Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Marieke Lucas Rijneveld

MURMURATION

After a month I knew how it sounded when you were thinking: like the hissing of
heating pipes, the slow flushing of your cheeks before the warmth of
your musings would reach me. In the beginning we placed each other’s glances just as we
had moved the furniture to places where we expected
silence in conversations or by the breakfast table in the corner where we might
entertain doubts and how, later, you would share these without it having the atmosphere
of a lecture: I would like to speak about the sparrow I say
each evening, against my better judgement because sparrows easily

converge and come apart again without flying at each other, love is a
theatrical bird, air acrobatics my father said once and after retiring
he only looked above: for the birds and for a glimpse of God.

I hid my sweaty hands underneath the table, if my fingers were wings
then my armpit would rest between my thumb and forefinger, I
move them like beaks, a body has many ways of not
being a body. We transfer to the couch to make room for
questions, there alone is space for sighs of relief, we see before
us how our thoughts cause clouds of sparrows and shapes we cannot express, as usual

you ask how many birds make a swarm and how many acts are necessary
to fuse us together as lovers, when you might place my glance
so that it hangs like a painting in which you can see much, but never everything,
that is the art of adoration. The mattress is there where speaking
is superfluous and silence is included like caresses but as the cold floor reaches
my feet I seek a place for you in a house where everything
remains unmoved unless we move it ourselves, only the murmuring of our
heads causes us to converge without coming any closer.

A lecture is a speech on a subject about which you know
so much that you cannot free fall, whereby your vocal chords do not change
like the plumage of the sparrow at the end of the summer when he has become
homesick, flying over the introduction to get to the thank you at the end, sleep softly

my love, there in the horizon of my sight, if I didn’t know any better my head
would be a watchtower, without you knowing I see everything that rages within you.

MURMURATION

MURMURATION

Na een maand wist ik hoe het klonk wanneer je nadacht: als het suizen van
verwarmingsbuizen, het trage gloeien van je wangen voordat de warmte van
je peinzen mij zou bereiken. In het begin plaatsen we elkaars blikken zoals we
de meubels hadden neergezet op plekken waar we stilte zouden
verwachten in gesprekken of bij de ontbijttafel in de hoek waar we mochten
twijfelen en hoe je dit later met elkaar deelt zonder dat het de sfeer van een
spreekbeurt heeft: ik wil het graag hebben over de spreeuw zeg ik
iedere avond tegen beter weten in omdat spreeuwen gemakkelijk

samenvallen en weer uiteen zonder tegen elkaar op te vliegen, liefde is een
theatervogel, luchtacrobatiek zei mijn vader eens die na zijn pensioen
alleen nog naar boven keek: voor de vogels en voor een glimp van God.

Mijn zweethanden verborg ik onder het tafelblad, als mijn vingers vleugels
waren geweest dan zat mijn oksel vast tussen mijn duim en wijsvinger, ik
beweeg ze als snavels, een lichaam heeft vele uitwegen om maar geen
lichaam te hoeven zijn. We verplaatsen naar de bank om ruimte te
maken voor vragen, alleen daar is plek voor opluchting zien we het voor
ons hoe onze gedachten spreeuwenwolken veroorzaken, ze maken
duikvluchten en vormen die we niet kunnen uitdrukken, zoals gewoonlijk

vraag je hoeveel vogels een zwerm maken en hoeveel handelingen nodig
zijn om ons als geliefden te versmelten, wanneer je mijn blik zo kan
plaatsen dat het als een schilderij hangt waar je veel op ziet maar nooit alles,
dat is de kunst van het liefhebben. Het matras is daar waar praten overbodig
is en stilte bij inbegrepen zit net als liefkozingen maar zodra de koude vloer mijn
voeten raakt zoek ik weer naar hoe ik je moet plaatsen in een huis waar alles
onbewogen blijft als wij ons niet verplaatsen, alleen het ruisen van onze
hoofden maakt dat we samenvallen zonder dat we dichterbij komen.

