Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Zeyar Lynn

Life! Keep a weather eye on life!

In the discretion of the fern-green trees –
caught in their own sun-drenched shadows,
you can hear the voice of Robert Desnos.
Yes, I am talking about Robert Desnos.
The Robert Desnos who died from typhoid a month after
he was freed from a Nazi concentration camp.
His authentic auto-surrealist clouds had walked
into a house & hypnotized people.
His people had been slaughtered en masse.
The last three lines of ‘The Last Poem’ go,
“One hundred times more shadow than shadow,
The shadow that will come again & again
to your sun-drenched life.”
Desnos was longing for Oyuki,
who was the artist Foujita’s wife.
On an evening walk, Foujita boarded a ship
to Brazil on a whim, never to return.
Oh, you flower-sellers on street corners
Oh, you gunrunners at the borderlands
Oh, you human traffickers on the web
can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
It’s Monday, October 23, 2017 in Thuwana, Thingankyun, Rangoon.
They haven’t taken down the billboard that says:
“All the way to the Asia Games!”
The footballers practicing on the pitch look crestfallen.
My country is overcast. Rainy, but not raining.
Always look on the bright side of life.
On the Sand Shore
can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
Can you hear the concentration camps & gulags?
The voice of Robert Desnos!
Extremists, who are dyed with suffering & pickled in religion!
Can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
The essence of amber on adolescent breasts,
can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
Marvelous poems from mundane life, from life’s chemistry!
Can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
My mind is a fish that has jumped off
of my skull onto a motorway.
The colourful fish has turned back, its mouth –
hooked in a question mark.
Where shall I return?
What shall I slash & burn & hunt & gather?
Art will mind its own business.
It will wait crouching to jump at me from behind a bush.
Like a captain at the helm of a ship lost at sea,
my mind is only set on that woman.
I keep my hands behind my back &
whisper at the marriage of mirages at the horizon.
At the borderlines of border people
I am the original autochthon.
I am my very own ‘others’.
When I walk out of my self I turn into
a discoloured shell, flapping in the wind.
I will keep rumbling on.
I am a line edited out of a Robert Desnos’ poem.
This must be the voice of Robert Desnos.
I am Robert Desnos!
The War is over. I am heading home for you, my darling Oyuki.
We will repaint our house in all possible colours.
We will dust the sky & snuggle up in it at night.
I am heading home for you, my love Oyuki,
I am heading home for you, Oyuki my world.

Het leven! Let goed op het leven!

In de beschutting van de varengroene bomen –
gevangen in hun eigen zonovergoten schaduwen,
hoor je de stem van Robert Desnos.
Ja, ik heb het over Robert Desnos.
De Robert Desnos die aan tyfus stierf een maand nadat
hij bevrijd was uit een Nazi-concentratiekamp.
Zijn authentieke auto-surrealistische wolken waren
een huis in gelopen & hadden mensen gehypnotiseerd.
Zijn volk was massaal afgeslacht. 
De laatste drie regels van ‘Het laatste gedicht’ luiden:
“Honderd maal meer schaduw dan schaduw,
de schaduw die steeds weer zal komen
naar je zonovergoten leven.”
Desnos verlangde naar Oyuki,
de vrouw van de schilder Foujita.
Tijdens een avondwandeling stapte Foujita in een opwelling
op een schip naar Brazilië om nooit terug te keren.
O jullie, bloemenverkopers op straathoeken.
O jullie, wapensmokkelaars in de grensstreken.
O jullie, mensenhandelaars op het web,
horen jullie de stem van Robert Desnos?
Het is maandag 23 oktober 2017, in Thuwana, Thingankyun, Rangoon.
Ze hebben het reclamebord niet weggehaald waarop staat:
“Op naar de Aziatische Spelen!”
De voetballers die trainen op het veld zien er mismoedig uit.
In mijn land is het bewolkt. Het is regenachtig, maar het regent niet.
Zie altijd de zonzijde van het leven.
Horen jullie aan de zandkust
de stem van Robert Desnos?
Horen jullie de concentratiekampen & goelags?
De stem van Robert Desnos!
Extremisten, gepokt met lijden & gemazeld met religie!
Horen jullie de stem van Robert Desnos?
Amberessence op puberborsten,
Horen jullie de stem van Robert Desnos?
Fantastische verzen uit het alledaagse leven, uit de chemie van het leven!
Horen jullie de stem van Robert Desnos?
Mijn geest is een vis die van mijn schedel
op een autoweg is gesprongen.
De kleurige vis heeft zich omgedraaid, zijn bek –
in de haak van een vraagteken.
Waar zal ik terugkeren?
Wat zal ik hakken & branden & jagen & verzamelen?
De kunst heeft genoeg aan zichzelf.
Ze zal ineengedoken wachten om me te bespringen vanachter een struik.
Als een kapitein aan het roer van een schip dat ronddoolt op zee,
richt mijn geest zich volkomen op die vrouw.
Ik hou mijn handen achter mijn rug &
fluister naar het huwelijk van hersenschimmen aan de horizon.
Aan de grensstreken van grensvolk
ben ik de oorspronkelijke autochtoon.
Ik ben mijn echte eigen ‘anderen’.
Als ik mezelf te buiten ga verander ik in
een verkleurde schelp die klappert in de wind.
Ik blijf doormompelen.
Ik ben een regel die uit het gedicht van Robert Desnos is gehaald.
Dit moet de stem zijn van Robert Desnos.
Ik ben Robert Desnos!
De oorlog is voorbij. Ik kom naar huis voor jou, mijn liefste Oyuki.
We zullen ons huis overschilderen in alle mogelijke kleuren.
We zullen de hemel afstoffen & er ons ’s nachts in nestelen.
Ik kom naar huis voor jou, mijn lief Oyuki,
Ik kom naar huis voor jou, Oyuki, mijn wereld.

