Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Tom Van de Voorde

Meanwhile in the jungle

Meanwhile in the jungle

colours pray for joy

in rime clad stones

trees punish the gods.

Who hollers out for a hero

for the sake of some rubble in words

murmurs casual violence 

for imagination held in ownership.

A silhouette of twins

rakes melancholy into a view

in rows, in shreds, the air

buckling under wing-beats of bliss,

dodging flight.

But how do you keep

a chair on a rooftop,

a site for the epic

torture tunes

for the spastic dead

in a burning paddy—

nimble-fingerdly the wall

the mortar crumples.

Meanwhile in the jungle

mud shifts over concrete.

Intussen in de jungle

Intussen in de jungle

bidden kleuren om geluk

in rijm geklede stenen

straffen bomen de goden.

Wie schreeuwt er om een held

omwille van wat puin in woorden

prevelt tussentijds geweld

ter wille van verbeelding in bezit.

Silhouetten van tweelingen

harken weemoed tot aanzicht

in stukken, in rijen, de lucht

buigen voor wieken vol vreugde,

ontwijkt het gevlucht.

Maar hoe bewaar je

een stoel op een dak,

een vindplaats voor epiek

martelmuziek

voor spastische doden

op een brandend rijstveld

kreukt vingervlug

de muur de mortel.

Intussen in de jungle schuift

de modder het beton.
Close

Meanwhile in the jungle

Meanwhile in the jungle

colours pray for joy

in rime clad stones

trees punish the gods.

Who hollers out for a hero

for the sake of some rubble in words

murmurs casual violence 

for imagination held in ownership.

A silhouette of twins

rakes melancholy into a view

in rows, in shreds, the air

buckling under wing-beats of bliss,

dodging flight.

But how do you keep

a chair on a rooftop,

a site for the epic

torture tunes

for the spastic dead

in a burning paddy—

nimble-fingerdly the wall

the mortar crumples.

Meanwhile in the jungle

mud shifts over concrete.

Meanwhile in the jungle

Meanwhile in the jungle

colours pray for joy

in rime clad stones

trees punish the gods.

Who hollers out for a hero

for the sake of some rubble in words

murmurs casual violence 

for imagination held in ownership.

A silhouette of twins

rakes melancholy into a view

in rows, in shreds, the air

buckling under wing-beats of bliss,

dodging flight.

But how do you keep

a chair on a rooftop,

a site for the epic

torture tunes

for the spastic dead

in a burning paddy—

nimble-fingerdly the wall

the mortar crumples.

Meanwhile in the jungle

mud shifts over concrete.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
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