Poem
Delphine Lecompte
THE FARMER’S WIFE WITH THE KNITTING NEEDLE
The farmer’s wife is not sentimentalNot sentimental about her dog,
Not sentimental about her wounds
She punctures her boils with a knitting needle
Crossing the yard to the toilet, I’m bitten by her dog.
It’s as white as a piss-soaked robe
I like dogs in general
In general, they don’t display a tendency to bite me
The emergency ward is quieter than usual
The ‘trivial case in room 30’, I’m kept waiting for four hours.
While I wait, I think of the unsentimental farmer’s wife
I think that she has never read a collection of verse
I think of how vain it was of me to pester her
With my pathetic scribblings about my quest for solace in Macedonia
First in Macedonia and then, out of necessity, here.
The doctor has never read a collection of verse
I don’t pester him with my quest for solace, here or there
There, in Macedonia, is where my real father lives, he runs a shop selling alarm clocks
Don’t get him started about time
The amount of time some customers feel entitled to: ‘Show me that clock in the window.
No, it’s not the one. Do you sell clocks with second hands shaped like lizards?
Do you sell clocks whose ticking is softer than the click of false teeth?’
Outside, the rain falls on millions of doomed timepiece owners
I don’t hate them, that only comes later
Later, when I’m alone with my wounds
And with my dog, he’s as black as my father.
De boerin met de breinaald
De boerin met de breinaald
De boerin is niet sentimenteelNiet sentimenteel over haar hond,
Niet sentimenteel over haar wonden
Ze prikt zweren open met een breinaald
Wanneer ik naar het koertoilet ga word ik gebeten door haar hond.
Hij is zo wit als een pisdoordrenkte tabbaard
Ik hou van honden in het algemeen
In het algemeen vertonen ze niet de neiging om mij te bijten
Op de dienst spoedgevallen is het rustiger dan anders
Omdat ik ‘de banaliteit van box 30’ ben moet ik vier uren wachten.
Terwijl ik wacht denk ik aan de onsentimentele boerin
Ik denk dat ze nog nooit een dichtbundel heeft gelezen
Ik denk dat het ijdel van mij was om haar lastig te vallen
Met mijn pathetische schrijfsels over mijn zoektocht naar soelaas in Macedonië
Eerst in Macedonië, en daarna noodgedwongen hier.
De dokter heeft nog nooit een dichtbundel gelezen
Ik val hem niet lastig met mijn zoektocht naar soelaas hier en daar
Daar in Macedonië woont mijn echte vader, hij baat er een wekkerwinkel uit
Breek hem de bek niet open over de tijd
De tijd die sommige klanten zich permitteren: ‘Haal eens die wekker uit de etalage.
Nee, die is het niet. Verkoop je ook wekkers met hagedisvormige secondewijzers?
Verkoop je ook wekkers die zachter tikken dan het geklik van valse tanden?’
Buiten valt de regen op miljoenen verdoemde kloklezers
Ik haat ze niet, dat komt pas later
Later wanneer ik alleen ben met mijn wonden
En met mijn hond, hij is zo zwart als mijn vader.
From: Dichter, bokser, koningsdochter
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam | Antwerpen
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam | Antwerpen
Poems
Poems of Delphine Lecompte
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THE FARMER’S WIFE WITH THE KNITTING NEEDLE
The farmer’s wife is not sentimentalNot sentimental about her dog,
Not sentimental about her wounds
She punctures her boils with a knitting needle
Crossing the yard to the toilet, I’m bitten by her dog.
It’s as white as a piss-soaked robe
I like dogs in general
In general, they don’t display a tendency to bite me
The emergency ward is quieter than usual
The ‘trivial case in room 30’, I’m kept waiting for four hours.
While I wait, I think of the unsentimental farmer’s wife
I think that she has never read a collection of verse
I think of how vain it was of me to pester her
With my pathetic scribblings about my quest for solace in Macedonia
First in Macedonia and then, out of necessity, here.
The doctor has never read a collection of verse
I don’t pester him with my quest for solace, here or there
There, in Macedonia, is where my real father lives, he runs a shop selling alarm clocks
Don’t get him started about time
The amount of time some customers feel entitled to: ‘Show me that clock in the window.
No, it’s not the one. Do you sell clocks with second hands shaped like lizards?
Do you sell clocks whose ticking is softer than the click of false teeth?’
Outside, the rain falls on millions of doomed timepiece owners
I don’t hate them, that only comes later
Later, when I’m alone with my wounds
And with my dog, he’s as black as my father.
From: Dichter, bokser, koningsdochter
THE FARMER’S WIFE WITH THE KNITTING NEEDLE
The farmer’s wife is not sentimentalNot sentimental about her dog,
Not sentimental about her wounds
She punctures her boils with a knitting needle
Crossing the yard to the toilet, I’m bitten by her dog.
It’s as white as a piss-soaked robe
I like dogs in general
In general, they don’t display a tendency to bite me
The emergency ward is quieter than usual
The ‘trivial case in room 30’, I’m kept waiting for four hours.
While I wait, I think of the unsentimental farmer’s wife
I think that she has never read a collection of verse
I think of how vain it was of me to pester her
With my pathetic scribblings about my quest for solace in Macedonia
First in Macedonia and then, out of necessity, here.
The doctor has never read a collection of verse
I don’t pester him with my quest for solace, here or there
There, in Macedonia, is where my real father lives, he runs a shop selling alarm clocks
Don’t get him started about time
The amount of time some customers feel entitled to: ‘Show me that clock in the window.
No, it’s not the one. Do you sell clocks with second hands shaped like lizards?
Do you sell clocks whose ticking is softer than the click of false teeth?’
Outside, the rain falls on millions of doomed timepiece owners
I don’t hate them, that only comes later
Later, when I’m alone with my wounds
And with my dog, he’s as black as my father.
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