Poem
Jan H. Mysjkin
DEAD CITY
There was a city as big as New York Thenthe conquerors came And killed everything
Destroyed everything The city never came alive again
The grass grew there Plants Trees
Lianas Bear and deer came to drink there
at the large stone fountains
Erected by the piety of mayors to quench the thirst
of the homeless Hurricanes have carried off
The wood and concrete Only the rows of steel
pillars that supported them have remained
Standing And are still standing At regular intervals
they stand upright between the sky-storming
Trees Their positions indicate the form and location
of the houses They are there by the hundreds
Of thousands A couple of statues of the Founding Fathers
too massive for the conquerors to overturn them
Or smash them Still meditating In the loneliness
of the jungle Dream within dream within dream
I walked between those lonely Founding Fathers
and those houses And all that remains of them
Now resembles trunks of rusty metal.
© Translation: 2014, Jan H. Mysjkin
DODE STAD
DODE STAD
Er was een stad zo groot als New York Toenzijn de veroveraars gekomen En hebben alles gedood
En verwoest De stad kwam nooit weer tot leven
Het gras is er opgeschoten Planten Bomen
Lianen Beren en herten kwamen er drinken
aan de grote stenen fonteinen
Door de vroomheid van burgemeesters opgetrokken
om de daklozen te lessen Orkanen hebben hout
En beton meegesleurd Alleen de rijen stalen
pijlers die ze ondersteunden zijn recht blijven
Staan En staan er nog steeds Op geregelde afstanden
richten ze zich op tussen de hemelbestormende
Bomen De plaatsing ervan duidt de vorm en de plek
van de huizen aan Ze zijn er met honderd
Duizenden Een paar standbeelden van de Founding Fathers
al te massief opdat de veroveraars ze konden omgooien
Of breken Mediteren nog steeds In de eenzaamheid
van de jungle Droom in droom in droom
Liep ik tussen die eenzame Founding Fathers
en die huizen En alles wat ervan overblijft
Lijkt nu op stammen van verroest metaal.
© 2014, Jan H. Mysjkin
From: Dit is nobel gezegd, maar duister
Publisher: De Contrabas, Utrecht & Leeuwarden
From: Dit is nobel gezegd, maar duister
Publisher: De Contrabas, Utrecht & Leeuwarden
Poems
Poems of Jan H. Mysjkin
Close
DEAD CITY
There was a city as big as New York Thenthe conquerors came And killed everything
Destroyed everything The city never came alive again
The grass grew there Plants Trees
Lianas Bear and deer came to drink there
at the large stone fountains
Erected by the piety of mayors to quench the thirst
of the homeless Hurricanes have carried off
The wood and concrete Only the rows of steel
pillars that supported them have remained
Standing And are still standing At regular intervals
they stand upright between the sky-storming
Trees Their positions indicate the form and location
of the houses They are there by the hundreds
Of thousands A couple of statues of the Founding Fathers
too massive for the conquerors to overturn them
Or smash them Still meditating In the loneliness
of the jungle Dream within dream within dream
I walked between those lonely Founding Fathers
and those houses And all that remains of them
Now resembles trunks of rusty metal.
© 2014, Jan H. Mysjkin
From: Dit is nobel gezegd, maar duister
From: Dit is nobel gezegd, maar duister
DEAD CITY
There was a city as big as New York Thenthe conquerors came And killed everything
Destroyed everything The city never came alive again
The grass grew there Plants Trees
Lianas Bear and deer came to drink there
at the large stone fountains
Erected by the piety of mayors to quench the thirst
of the homeless Hurricanes have carried off
The wood and concrete Only the rows of steel
pillars that supported them have remained
Standing And are still standing At regular intervals
they stand upright between the sky-storming
Trees Their positions indicate the form and location
of the houses They are there by the hundreds
Of thousands A couple of statues of the Founding Fathers
too massive for the conquerors to overturn them
Or smash them Still meditating In the loneliness
of the jungle Dream within dream within dream
I walked between those lonely Founding Fathers
and those houses And all that remains of them
Now resembles trunks of rusty metal.
© 2014, Jan H. Mysjkin
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