Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Mustafa Stitou

SUMMUM BONUM

At night, in a remote corner of the universe,
drunk adolescents reduce a reconstruction
of a prehistoric village to ash.
 
Soaring temperatures. The furniture emporiums,
deserted. Those who have not fled, neither
to the coast nor a theme park, lay aside
 
their weapons of a day in their back yards
and lie down, prone yet fearless. The cold
domestic tyrant thaws in his swimming trunks,
 
observes the twins – no longer annoyed,
astonished by their similarity, sighing, letting
his dream muscle relax, absent-mindedly
 
closing his eyes. The left twin, the right twin,
hunting insects naked in the shrubs, suppressed
cries of astonishment, all concentration.
 
Other gardens bring royal roars of laughter,
preschool pop, dogs barking, a radio voice that says
‘the suspect has admitted
 
shooting a ballpoint pen into his father’s eye
with a crossbow’. With a smile at the ready,
Mum emerges in a bikini, her nerves under control
 
today unaided, a motionless tray with two glasses of iced tea
and two of green cordial on one flat hand. Already looking
forward to the memories, she startles her hubby  
 
awake with the lightest kiss on his lips – and this time
Dad doesn’t swear but rises beaming from his deck chair,
whispers “you’ve got to hear this” in Mum’s ear,  
 
disappears into the wide-open fortress.
 
Let fate yo-yo, adversities come and go,
today they’re not afraid of anything, the stay-at-homes,
the peacemakers, the cheerful caricatures – listen,
 
from the domestic tyrant’s hobby room comes
the sound of a babbling brook.   

SUMMUM BONUM

SUMMUM BONUM

Dronken pubers leggen ’s nachts
in een uithoek van het universum
een nagebootst prehistorisch dorpje in de as.
 
Tropische temperaturen. De meubelboulevard,
uitgestorven. Wie naar de kust is gevlucht
noch naar een themapark, legt overdag
 
in zijn achtertuin zijn wapens af
en gaat liggen, languit en onbevreesd.
De kille huistiran in zwembroek ontdooit,
 
slaat de tweeling gade, niet langer geërgerd,
verbijsterd door hun gelijkenis, ontspant
diepzuchtend zijn droomspier, sluit verstrooid
 
zijn ogen. De linkertweeling, de rechtertweeling,
naakt naar insecten in struiken op jacht, verbeten
kreetjes van verbazing, onverstoorbaar.
 
Andere tuinen brengen een soevereine schaterlach,
kleuterpop, hondengeblaf, een radiostem die zegt
‘dat de verdachte heeft gezegd
                          
dat hij zijn vader met een kruisboog een ballpoint
in het oog heeft geschoten’. Goedlachs komt moeder
in bikini uit de keuken, haar zenuwen zonder hulp
 
de baas vandaag, een roerloos dienblad met twee glazen ijsthee
en twee groene limonade op één vlakke hand. Zich verheugend
op de herinneringen alvast, schrikt ze haar wederhelft
 
met de zachtste mondkus wakker – en vader vuilbekt niet
ditmaal maar richt zich glunderend uit zijn ligstoel op,
fluistert ‘moet je eens horen’ in moeders oor,
 
verdwijnt de wijd openstaande vesting in.
 
Laat het lot maar jojoën, wisselvalligheden komen en gaan,
vandaag zijn zij nergens bang voor, de thuisblijvers,
vredestichters, blijmoedige karikaturen – hoor,
 
uit de hobbykamer van de huistiran klinkt
het geluid op van een kabbelend beekje.   
Close

SUMMUM BONUM

At night, in a remote corner of the universe,
drunk adolescents reduce a reconstruction
of a prehistoric village to ash.
 
Soaring temperatures. The furniture emporiums,
deserted. Those who have not fled, neither
to the coast nor a theme park, lay aside
 
their weapons of a day in their back yards
and lie down, prone yet fearless. The cold
domestic tyrant thaws in his swimming trunks,
 
observes the twins – no longer annoyed,
astonished by their similarity, sighing, letting
his dream muscle relax, absent-mindedly
 
closing his eyes. The left twin, the right twin,
hunting insects naked in the shrubs, suppressed
cries of astonishment, all concentration.
 
Other gardens bring royal roars of laughter,
preschool pop, dogs barking, a radio voice that says
‘the suspect has admitted
 
shooting a ballpoint pen into his father’s eye
with a crossbow’. With a smile at the ready,
Mum emerges in a bikini, her nerves under control
 
today unaided, a motionless tray with two glasses of iced tea
and two of green cordial on one flat hand. Already looking
forward to the memories, she startles her hubby  
 
awake with the lightest kiss on his lips – and this time
Dad doesn’t swear but rises beaming from his deck chair,
whispers “you’ve got to hear this” in Mum’s ear,  
 
disappears into the wide-open fortress.
 
Let fate yo-yo, adversities come and go,
today they’re not afraid of anything, the stay-at-homes,
the peacemakers, the cheerful caricatures – listen,
 
from the domestic tyrant’s hobby room comes
the sound of a babbling brook.   

SUMMUM BONUM

At night, in a remote corner of the universe,
drunk adolescents reduce a reconstruction
of a prehistoric village to ash.
 
Soaring temperatures. The furniture emporiums,
deserted. Those who have not fled, neither
to the coast nor a theme park, lay aside
 
their weapons of a day in their back yards
and lie down, prone yet fearless. The cold
domestic tyrant thaws in his swimming trunks,
 
observes the twins – no longer annoyed,
astonished by their similarity, sighing, letting
his dream muscle relax, absent-mindedly
 
closing his eyes. The left twin, the right twin,
hunting insects naked in the shrubs, suppressed
cries of astonishment, all concentration.
 
Other gardens bring royal roars of laughter,
preschool pop, dogs barking, a radio voice that says
‘the suspect has admitted
 
shooting a ballpoint pen into his father’s eye
with a crossbow’. With a smile at the ready,
Mum emerges in a bikini, her nerves under control
 
today unaided, a motionless tray with two glasses of iced tea
and two of green cordial on one flat hand. Already looking
forward to the memories, she startles her hubby  
 
awake with the lightest kiss on his lips – and this time
Dad doesn’t swear but rises beaming from his deck chair,
whispers “you’ve got to hear this” in Mum’s ear,  
 
disappears into the wide-open fortress.
 
Let fate yo-yo, adversities come and go,
today they’re not afraid of anything, the stay-at-homes,
the peacemakers, the cheerful caricatures – listen,
 
from the domestic tyrant’s hobby room comes
the sound of a babbling brook.   
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère