Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Joost Decorte

12

This is how it will be when I miss my father.
The willow launches its longships and embarks the names
Unmoored from their connections.

Wild boar strip the acres,
Under the stones the vermin stay antediluvian still
When homesick

I forge new ties from old joys.
Hand in hand, on the tide’s edge of memory
We light on baskets full of blueberries, starfish and gold that I drag

To this terrain of corrugated iron and scrap where geese graze,
The days go faster by,
In the shadow of the gardens my fame is on the wane.

Hand and hip bear their full weight and how
Do I go back along the path that remembers him?

12

12

Zo zal het zijn als ik mijn vader mis.
De wilg zet zijn drakars op het water en scheept de namen in
Losgewrikt uit hun verbintenis.

Zwartwild stroopt de akkers af,
Onder keien blijft het ongedierte voorwereldlijk stil
Als ik stalziek

Nieuwe banden smeed met oud gerief.
Hand in hand, aan de getijdenrand van het geheugen
Vinden we mandenvol bosbes, zeester en goud dat ik versleep

Naar dit terrein van golfplaat en blik, waar ganzen grazen,
De dagen sneller gaan,
Mijn roem in de schaduw van de tuinen tanend is.

Hand en heup dragen zich te barsten en hoe
Kom ik terug op de weg die zich hem herinnert?
Close

12

This is how it will be when I miss my father.
The willow launches its longships and embarks the names
Unmoored from their connections.

Wild boar strip the acres,
Under the stones the vermin stay antediluvian still
When homesick

I forge new ties from old joys.
Hand in hand, on the tide’s edge of memory
We light on baskets full of blueberries, starfish and gold that I drag

To this terrain of corrugated iron and scrap where geese graze,
The days go faster by,
In the shadow of the gardens my fame is on the wane.

Hand and hip bear their full weight and how
Do I go back along the path that remembers him?

12

This is how it will be when I miss my father.
The willow launches its longships and embarks the names
Unmoored from their connections.

Wild boar strip the acres,
Under the stones the vermin stay antediluvian still
When homesick

I forge new ties from old joys.
Hand in hand, on the tide’s edge of memory
We light on baskets full of blueberries, starfish and gold that I drag

To this terrain of corrugated iron and scrap where geese graze,
The days go faster by,
In the shadow of the gardens my fame is on the wane.

Hand and hip bear their full weight and how
Do I go back along the path that remembers him?
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Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
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