Close

Life! Keep a weather eye on life!

In the discretion of the fern-green trees –
caught in their own sun-drenched shadows,
you can hear the voice of Robert Desnos.
Yes, I am talking about Robert Desnos.
The Robert Desnos who died from typhoid a month after
he was freed from a Nazi concentration camp.
His authentic auto-surrealist clouds had walked
into a house & hypnotized people.
His people had been slaughtered en masse.
The last three lines of ‘The Last Poem’ go,
“One hundred times more shadow than shadow,
The shadow that will come again & again
to your sun-drenched life.”
Desnos was longing for Oyuki,
who was the artist Foujita’s wife.
On an evening walk, Foujita boarded a ship
to Brazil on a whim, never to return.
Oh, you flower-sellers on street corners
Oh, you gunrunners at the borderlands
Oh, you human traffickers on the web
can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
It’s Monday, October 23, 2017 in Thuwana, Thingankyun, Rangoon.
They haven’t taken down the billboard that says:
“All the way to the Asia Games!”
The footballers practicing on the pitch look crestfallen.
My country is overcast. Rainy, but not raining.
Always look on the bright side of life.
On the Sand Shore
can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
Can you hear the concentration camps & gulags?
The voice of Robert Desnos!
Extremists, who are dyed with suffering & pickled in religion!
Can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
The essence of amber on adolescent breasts,
can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
Marvelous poems from mundane life, from life’s chemistry!
Can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
My mind is a fish that has jumped off
of my skull onto a motorway.
The colourful fish has turned back, its mouth –
hooked in a question mark.
Where shall I return?
What shall I slash & burn & hunt & gather?
Art will mind its own business.
It will wait crouching to jump at me from behind a bush.
Like a captain at the helm of a ship lost at sea,
my mind is only set on that woman.
I keep my hands behind my back &
whisper at the marriage of mirages at the horizon.
At the borderlines of border people
I am the original autochthon.
I am my very own ‘others’.
When I walk out of my self I turn into
a discoloured shell, flapping in the wind.
I will keep rumbling on.
I am a line edited out of a Robert Desnos’ poem.
This must be the voice of Robert Desnos.
I am Robert Desnos!
The War is over. I am heading home for you, my darling Oyuki.
We will repaint our house in all possible colours.
We will dust the sky & snuggle up in it at night.
I am heading home for you, my love Oyuki,
I am heading home for you, Oyuki my world.

Life! Keep a weather eye on life!

In the discretion of the fern-green trees –
caught in their own sun-drenched shadows,
you can hear the voice of Robert Desnos.
Yes, I am talking about Robert Desnos.
The Robert Desnos who died from typhoid a month after
he was freed from a Nazi concentration camp.
His authentic auto-surrealist clouds had walked
into a house & hypnotized people.
His people had been slaughtered en masse.
The last three lines of ‘The Last Poem’ go,
“One hundred times more shadow than shadow,
The shadow that will come again & again
to your sun-drenched life.”
Desnos was longing for Oyuki,
who was the artist Foujita’s wife.
On an evening walk, Foujita boarded a ship
to Brazil on a whim, never to return.
Oh, you flower-sellers on street corners
Oh, you gunrunners at the borderlands
Oh, you human traffickers on the web
can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
It’s Monday, October 23, 2017 in Thuwana, Thingankyun, Rangoon.
They haven’t taken down the billboard that says:
“All the way to the Asia Games!”
The footballers practicing on the pitch look crestfallen.
My country is overcast. Rainy, but not raining.
Always look on the bright side of life.
On the Sand Shore
can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
Can you hear the concentration camps & gulags?
The voice of Robert Desnos!
Extremists, who are dyed with suffering & pickled in religion!
Can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
The essence of amber on adolescent breasts,
can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
Marvelous poems from mundane life, from life’s chemistry!
Can you hear the voice of Robert Desnos?
My mind is a fish that has jumped off
of my skull onto a motorway.
The colourful fish has turned back, its mouth –
hooked in a question mark.
Where shall I return?
What shall I slash & burn & hunt & gather?
Art will mind its own business.
It will wait crouching to jump at me from behind a bush.
Like a captain at the helm of a ship lost at sea,
my mind is only set on that woman.
I keep my hands behind my back &
whisper at the marriage of mirages at the horizon.
At the borderlines of border people
I am the original autochthon.
I am my very own ‘others’.
When I walk out of my self I turn into
a discoloured shell, flapping in the wind.
I will keep rumbling on.
I am a line edited out of a Robert Desnos’ poem.
This must be the voice of Robert Desnos.
I am Robert Desnos!
The War is over. I am heading home for you, my darling Oyuki.
We will repaint our house in all possible colours.
We will dust the sky & snuggle up in it at night.
I am heading home for you, my love Oyuki,
I am heading home for you, Oyuki my world.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère