Poem
Peter Verhelst
‘forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.’ (hamlet, shakespeare)
Finally the undercurrent releases its prey,torn leaves, polystyrene. I wade
through chest-deep, frothing water. A mattress.
A refrigerator. A shoe like an unsteady boat.
I will sleep in the fridge, drink from the shoe.
I will slice open the mattress, cutting through skin and layers of fat,
my head up to the neck in its maw
to tear out the skull.
So much is lost. We dive
down to where the water is black and viscous, my skull and I,
a new species of fish with lungs and outrageously large eyes,
searching for a slow, luminous, velvet tail.
Deep, lonely song that makes itself felt for miles around.
Where will we find Ophelia’s body, in which wound
does her love shine, metal hook through a lip,
a dentist’s dilator in her mouth as if she’s surprised?
Silver dresses floating in the water
will soon drag themselves up onto land and we,
my skull and I, will declare war on everything,
all for the beauty of Ophelia.
© Translation: 2018, David Colmer
‘van veertigduizend broers/ weegt de verzamelde liefde niet op/ tegen die van mij’ (hamlet, shakespeare)
‘van veertigduizend broers/ weegt de verzamelde liefde niet op/ tegen die van mij’ (hamlet, shakespeare)
Eindelijk laat de onderstroom zijn prooien vrij,losgerukte drijfbladeren, piepschuim. Ik waad
door borsthoog, schuimend water. Een matras.
Een ijskast. Een schoen als een wiebelend bootje.
Ik zal in de ijskast slapen, drinken uit de schoen.
Ik zal de matras opensnijden, door vel en speklagen heen,
mijn hoofd tot de nek in die muil
om er de schedel uit te rukken.
Zoveel gaat verloren. We duiken
naar waar het water zwart en taai is, mijn schedel en ik,
nieuwe vissoort met longen en ontstellend grote ogen,
op zoek naar een trage, lichtgevende, fluwelige staart.
Diepe, eenzame gezangen die tientallen kilometers ver te voelen zijn.
Waar zullen we het lichaam van Ophelia vinden, in welke wonde
blinkt haar liefde, metalen haak door een lip,
opensperrend tandartsding in de mond alsof ze verbaasd is?
In het water drijven zilveren jurken
die zich weldra het land op slepen en wij alles,
mijn schedel en ik, alles zullen we bevechten
voor de schoonheid van Ophelia.
© 2018, Peter Verhelst
From: Wat ons had kunnen zijn
Publisher: Stichting CPNB,
From: Wat ons had kunnen zijn
Publisher: Stichting CPNB,
Poems
Poems of Peter Verhelst
Close
‘forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.’ (hamlet, shakespeare)
Finally the undercurrent releases its prey,torn leaves, polystyrene. I wade
through chest-deep, frothing water. A mattress.
A refrigerator. A shoe like an unsteady boat.
I will sleep in the fridge, drink from the shoe.
I will slice open the mattress, cutting through skin and layers of fat,
my head up to the neck in its maw
to tear out the skull.
So much is lost. We dive
down to where the water is black and viscous, my skull and I,
a new species of fish with lungs and outrageously large eyes,
searching for a slow, luminous, velvet tail.
Deep, lonely song that makes itself felt for miles around.
Where will we find Ophelia’s body, in which wound
does her love shine, metal hook through a lip,
a dentist’s dilator in her mouth as if she’s surprised?
Silver dresses floating in the water
will soon drag themselves up onto land and we,
my skull and I, will declare war on everything,
all for the beauty of Ophelia.
© 2018, David Colmer
From: Wat ons had kunnen zijn
From: Wat ons had kunnen zijn
‘forty thousand brothers could not, with all their quantity of love, make up my sum.’ (hamlet, shakespeare)
Finally the undercurrent releases its prey,torn leaves, polystyrene. I wade
through chest-deep, frothing water. A mattress.
A refrigerator. A shoe like an unsteady boat.
I will sleep in the fridge, drink from the shoe.
I will slice open the mattress, cutting through skin and layers of fat,
my head up to the neck in its maw
to tear out the skull.
So much is lost. We dive
down to where the water is black and viscous, my skull and I,
a new species of fish with lungs and outrageously large eyes,
searching for a slow, luminous, velvet tail.
Deep, lonely song that makes itself felt for miles around.
Where will we find Ophelia’s body, in which wound
does her love shine, metal hook through a lip,
a dentist’s dilator in her mouth as if she’s surprised?
Silver dresses floating in the water
will soon drag themselves up onto land and we,
my skull and I, will declare war on everything,
all for the beauty of Ophelia.
© 2018, David Colmer
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