Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Frank Keizer

I have remained behind in the night.

I have remained behind in the night.
North Amsterdam is at my feet
and I can’t find any use for it.
There is capitalism as usual, never mind
which name it has hidden behind
and my face
is the face of the recession,
my laugh a grimace between docility and pain.
A delicate motor system has made way
for the motor system of dumbness.
The motor system of someone who watches films
at a desk, drinks beer at a desk,
writes poems at a desk.
Poems written at a desk
become desk poems.
I cost my economy money,
but not enough.

Ik ben achtergebleven in de nacht.

Ik ben achtergebleven in de nacht.
Amsterdam-Noord ligt aan mijn voeten
en ik heb er geen bestemming voor.
Het kapitalisme is er gewoon, onder welke naam
het zich ook verscholen heeft
en mijn gezicht
is het gezicht van de recessie,
mijn lach een grijns tussen dociliteit en pijn.
Fijne motoriek is overgegaan
in motoriek van de domheid.
De motoriek van iemand die films kijkt
aan een bureau, bier drinkt aan een bureau,
gedichten schrijft aan een bureau.
Gedichten geschreven aan een bureau
worden bureaugedichten.
Ik kost mijn economie geld,
maar niet genoeg.
Close

I have remained behind in the night.

I have remained behind in the night.
North Amsterdam is at my feet
and I can’t find any use for it.
There is capitalism as usual, never mind
which name it has hidden behind
and my face
is the face of the recession,
my laugh a grimace between docility and pain.
A delicate motor system has made way
for the motor system of dumbness.
The motor system of someone who watches films
at a desk, drinks beer at a desk,
writes poems at a desk.
Poems written at a desk
become desk poems.
I cost my economy money,
but not enough.

I have remained behind in the night.

I have remained behind in the night.
North Amsterdam is at my feet
and I can’t find any use for it.
There is capitalism as usual, never mind
which name it has hidden behind
and my face
is the face of the recession,
my laugh a grimace between docility and pain.
A delicate motor system has made way
for the motor system of dumbness.
The motor system of someone who watches films
at a desk, drinks beer at a desk,
writes poems at a desk.
Poems written at a desk
become desk poems.
I cost my economy money,
but not enough.
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