing
on a dune that just now was gloomily
drying, and saw how the lily took off its
masks and the wrinkled mug of what was
and is and shall revealed itself.
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