Poem
antoine de kom
at the entrance to the citadel
at the entrance to the citadel
we were received
by the manager in charge. he gave us the names said and zahara
showed his photos of carter juan carlos called life short and led us
to a workshop for the maintenance of panties behind which lay secrets.
an abundance of very fine hair and shame. it was for sale but
way beyond our budget. the man had three cousins there
they murmured hafez bashar maher
we forgot a lot: the tomb full of black angels in the desert
graffiti on frescoes God on a camel with forms. he said gather
your tears, judge the grave by its content shake the butter tree forget bars.
we ate meals we ourselves devised and as wine chose
the fakra (www.fakra.com) while around us the desert grew emptier
full of feather-light black rags, we saw some migs
sky-blue and radar revolving. new asphalt. a base very deeply hidden
in yoghurt that was dry and rock-hard. to defend it just repeatedly
add water and keep refreshing it. we saw it. this is a country
largely hidden under the ground but not without vibrato.
as quickly as we left a regime may fall. hafez bashar maher.
in battle array the sixteen services secret from each other. heavy clouds hung
over the desert. from afar hairy cargos crawled from baghdad
past bush and sheep. the end of neutral art.
royals were thrown out of windows their bodies were dragged
through the streets. we heard: would numbers 1 to 34 come to the gate!
we were received
by the manager in charge. he gave us the names said and zahara
showed his photos of carter juan carlos called life short and led us
to a workshop for the maintenance of panties behind which lay secrets.
an abundance of very fine hair and shame. it was for sale but
way beyond our budget. the man had three cousins there
they murmured hafez bashar maher
we forgot a lot: the tomb full of black angels in the desert
graffiti on frescoes God on a camel with forms. he said gather
your tears, judge the grave by its content shake the butter tree forget bars.
we ate meals we ourselves devised and as wine chose
the fakra (www.fakra.com) while around us the desert grew emptier
full of feather-light black rags, we saw some migs
sky-blue and radar revolving. new asphalt. a base very deeply hidden
in yoghurt that was dry and rock-hard. to defend it just repeatedly
add water and keep refreshing it. we saw it. this is a country
largely hidden under the ground but not without vibrato.
as quickly as we left a regime may fall. hafez bashar maher.
in battle array the sixteen services secret from each other. heavy clouds hung
over the desert. from afar hairy cargos crawled from baghdad
past bush and sheep. the end of neutral art.
royals were thrown out of windows their bodies were dragged
through the streets. we heard: would numbers 1 to 34 come to the gate!
© Translation: 2014, Paul Vincent
bij de ingang van de citadel
bij de ingang van de citadel
werden wij ontvangen
door de manager in charge. hij gaf ons de namen saïd en zahara
toonde zijn foto’s van carter juan carlos noemde leven kort en leidde ons
naar een atelier voor onderhoud van slipjes waarachter geheimen lagen.
een veelheid van zeer fijn haar en schaamte. die was wel te koop maar
ver boven ons budget. de man had drie neven ter plaatse
zij mompelden: hafez bashar maher
wij vergaten veel: de tombe vol zwarte engelen in de woestijn
graffiti op fresco’s God op kameel met formulieren. hij zei verzamel
je tranen schat het graf op zijn inhoud schud aan de boterboom vergeet tralies.
wij genoten maaltijden die we zelf bedachten en kozen als wijn
de fakra (www.fakra.com) terwijl om ons heen de woestijn leger werd
vol vederlichte zwarte vodden. we zagen wat migs
hemelsblauw en radar draaien. nieuw asfalt. een basis zeer diep verborgen
in yoghurt die droog en steenhard was. ter verdediging alleen herhaaldelijk
water toevoegen en dat blijven verversen. wij zagen het. dit is een land
dat grotendeels onder de grond verborgen ligt maar niet zonder vibrato.
zo snel als wij vertrokken kan een regime vallen. hafez bashar maher.
in slagorde de zestien diensten voor elkaar geheim. er hingen zware wolken
boven de woestijn. vanuit de verte slopen uit bagdad harige vrachten
langs struik en schaap. het einde van neutrale kunst.
er werden royals uit ramen geworpen door de straten sleepte men
hun lijken. we hoorden: willen de nummer 1 tot 34 zich melden!
werden wij ontvangen
door de manager in charge. hij gaf ons de namen saïd en zahara
toonde zijn foto’s van carter juan carlos noemde leven kort en leidde ons
naar een atelier voor onderhoud van slipjes waarachter geheimen lagen.
een veelheid van zeer fijn haar en schaamte. die was wel te koop maar
ver boven ons budget. de man had drie neven ter plaatse
zij mompelden: hafez bashar maher
wij vergaten veel: de tombe vol zwarte engelen in de woestijn
graffiti op fresco’s God op kameel met formulieren. hij zei verzamel
je tranen schat het graf op zijn inhoud schud aan de boterboom vergeet tralies.
wij genoten maaltijden die we zelf bedachten en kozen als wijn
de fakra (www.fakra.com) terwijl om ons heen de woestijn leger werd
vol vederlichte zwarte vodden. we zagen wat migs
hemelsblauw en radar draaien. nieuw asfalt. een basis zeer diep verborgen
in yoghurt die droog en steenhard was. ter verdediging alleen herhaaldelijk
water toevoegen en dat blijven verversen. wij zagen het. dit is een land
dat grotendeels onder de grond verborgen ligt maar niet zonder vibrato.
zo snel als wij vertrokken kan een regime vallen. hafez bashar maher.
in slagorde de zestien diensten voor elkaar geheim. er hingen zware wolken
boven de woestijn. vanuit de verte slopen uit bagdad harige vrachten
langs struik en schaap. het einde van neutrale kunst.
er werden royals uit ramen geworpen door de straten sleepte men
hun lijken. we hoorden: willen de nummer 1 tot 34 zich melden!
