Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Tomas Lieske

CONSOLING VOICE AT MY BELOVED’S BURIAL

I am the compass of the migratory bird.
 
I am the shape of the world, the coastline
the currents and the winds, the charge
between the poles. I am the light of the stars
the rise of the sun, the fullness
of the moon, the dome that everybody
has to cross while beating their wings.
I am the mathematics calculating
the precise angle, the dynamics that control
both momentum and streamline, the geographer
who recognises every bend.
 
Do not take heed of the fires, the plumes of smoke
the revolts, the banjirs and the siltstone.                                      
Avoid the toxic waste dump, distrust the temptation
of the wasteland, see the fields, how full
they are and count the sheaves. Play deaf
to the know-it-alls, the demagogues
the discontented, the church emissaries, the announcers,
abhor the clairvoyants.
 
But follow the needle of existence and trust in
the horizon that will unfold.

TROOSTENDE STEM TIJDENS DE BEGRAFENIS VAN MIJN GELIEFDE

TROOSTENDE STEM TIJDENS DE BEGRAFENIS VAN MIJN GELIEFDE

Ik ben het kompas van de trekvogel.
 
Ik ben de vorm van de wereld, de kustlijn
de stromingen en de winden, de spanning
tussen polen. Ik ben het licht van de sterren
de opkomst van de zon, de volte
van de maan, de koepel die iedereen
klapwiekend moet doorkruisen.
Ik ben de wiskunde die de juiste hoek
berekent, de dynamica die vaart
en stroomlijn regelt, de geograaf
die iedere bocht herkent.
 
Sla geen acht op de vuren, de rookpluimen
de opstanden, de banjirs en het cementslik.
Vermijd de gifbelt, wantrouw de verlokking
van het braakliggend land, zie de volle
velden, tel de schoven. Houd u doof
voor allen die het beter weten, de volksmenners
de verongelijkten, de kruisgezanten, de omroepers
verafschuw de helderzienden.
 
Maar volg de naald van het bestaan en vertrouw
de einder die zich straks openvouwt.
Close

CONSOLING VOICE AT MY BELOVED’S BURIAL

I am the compass of the migratory bird.
 
I am the shape of the world, the coastline
the currents and the winds, the charge
between the poles. I am the light of the stars
the rise of the sun, the fullness
of the moon, the dome that everybody
has to cross while beating their wings.
I am the mathematics calculating
the precise angle, the dynamics that control
both momentum and streamline, the geographer
who recognises every bend.
 
Do not take heed of the fires, the plumes of smoke
the revolts, the banjirs and the siltstone.                                      
Avoid the toxic waste dump, distrust the temptation
of the wasteland, see the fields, how full
they are and count the sheaves. Play deaf
to the know-it-alls, the demagogues
the discontented, the church emissaries, the announcers,
abhor the clairvoyants.
 
But follow the needle of existence and trust in
the horizon that will unfold.

CONSOLING VOICE AT MY BELOVED’S BURIAL

I am the compass of the migratory bird.
 
I am the shape of the world, the coastline
the currents and the winds, the charge
between the poles. I am the light of the stars
the rise of the sun, the fullness
of the moon, the dome that everybody
has to cross while beating their wings.
I am the mathematics calculating
the precise angle, the dynamics that control
both momentum and streamline, the geographer
who recognises every bend.
 
Do not take heed of the fires, the plumes of smoke
the revolts, the banjirs and the siltstone.                                      
Avoid the toxic waste dump, distrust the temptation
of the wasteland, see the fields, how full
they are and count the sheaves. Play deaf
to the know-it-alls, the demagogues
the discontented, the church emissaries, the announcers,
abhor the clairvoyants.
 
But follow the needle of existence and trust in
the horizon that will unfold.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
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