Een spreukbeurt is een voordracht over een onderwerp waarvan je zoveel
weet dat je geen vrije val kunt maken, waarbij je stembanden niet veranderen
als het verenkleed van de spreeuw aan het eind van de zomer als hij heimwee
krijgt, alleen maar overvliegen van de inleiding naar het dankwoord, slaap zacht

mijn lief daar in de verte van mijn zicht, als ik niet beter zou weten zou mijn hoofd
een uitkijktoren zijn, zonder dat je het doorhebt zie ik alles wat in je woedt.
Close

MURMURATION

After a month I knew how it sounded when you were thinking: like the hissing of
heating pipes, the slow flushing of your cheeks before the warmth of
your musings would reach me. In the beginning we placed each other’s glances just as we
had moved the furniture to places where we expected
silence in conversations or by the breakfast table in the corner where we might
entertain doubts and how, later, you would share these without it having the atmosphere
of a lecture: I would like to speak about the sparrow I say
each evening, against my better judgement because sparrows easily

converge and come apart again without flying at each other, love is a
theatrical bird, air acrobatics my father said once and after retiring
he only looked above: for the birds and for a glimpse of God.

I hid my sweaty hands underneath the table, if my fingers were wings
then my armpit would rest between my thumb and forefinger, I
move them like beaks, a body has many ways of not
being a body. We transfer to the couch to make room for
questions, there alone is space for sighs of relief, we see before
us how our thoughts cause clouds of sparrows and shapes we cannot express, as usual

you ask how many birds make a swarm and how many acts are necessary
to fuse us together as lovers, when you might place my glance
so that it hangs like a painting in which you can see much, but never everything,
that is the art of adoration. The mattress is there where speaking
is superfluous and silence is included like caresses but as the cold floor reaches
my feet I seek a place for you in a house where everything
remains unmoved unless we move it ourselves, only the murmuring of our
heads causes us to converge without coming any closer.

A lecture is a speech on a subject about which you know
so much that you cannot free fall, whereby your vocal chords do not change
like the plumage of the sparrow at the end of the summer when he has become
homesick, flying over the introduction to get to the thank you at the end, sleep softly

my love, there in the horizon of my sight, if I didn’t know any better my head
would be a watchtower, without you knowing I see everything that rages within you.

MURMURATION

After a month I knew how it sounded when you were thinking: like the hissing of
heating pipes, the slow flushing of your cheeks before the warmth of
your musings would reach me. In the beginning we placed each other’s glances just as we
had moved the furniture to places where we expected
silence in conversations or by the breakfast table in the corner where we might
entertain doubts and how, later, you would share these without it having the atmosphere
of a lecture: I would like to speak about the sparrow I say
each evening, against my better judgement because sparrows easily

converge and come apart again without flying at each other, love is a
theatrical bird, air acrobatics my father said once and after retiring
he only looked above: for the birds and for a glimpse of God.

I hid my sweaty hands underneath the table, if my fingers were wings
then my armpit would rest between my thumb and forefinger, I
move them like beaks, a body has many ways of not
being a body. We transfer to the couch to make room for
questions, there alone is space for sighs of relief, we see before
us how our thoughts cause clouds of sparrows and shapes we cannot express, as usual

you ask how many birds make a swarm and how many acts are necessary
to fuse us together as lovers, when you might place my glance
so that it hangs like a painting in which you can see much, but never everything,
that is the art of adoration. The mattress is there where speaking
is superfluous and silence is included like caresses but as the cold floor reaches
my feet I seek a place for you in a house where everything
remains unmoved unless we move it ourselves, only the murmuring of our
heads causes us to converge without coming any closer.

A lecture is a speech on a subject about which you know
so much that you cannot free fall, whereby your vocal chords do not change
like the plumage of the sparrow at the end of the summer when he has become
homesick, flying over the introduction to get to the thank you at the end, sleep softly

my love, there in the horizon of my sight, if I didn’t know any better my head
would be a watchtower, without you knowing I see everything that rages within you.
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
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère