Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Sinéad Morrissey

A LIE

EEN LEUGEN

Dat hun dagen niet zoals de onze waren,
de andere mensen die in sepia leefden –

geslotener, killer, met tragere wielen.
verzonken in hun slaapversponnen woning

hoe we ook roepen en kloppen. En zelfs de man
met de doos en de laaiende fakkel

die zijn dienaren zo stil liet staan
dat hun gezicht jeukte, maakt niet meer goed

wat het ons kostte om te zien hoe de fokkenra
opging in room en schaduw, de doorboorde 

hemel werd ingelijst. Irissen onder de vensterbank,
dat was de kleur van het oude Rome.

A LIE

That their days were not like our days,
the different people who lived in sepia –

more buttoned, colder, with slower wheels,
shut off, sunk back in the unwakeable house

for all we call and knock. And even the man
with the box and the flaming torch

who made his servants stand so still
their faces itched can't offer us what it cost

to watch the foreyard being lost
to cream and shadow, the pierced sky

placed in a frame. Irises under the windowsill
were the colour of Ancient Rome. 
Close

A LIE

That their days were not like our days,
the different people who lived in sepia –

more buttoned, colder, with slower wheels,
shut off, sunk back in the unwakeable house

for all we call and knock. And even the man
with the box and the flaming torch

who made his servants stand so still
their faces itched can't offer us what it cost

to watch the foreyard being lost
to cream and shadow, the pierced sky

placed in a frame. Irises under the windowsill
were the colour of Ancient Rome. 

A LIE

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
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