Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Ruth Lasters

WOOD

Did you ever see
the aftermath of fireworks? The branches of smoke, not

the spark, but the fluffy trunks in exactly the same
place where rockets just burst open. The air wood

that after they’ve died down emerges for you
for a few seconds. The residual value that is actually more splendid than

the intended beauty of crackling coloured fire. So is too,
after you have sighed that, despite everything, unfaithfulness, you

still love me, what afterwards hangs in the room in a more penetrating,
terrible, unwitting way more beautifully: the irreparability

between us.

WOUD

WOUD

Of je het achteraf
van vuurwerk ooit zag. De takken van rook, niet

de vonken, maar de pluizige stammen op precies dezelfde
plaats waar net nog pijlen openknalden. Het luchtwoud

dat daar na het doven enkele seconden voor je
ontstaat. De restwaarde die eigenlijk grootser is dan

de bedoelde fraaiheid van spetters kleurvuur. Zo is ook,
nadat je hebt gezucht dat je me ondanks alles, ontrouw nog

liefhebt, wat daarna in de kamer hangt op een doordringendere,
verschrikkelijke, ongewilde manier mooier: de onherstelbaarheid

tussen ons.
Close

WOOD

Did you ever see
the aftermath of fireworks? The branches of smoke, not

the spark, but the fluffy trunks in exactly the same
place where rockets just burst open. The air wood

that after they’ve died down emerges for you
for a few seconds. The residual value that is actually more splendid than

the intended beauty of crackling coloured fire. So is too,
after you have sighed that, despite everything, unfaithfulness, you

still love me, what afterwards hangs in the room in a more penetrating,
terrible, unwitting way more beautifully: the irreparability

between us.

WOOD

Did you ever see
the aftermath of fireworks? The branches of smoke, not

the spark, but the fluffy trunks in exactly the same
place where rockets just burst open. The air wood

that after they’ve died down emerges for you
for a few seconds. The residual value that is actually more splendid than

the intended beauty of crackling coloured fire. So is too,
after you have sighed that, despite everything, unfaithfulness, you

still love me, what afterwards hangs in the room in a more penetrating,
terrible, unwitting way more beautifully: the irreparability

between us.
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
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