© 2013, antoine de kom
From: ritmisch zonder string
Publisher: Querido, Amsterdam
From: ritmisch zonder string
Publisher: Querido, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of antoine de kom
Close
at the entrance to the citadel
at the entrance to the citadel
we were received
by the manager in charge. he gave us the names said and zahara
showed his photos of carter juan carlos called life short and led us
to a workshop for the maintenance of panties behind which lay secrets.
an abundance of very fine hair and shame. it was for sale but
way beyond our budget. the man had three cousins there
they murmured hafez bashar maher
we forgot a lot: the tomb full of black angels in the desert
graffiti on frescoes God on a camel with forms. he said gather
your tears, judge the grave by its content shake the butter tree forget bars.
we ate meals we ourselves devised and as wine chose
the fakra (www.fakra.com) while around us the desert grew emptier
full of feather-light black rags, we saw some migs
sky-blue and radar revolving. new asphalt. a base very deeply hidden
in yoghurt that was dry and rock-hard. to defend it just repeatedly
add water and keep refreshing it. we saw it. this is a country
largely hidden under the ground but not without vibrato.
as quickly as we left a regime may fall. hafez bashar maher.
in battle array the sixteen services secret from each other. heavy clouds hung
over the desert. from afar hairy cargos crawled from baghdad
past bush and sheep. the end of neutral art.
royals were thrown out of windows their bodies were dragged
through the streets. we heard: would numbers 1 to 34 come to the gate!
we were received
by the manager in charge. he gave us the names said and zahara
showed his photos of carter juan carlos called life short and led us
to a workshop for the maintenance of panties behind which lay secrets.
an abundance of very fine hair and shame. it was for sale but
way beyond our budget. the man had three cousins there
they murmured hafez bashar maher
we forgot a lot: the tomb full of black angels in the desert
graffiti on frescoes God on a camel with forms. he said gather
your tears, judge the grave by its content shake the butter tree forget bars.
we ate meals we ourselves devised and as wine chose
the fakra (www.fakra.com) while around us the desert grew emptier
full of feather-light black rags, we saw some migs
sky-blue and radar revolving. new asphalt. a base very deeply hidden
in yoghurt that was dry and rock-hard. to defend it just repeatedly
add water and keep refreshing it. we saw it. this is a country
largely hidden under the ground but not without vibrato.
as quickly as we left a regime may fall. hafez bashar maher.
in battle array the sixteen services secret from each other. heavy clouds hung
over the desert. from afar hairy cargos crawled from baghdad
past bush and sheep. the end of neutral art.
royals were thrown out of windows their bodies were dragged
through the streets. we heard: would numbers 1 to 34 come to the gate!
© 2014, Paul Vincent
From: ritmisch zonder string
From: ritmisch zonder string
at the entrance to the citadel
at the entrance to the citadel
we were received
by the manager in charge. he gave us the names said and zahara
showed his photos of carter juan carlos called life short and led us
to a workshop for the maintenance of panties behind which lay secrets.
an abundance of very fine hair and shame. it was for sale but
way beyond our budget. the man had three cousins there
they murmured hafez bashar maher
we forgot a lot: the tomb full of black angels in the desert
graffiti on frescoes God on a camel with forms. he said gather
your tears, judge the grave by its content shake the butter tree forget bars.
we ate meals we ourselves devised and as wine chose
the fakra (www.fakra.com) while around us the desert grew emptier
full of feather-light black rags, we saw some migs
sky-blue and radar revolving. new asphalt. a base very deeply hidden
in yoghurt that was dry and rock-hard. to defend it just repeatedly
add water and keep refreshing it. we saw it. this is a country
largely hidden under the ground but not without vibrato.
as quickly as we left a regime may fall. hafez bashar maher.
in battle array the sixteen services secret from each other. heavy clouds hung
over the desert. from afar hairy cargos crawled from baghdad
past bush and sheep. the end of neutral art.
royals were thrown out of windows their bodies were dragged
through the streets. we heard: would numbers 1 to 34 come to the gate!
we were received
by the manager in charge. he gave us the names said and zahara
showed his photos of carter juan carlos called life short and led us
to a workshop for the maintenance of panties behind which lay secrets.
an abundance of very fine hair and shame. it was for sale but
way beyond our budget. the man had three cousins there
they murmured hafez bashar maher
we forgot a lot: the tomb full of black angels in the desert
graffiti on frescoes God on a camel with forms. he said gather
your tears, judge the grave by its content shake the butter tree forget bars.
we ate meals we ourselves devised and as wine chose
the fakra (www.fakra.com) while around us the desert grew emptier
full of feather-light black rags, we saw some migs
sky-blue and radar revolving. new asphalt. a base very deeply hidden
in yoghurt that was dry and rock-hard. to defend it just repeatedly
add water and keep refreshing it. we saw it. this is a country
largely hidden under the ground but not without vibrato.
as quickly as we left a regime may fall. hafez bashar maher.
in battle array the sixteen services secret from each other. heavy clouds hung
over the desert. from afar hairy cargos crawled from baghdad
past bush and sheep. the end of neutral art.
royals were thrown out of windows their bodies were dragged
through the streets. we heard: would numbers 1 to 34 come to the gate!
© 2014, Paul Vincent
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