Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Ruth Lasters

SPECIES

Why don’t we in case of despair, no matter whose, make formations
like ducks suddenly form a v against a whirlwind.

Perhaps a herringbone floor of us hundred
standing closest, feet crossed over crowns

as soon as a gong resounds with which one person applies for
temporary release, evacuation from himself to

‘the species’. Or more feasibly: that one helpless one who squeezes
acrobatically into a suitcase which we then pass on and on through

streets, with as destination only his unconditional remaining.
Till he kicks the suitcase open, can deal with himself again, get a

grip.

SOORT

SOORT

Waarom wij niet bij wanhoop, eender wiens, formaties vormen
zoals eenden eensklaps tegen luchtwerveling

een v. Misschien een visgraatvloer van wij
honderd dichtstbijzijnden, voeten geschrankt tegen kruinen

zodra een gong weerklinkt waarmee die ene aanvraagt een
tijdelijke bevrijding, evacuatie uit zichzelf naar

‘de soort’. Of haalbaarder: die ene radeloze die zich wurmt
acrobatisch in een reiskoffer die wij dan door- en doorgeven door

straten, met als bestemming slechts zijn onvoorwaardelijke
blijven. Tot hij de koffer openstampt, zichzelf weer aandurft, aan-

vat.
Close

SPECIES

Why don’t we in case of despair, no matter whose, make formations
like ducks suddenly form a v against a whirlwind.

Perhaps a herringbone floor of us hundred
standing closest, feet crossed over crowns

as soon as a gong resounds with which one person applies for
temporary release, evacuation from himself to

‘the species’. Or more feasibly: that one helpless one who squeezes
acrobatically into a suitcase which we then pass on and on through

streets, with as destination only his unconditional remaining.
Till he kicks the suitcase open, can deal with himself again, get a

grip.

SPECIES

Why don’t we in case of despair, no matter whose, make formations
like ducks suddenly form a v against a whirlwind.

Perhaps a herringbone floor of us hundred
standing closest, feet crossed over crowns

as soon as a gong resounds with which one person applies for
temporary release, evacuation from himself to

‘the species’. Or more feasibly: that one helpless one who squeezes
acrobatically into a suitcase which we then pass on and on through

streets, with as destination only his unconditional remaining.
Till he kicks the suitcase open, can deal with himself again, get a

grip.
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