Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Jan Baeke

THE CHANNEL OF THE NORTH

An ideal spot for history is difficult to find.
The radio reports that traffic was severely hindered. Then
the uncertainty about the numbers.
What a nerve, beside the motion of the land
and the immobility of water
the shock a voice is coming forward from the background
telling us to keep our distance
and join the queue at the right till?
To then wake up on the ward.
Everywhere the rustling in forgotten phrases, waves behind the drapes
and water that laps against the beds.
Is speaking still allowed here
can I retrieve my voice from somewhere?
The captions make it all just too long ago, too far away.
Just when I, gesticulating wildly,
wish to confess to the day that I am out of place and drowning
there is nobody looking in my direction.

DE SCHAAR VAN DE NOORD

DE SCHAAR VAN DE NOORD

Een ideale plek voor het verleden is niet snel gevonden.
De radio meldt dat het verkeer veel hinder ondervond. Dan
de onduidelijkheid over de cijfers.
Kan zij wel, naast de beweging van het land
en de roerloosheid van het water
de schrik dat uit de achtergrond een stem naar voren komt
om ons te zeggen dat we afstand moeten houden
en bij de juiste kassa invoegen?
Daarna het ontwaken op zaal.
Overal ruisen in een vergeten taal, golven achter de gordijnen
water dat tegen de bedden klotst.
Mag er hier nog worden gesproken
kan ik mijn stem ergens terugvinden?
De opschriften maken alles iets te lang geleden, te ver weg.
Net nu ik wild gebarend
de dag wil bekennen dat ik hier verkeerd ben en verdrink
is er niemand die mijn kant opkijkt.
Close

THE CHANNEL OF THE NORTH

An ideal spot for history is difficult to find.
The radio reports that traffic was severely hindered. Then
the uncertainty about the numbers.
What a nerve, beside the motion of the land
and the immobility of water
the shock a voice is coming forward from the background
telling us to keep our distance
and join the queue at the right till?
To then wake up on the ward.
Everywhere the rustling in forgotten phrases, waves behind the drapes
and water that laps against the beds.
Is speaking still allowed here
can I retrieve my voice from somewhere?
The captions make it all just too long ago, too far away.
Just when I, gesticulating wildly,
wish to confess to the day that I am out of place and drowning
there is nobody looking in my direction.

THE CHANNEL OF THE NORTH

An ideal spot for history is difficult to find.
The radio reports that traffic was severely hindered. Then
the uncertainty about the numbers.
What a nerve, beside the motion of the land
and the immobility of water
the shock a voice is coming forward from the background
telling us to keep our distance
and join the queue at the right till?
To then wake up on the ward.
Everywhere the rustling in forgotten phrases, waves behind the drapes
and water that laps against the beds.
Is speaking still allowed here
can I retrieve my voice from somewhere?
The captions make it all just too long ago, too far away.
Just when I, gesticulating wildly,
wish to confess to the day that I am out of place and drowning
there is nobody looking in my direction.
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