Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Peter Verhelst

waiting for godot 2 (samuel beckett)

While waiting in the light
we hold two fingers to our throats
to make sure we are alive
because only the living can wait.

Mildly bitter is the woman who will rescue us

from landscapes where we once loved, houses in which
we thought we were happy, a bed with a mirror in which
we slept curled with our backs to each other, clouds of thyme in which
we lay and pondered the loneliest versions of ourselves.

How happy we would have been to live to forget, impressions
without a memory, a landscape without anyone running towards us,
but we live in a world
where everything is what it seems.

I built a tree, a garden,
flat stones for the outline of a house to wait in.

Sometimes, above the asphalt,
the woman quivers in a fountain of reflections.

Every time she doesn’t come, hope remains.

wachten op godot 2 (samuel beckett)

wachten op godot 2 (samuel beckett)

Als we wachten in het licht
houden we twee vingers tegen onze hals
om ons ervan te vergewissen dat we leven
want enkel wie kan leven kan ook wachten.

Mild bitter is de vrouw die ons zal redden

uit landschappen waar we ooit liefhadden, huizen waarin
we dachten gelukkig te zijn, een bed met een spiegel waarin
we opgekruld sliepen met de rug naar elkaar, tijmwolken waarin
we lagen te kauwen op de eenzaamste versie van onszelf.

Wat hadden we graag geleefd om te vergeten, herinneringen
zonder geheugen, landschap waaruit niemand op ons af zou rennen,
maar we leven in een wereld
waar alles is wat het lijkt.

Ik heb een boom gebouwd, een tuin,
met platte stenen de omtrek van een huis om in te wachten.

Boven de asfaltstrook trilt soms de vrouw
in een fontein van spiegelingen.

Telkens als ze niet komt, blijft de hoop.
Close

waiting for godot 2 (samuel beckett)

While waiting in the light
we hold two fingers to our throats
to make sure we are alive
because only the living can wait.

Mildly bitter is the woman who will rescue us

from landscapes where we once loved, houses in which
we thought we were happy, a bed with a mirror in which
we slept curled with our backs to each other, clouds of thyme in which
we lay and pondered the loneliest versions of ourselves.

How happy we would have been to live to forget, impressions
without a memory, a landscape without anyone running towards us,
but we live in a world
where everything is what it seems.

I built a tree, a garden,
flat stones for the outline of a house to wait in.

Sometimes, above the asphalt,
the woman quivers in a fountain of reflections.

Every time she doesn’t come, hope remains.

waiting for godot 2 (samuel beckett)

While waiting in the light
we hold two fingers to our throats
to make sure we are alive
because only the living can wait.

Mildly bitter is the woman who will rescue us

from landscapes where we once loved, houses in which
we thought we were happy, a bed with a mirror in which
we slept curled with our backs to each other, clouds of thyme in which
we lay and pondered the loneliest versions of ourselves.

How happy we would have been to live to forget, impressions
without a memory, a landscape without anyone running towards us,
but we live in a world
where everything is what it seems.

I built a tree, a garden,
flat stones for the outline of a house to wait in.

Sometimes, above the asphalt,
the woman quivers in a fountain of reflections.

Every time she doesn’t come, hope remains.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère