Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Peter Verhelst

the trojan women (euripides)

Where is that singing coming from? Lead flows
into the theatre, eddying around table legs. There are
marble columns with veils of heat panting against them.

Where are those women coming from? They hold
their dresses up above their knees, as if wading into the sea.

Hollows under the stage deform their voices.
Just before sinking, they pull their tongues out of their mouths
and fling them over their shoulders. Silence.

We, male and female dummies, sit in the seats with faces
now blank, almost no information regarding age or origin.
On stage there is nothing where something should be
and something where there should be nothing. Lead plates

slide across each other, singing plaintively. We clamber
ever higher over shoulders, bellies, a face. The ceiling
sweating red-haired animals.

trojaanse vrouwen (euripides)

trojaanse vrouwen (euripides)

Waar komen de gezangen vandaan? Lood vloeit
de schouwburg binnen, vormt draaikolkjes rond tafelpoten. Er zijn
marmeren zuilen waar hittesluiers tegenop hijgen.

Waar komen die vrouwen vandaan? Ze houden hun jurk
tot boven hun knieën, alsof ze een zee in lopen.

Holtes onder het podium vervormen hun stemmen.
Vlak voor ze zinken halen ze hun tong uit de mond
en gooien die over hun schouder. Stilte.

In de stoelen zitten wij, mannelijke en vrouwelijke poppen, met gezichten
die nauwelijks nog informatie bevatten over afkomst of leeftijd.
Op het podium is er niets waar iets zou moeten zijn
en iets waar niets zou moeten zijn. Loodplaten schuiven

over elkaar, klaaglijk zingend. Wij kruipen almaar hoger
over schouders, buiken, een gezicht. Het plafond
zweet roodbehaarde dieren uit.
Close

the trojan women (euripides)

Where is that singing coming from? Lead flows
into the theatre, eddying around table legs. There are
marble columns with veils of heat panting against them.

Where are those women coming from? They hold
their dresses up above their knees, as if wading into the sea.

Hollows under the stage deform their voices.
Just before sinking, they pull their tongues out of their mouths
and fling them over their shoulders. Silence.

We, male and female dummies, sit in the seats with faces
now blank, almost no information regarding age or origin.
On stage there is nothing where something should be
and something where there should be nothing. Lead plates

slide across each other, singing plaintively. We clamber
ever higher over shoulders, bellies, a face. The ceiling
sweating red-haired animals.

the trojan women (euripides)

Where is that singing coming from? Lead flows
into the theatre, eddying around table legs. There are
marble columns with veils of heat panting against them.

Where are those women coming from? They hold
their dresses up above their knees, as if wading into the sea.

Hollows under the stage deform their voices.
Just before sinking, they pull their tongues out of their mouths
and fling them over their shoulders. Silence.

We, male and female dummies, sit in the seats with faces
now blank, almost no information regarding age or origin.
On stage there is nothing where something should be
and something where there should be nothing. Lead plates

slide across each other, singing plaintively. We clamber
ever higher over shoulders, bellies, a face. The ceiling
sweating red-haired animals.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère