Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Xavier Roelens

1976

elephant rides with squirrel and ant to the austrian forests.
the car is blue and warm. it has faux leather seats. That’s not
very comfortable yet not uncomfortable enough for the
collection of squirrel.
    ‘what collection?’ asks ant.
    squirrel fetches a box from his suitcase.
    ‘this is my collection of fear.’ in the box sits a plastic
spider with six legs, a fragment of an antenna, an empty
ampule and a small notebook.
    ‘I’m writing a fear poem in that notebook. go ahead, read.’
    ant takes the notebook and reads:
I hereby collect
the fear that
today’s world will disappear
the fear that there are
limits to
my growth
the fear that I shall remain in
bullfrog perspective
the fear of moving from a
juniper bush to
a standard oak
the fear of crossing
the road to
grandmother’s oak
the fear that the
clouds drifting by will push
the nahtenna to fall on top of me
the fear of being gobbled up by
the bed
the fear of
spiders in the
basement
the fear for
desperate demonstrators
the fear of having enough
money to buy
a gun and
reason enough to radicalise
ideas with
a violence that justifies itself
the fear to lie in
bed paralysed by
fear
the fear of saying what I fear
the fear that
truth is a socially determined
category and furthermore something like
society doesn’t exist
the fear I will not get any
beech nuts
the fear of not being able to quit my
dependency on
beech nut oil
    ‘it’s not finished. wait, here, I’ve got some inspiration.’
squirrel snatches the notebook from ant. while he adds
another line, he tastes their sound out loud:
the fear that with
an elephant at
the wheel I will crash into the
display window of
a porcelain shop
    ‘nothing I have written has ever come to pass.’
    to the left of the car the sun is slowly rising. ant
believes he can see snow in the distance.
    ‘yesterday I coloured in a mushroom,’ ant says.
‘miss hare held my mushroom in the air so that everyone
could see it. that’s how pretty she thought it was.’ he takes the
empty ampule from squirrel’s box . ‘what’s this?’
    ‘careful, it contains a panic-blip. you can’t predict
what might happen in a panic-blip.’
    squirrel picks up his notebook again and writes:
the fear that that which
miss hare tells in
class is
a pre-agreed lie
    just in that moment elephant slows down and stops on
the side of the road.
    ‘let’s take a moment, stretch our legs, time for breakfast.’
he opens the boot. he summons ant and squirrel. tucked under a
blanket lie presents and chocolate and speculas.
    ‘this is from saint nicolas,’ says elephant, ‘he came
into the car while you were sleeping.’

1976

1976

olifant rijdt met eekhoorn en mier naar oostenrijkse bossen. de auto is
blauw en warm. hij heeft simileren zetels. dat is niet erg aangenaam
maar ook niet onaangenaam genoeg voor de verzameling van
eekhoorn.
    ‘welke verzameling?’ vraagt mier.
    eekhoorn haalt uit zijn koffer een doosje.
    ‘dit is mijn verzameling schrik.’ in het doosje ligt een plastic spin
met zes poten, een stukje antenne, een lege ampul en een klein boekje.
    ‘in dat boekje maak ik een schrikgedicht. lees maar.’
    mier neemt het boekje en leest:
hierbij verzamel ik
de schrik dat
de wereld van nu verdwijnt
de schrik dat er
grenzen zijn aan
mijn groei
de schrik dat ik in
kikkerperspectief blijf
de schrik te verhuizen van een
jeneverstruik naar
een gewone eik
de schrik om
de straat over te steken naar
oma’s eik
de schrik dat de voorbijdrijvende
wolken
de hatenne omduwen en op mij doen vallen
de schrik om opgegeten te worden door
het bed
de schrik voor
spinnen in de
kelder
de schrik voor
wanhopige demonstranten
de schrik
geld genoeg te hebben om
een geweer te kopen en
verstand genoeg om
ideeën te radicaliseren met een zichzelf rechtvaardigend
geweld
de schrik om verlamd van
schrik in
bed te liggen
de schrik om te vertellen waar ik
schrik voor heb
de schrik dat
waarheid een sociaal bepaalde
categorie is en dat daarbovenop niet zoiets als
een maatschappij bestaat
de schrik dat ik geen
beukennoten krijg
de schrik niet meer los te komen van mijn
afhankelijkheid van
beukennotenolie
    ‘het is nog niet af. wacht, geef, ik heb nog inspiratie.’ eekhoorn grist
het boekje uit mier zijn handen. terwijl hij een zin bijschrijft,
proeft hij ze ook luidop:
de schrik dat ik met
een olifant aan
het stuur in
de vitrine van
een porseleinwinkel rijd
    ‘er is nog nooit iets gebeurd van wat ik opschrijf.’
    links van de wagen komt de zon langzaam op. mier meent in de
verte sneeuw te zien liggen.
    ‘gisteren heb ik een paddenstoel ingekleurd,’ vertelt mier.
‘juffrouw haas stak mijn paddenstoel in de lucht zodat iedereen hem
kon zien. zo mooi vond ze hem.’ uit het doosje van eekhoorn neemt hij
de lege ampul. ‘wat is dit?’
    ‘voorzichtig, daar zit een schrikkelseconde in. je kunt niet weten
wat er allemaal in een schrikkelseconde kan gebeuren.’
    eekhoorn neemt opnieuw zijn boekje en schrijft:
de schrik dat wat
juffrouw haas op
school vertelt een afgesproken
leugen is
    net op dat ogenblik vertraagt olifant en zet zich aan de kant van de
weg.
    ‘even de benen strekken, jongens, en tijd voor ontbijt.’
    hij opent de koffer. hij roept mier en eekhoorn. onder een deken
liggen cadeaus en chocola en speculaas.
    ‘dit is van de sint,’ zegt olifant, ‘de sint is gekomen in de auto
terwijl jullie lagen te slapen.’
Close

1976

elephant rides with squirrel and ant to the austrian forests.
the car is blue and warm. it has faux leather seats. That’s not
very comfortable yet not uncomfortable enough for the
collection of squirrel.
    ‘what collection?’ asks ant.
    squirrel fetches a box from his suitcase.
    ‘this is my collection of fear.’ in the box sits a plastic
spider with six legs, a fragment of an antenna, an empty
ampule and a small notebook.
    ‘I’m writing a fear poem in that notebook. go ahead, read.’
    ant takes the notebook and reads:
I hereby collect
the fear that
today’s world will disappear
the fear that there are
limits to
my growth
the fear that I shall remain in
bullfrog perspective
the fear of moving from a
juniper bush to
a standard oak
the fear of crossing
the road to
grandmother’s oak
the fear that the
clouds drifting by will push
the nahtenna to fall on top of me
the fear of being gobbled up by
the bed
the fear of
spiders in the
basement
the fear for
desperate demonstrators
the fear of having enough
money to buy
a gun and
reason enough to radicalise
ideas with
a violence that justifies itself
the fear to lie in
bed paralysed by
fear
the fear of saying what I fear
the fear that
truth is a socially determined
category and furthermore something like
society doesn’t exist
the fear I will not get any
beech nuts
the fear of not being able to quit my
dependency on
beech nut oil
    ‘it’s not finished. wait, here, I’ve got some inspiration.’
squirrel snatches the notebook from ant. while he adds
another line, he tastes their sound out loud:
the fear that with
an elephant at
the wheel I will crash into the
display window of
a porcelain shop
    ‘nothing I have written has ever come to pass.’
    to the left of the car the sun is slowly rising. ant
believes he can see snow in the distance.
    ‘yesterday I coloured in a mushroom,’ ant says.
‘miss hare held my mushroom in the air so that everyone
could see it. that’s how pretty she thought it was.’ he takes the
empty ampule from squirrel’s box . ‘what’s this?’
    ‘careful, it contains a panic-blip. you can’t predict
what might happen in a panic-blip.’
    squirrel picks up his notebook again and writes:
the fear that that which
miss hare tells in
class is
a pre-agreed lie
    just in that moment elephant slows down and stops on
the side of the road.
    ‘let’s take a moment, stretch our legs, time for breakfast.’
he opens the boot. he summons ant and squirrel. tucked under a
blanket lie presents and chocolate and speculas.
    ‘this is from saint nicolas,’ says elephant, ‘he came
into the car while you were sleeping.’

1976

elephant rides with squirrel and ant to the austrian forests.
the car is blue and warm. it has faux leather seats. That’s not
very comfortable yet not uncomfortable enough for the
collection of squirrel.
    ‘what collection?’ asks ant.
    squirrel fetches a box from his suitcase.
    ‘this is my collection of fear.’ in the box sits a plastic
spider with six legs, a fragment of an antenna, an empty
ampule and a small notebook.
    ‘I’m writing a fear poem in that notebook. go ahead, read.’
    ant takes the notebook and reads:
I hereby collect
the fear that
today’s world will disappear
the fear that there are
limits to
my growth
the fear that I shall remain in
bullfrog perspective
the fear of moving from a
juniper bush to
a standard oak
the fear of crossing
the road to
grandmother’s oak
the fear that the
clouds drifting by will push
the nahtenna to fall on top of me
the fear of being gobbled up by
the bed
the fear of
spiders in the
basement
the fear for
desperate demonstrators
the fear of having enough
money to buy
a gun and
reason enough to radicalise
ideas with
a violence that justifies itself
the fear to lie in
bed paralysed by
fear
the fear of saying what I fear
the fear that
truth is a socially determined
category and furthermore something like
society doesn’t exist
the fear I will not get any
beech nuts
the fear of not being able to quit my
dependency on
beech nut oil
    ‘it’s not finished. wait, here, I’ve got some inspiration.’
squirrel snatches the notebook from ant. while he adds
another line, he tastes their sound out loud:
the fear that with
an elephant at
the wheel I will crash into the
display window of
a porcelain shop
    ‘nothing I have written has ever come to pass.’
    to the left of the car the sun is slowly rising. ant
believes he can see snow in the distance.
    ‘yesterday I coloured in a mushroom,’ ant says.
‘miss hare held my mushroom in the air so that everyone
could see it. that’s how pretty she thought it was.’ he takes the
empty ampule from squirrel’s box . ‘what’s this?’
    ‘careful, it contains a panic-blip. you can’t predict
what might happen in a panic-blip.’
    squirrel picks up his notebook again and writes:
the fear that that which
miss hare tells in
class is
a pre-agreed lie
    just in that moment elephant slows down and stops on
the side of the road.
    ‘let’s take a moment, stretch our legs, time for breakfast.’
he opens the boot. he summons ant and squirrel. tucked under a
blanket lie presents and chocolate and speculas.
    ‘this is from saint nicolas,’ says elephant, ‘he came
into the car while you were sleeping.’
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