Poem
Jan Baeke
WRITTEN DOWN
Glad we were able to strike at the heart.Written to the brotherhood
that we lack the ability to really access our knowledge
but should hope that through faith
all will become clear to us.
It was a warm day
and the bread and the olives
were having a rough time.
We’re strangers here.
Is there another way to say that?
Even the bread and the olives are here by chance.
We have learned
to name things by their shape and flavour
and that explains enough.
When, despite the heat, you came to ask
who had invented the word
in which bread stayed fresh and fragrant
all I could do was point to the end of the street
where there are signposts
where someone happened to be passing
who called himself Gabriel
and where a bird began to sing on a roof
a piercing song, like a stab to your spleen.
What you really wanted to know
was the word for love
but there wasn’t one.
Only for the fear that goes with it.
© Translation: 2015, Judith Wilkinson
OPGESCHREVEN
OPGESCHREVEN
Gelukkig het hart opnieuw getroffen.Aan de broederschap geschreven
hoe we niet voldoende bij onze kennis
kunnen komen
maar door geloof mogen hopen
dat alles ons duidelijk wordt.
Het was een warme dag
en het brood en de olijven
hadden het zwaar te verduren.
Wij zijn hier vreemd.
Kunnen we het anders zeggen?
Ook het brood en de olijven zijn hier toevallig.
We hebben geleerd
naar de vorm en de smaak te benoemen
en daarmee is genoeg verklaard.
Toen jij ondanks de warmte kwam vragen
wie het woord bedacht had
waarin brood vers en geurig bleef
kon ik alleen naar het einde van de straat wijzen
waar uithangborden hangen
waar toevallig iemand langs kwam
die zich Gabriel noemde
en waar scherp als een steek in je milt
een vogel in de dakgoot begon te zingen.
Eigenlijk wilde jij weten of er voor de liefde
ook een woord was
maar dat was er niet.
Alleen voor de schrik die daarmee gepaard gaat.
© 2015, Jan Baeke
From: Seizoensroddel
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
From: Seizoensroddel
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Jan Baeke
Close
WRITTEN DOWN
Glad we were able to strike at the heart.Written to the brotherhood
that we lack the ability to really access our knowledge
but should hope that through faith
all will become clear to us.
It was a warm day
and the bread and the olives
were having a rough time.
We’re strangers here.
Is there another way to say that?
Even the bread and the olives are here by chance.
We have learned
to name things by their shape and flavour
and that explains enough.
When, despite the heat, you came to ask
who had invented the word
in which bread stayed fresh and fragrant
all I could do was point to the end of the street
where there are signposts
where someone happened to be passing
who called himself Gabriel
and where a bird began to sing on a roof
a piercing song, like a stab to your spleen.
What you really wanted to know
was the word for love
but there wasn’t one.
Only for the fear that goes with it.
© 2015, Judith Wilkinson
From: Seizoensroddel
From: Seizoensroddel
WRITTEN DOWN
Glad we were able to strike at the heart.Written to the brotherhood
that we lack the ability to really access our knowledge
but should hope that through faith
all will become clear to us.
It was a warm day
and the bread and the olives
were having a rough time.
We’re strangers here.
Is there another way to say that?
Even the bread and the olives are here by chance.
We have learned
to name things by their shape and flavour
and that explains enough.
When, despite the heat, you came to ask
who had invented the word
in which bread stayed fresh and fragrant
all I could do was point to the end of the street
where there are signposts
where someone happened to be passing
who called himself Gabriel
and where a bird began to sing on a roof
a piercing song, like a stab to your spleen.
What you really wanted to know
was the word for love
but there wasn’t one.
Only for the fear that goes with it.
© 2015, Judith Wilkinson
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