Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Monika Rinck

the disciple

an obstinate disciple, so youthful
but the one whom jesus loved
who laid beside him at the last

kissing him was like kissing a door
slim flat stern with hinges on one side
but moveable on the other
how it swung open how we fell
there were boats and we took them
our nicotine-sour mouths in each other
like an element to shape something from
the bitterness gathered in the hollows
when it wore off we smoked

in the end a rain fell
a rain we could barely believe
it turned cold, things got wet and everywhere
the shivering began – our
three-dimensional talk folded.

then the plain grew wide and dark
no one was left, not a sound to be heard


when i meet him again he can speak
i think he is my brother
say something – he says and i speak

der jünger

der jünger

ein verstockter ein so jugendlicher jünger
aber der liebste des herrn jesu
der zuletzt an seiner seite lag

ihn zu küssen war wie eine tür zu küssen
schlank flach strikt mit angeln an der seite
doch beweglich an der gegenüber liegenden
wie sie aufschlug wie wir fielen
da gab es boote die wir nahmen
unsere nikotingesäuerten münder ineinander
wie ein element aus dem man etwas formt
in den höhlen sammelte sich die säure
wenn sie nachließ rauchten wir

am ende fiel regen
den wir gar nicht glauben konnten
es wurde kalt, die sachen nass und überall
begann das zittern – unsere
dreidimensionale rede einklappente ein.

dann wurde die ebene weit und dunkel
keiner war mehr da, nichts mehr war zu hören


als ich ihn wieder treffe kann er sprechen
ich denke, dass er mein bruder ist
sag was – sagt er und ich spreche
Close

the disciple

an obstinate disciple, so youthful
but the one whom jesus loved
who laid beside him at the last

kissing him was like kissing a door
slim flat stern with hinges on one side
but moveable on the other
how it swung open how we fell
there were boats and we took them
our nicotine-sour mouths in each other
like an element to shape something from
the bitterness gathered in the hollows
when it wore off we smoked

in the end a rain fell
a rain we could barely believe
it turned cold, things got wet and everywhere
the shivering began – our
three-dimensional talk folded.

then the plain grew wide and dark
no one was left, not a sound to be heard


when i meet him again he can speak
i think he is my brother
say something – he says and i speak

the disciple

an obstinate disciple, so youthful
but the one whom jesus loved
who laid beside him at the last

kissing him was like kissing a door
slim flat stern with hinges on one side
but moveable on the other
how it swung open how we fell
there were boats and we took them
our nicotine-sour mouths in each other
like an element to shape something from
the bitterness gathered in the hollows
when it wore off we smoked

in the end a rain fell
a rain we could barely believe
it turned cold, things got wet and everywhere
the shivering began – our
three-dimensional talk folded.

then the plain grew wide and dark
no one was left, not a sound to be heard


when i meet him again he can speak
i think he is my brother
say something – he says and i speak
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