Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Vicky Francken

Superbia

she has death under her skirts

she’s carrying a child that will never breathe
she’s carrying a child that will breathe a whole life long
            and then stop
                                    she can conceive a child and give it life
                                    but never immortality
she is sick, her organs will give out
she’s carrying a flask of poison
            she doesn’t know yet who to slip it to
she’s carrying a flask of poison
            she doesn’t know yet when to sip

she has death under her skirts

what if she tries to get away, by whom might death be claimed
what if she peels off her skirts at night, where will death go then
does the man who kisses her know she carries death with her
            did he look for death in a wife or for his wife in death
                        to which of them did he say ‘I do’
                                    can you say ‘I don’t’ to death, is that any use

she has death under her skirts

it must be a small death
            la petite mort
                        can death be small, can death be measured
                                    or is death a seamless fit
                                                can death be hemmed in – or cut down a size
                                                            does death come tailor-made under her skirts
                                                                        or does death go undressed                                                                                                   
            is death a dreaded guest
                        or is it a welcome rest
                                    can death be fended off
                                                or can it be transcended

how do you carry death, cradled in your arms, hoping he’ll sleep through
how do you carry death out the door when the water’s seeping through
how do you carry death under your skirts
            in a way that no one can see
how does death suit her under her skirts
            you can’t say: death would suit you
                        that’s a threat
            there’s no use saying: it suits you, that death
                        because the dead can’t (we think) hear you

there are people whom death doesn’t suit
            all people, really
                        until they want to be taken:
                                    ‘I’d have been happy for the Lord
                                                to take me sooner’
                                                            they picture the redeemer
                                                                        not the reaper

she has death under her skirts

you can wear skirts long after life has ended

Superbia

Superbia

ze heeft de dood onder haar rokken

ze draagt een kind dat nooit zal ademen
ze draagt een kind dat een mensenleven lang zal ademen
            en er dan mee ophoudt
                         ze kan een kind verwekken en het leven geven
                         maar nooit onsterfelijkheid
ze is ziek, haar organen zullen het begeven
ze draagt een flacon met gif bij zich
            ze weet nog niet wie te schenken
ze draagt een flacon met gif bij zich
            ze weet nog niet wanneer te drinken
 
ze heeft de dood onder haar rokken
 
wat als ze het op een lopen zet, aan wie valt de dood ten prooi
wat als ze haar rokken afstroopt ’s avonds, waar blijft dan de dood
weet de man die haar kust dat ze de dood bij zich draagt
              ging hij op zoek naar de dood in een vrouw of zocht hij zijn vrouw in de dood
                          wie van hen gaf hij het jawoord
                                        kun je nee zeggen tegen de dood, heeft dat zin
 
ze heeft de dood onder haar rokken
 
het moet een kleine dood zijn
           la petite mort
                       kan de dood klein zijn, heeft de dood een maat
                                    of ís de dood een maatje
                                                kun je de dood de maat nemen – of de das omdoen
                                                            draagt de dood een maatpak onder haar rokken
                                                                        of is de dood hoofdzakelijk naakt
                                                                       
            is de dood noodzakelijk kwaad
                        of taalt ze er wel naar
                                    is de dood voor rede vatbaar
                                                of van voorbijgaande aard
 
hoe draag je de dood, wiegend in je armen, in de hoop dat hij doorslaapt
hoe draag je de dood de deur uit als je zelf al tot je knieën in het water staat
hoe draag je de dood onder je rokken
             zonder dat het opvalt
hoe staat haar de dood onder haar rokken
            je kunt niet zeggen: de dood zou je goed staan
                        dat is een dreigement
het heeft geen zin om te zeggen: staat je goed, die dood
             want de dode hoort je toch niet (denken we)
 
er zijn mensen bij wie de dood misstaat
        dat zijn eigenlijk alle mensen
                        tot ze willen worden opgehaald:
                                    ‘onze lieveheer had me veel eerder
                                              mogen komen halen’
                                                            ze denken aan een heer
                                                                        niet aan hein
 
ze heeft de dood onder haar rokken
 
je kunt tot na je leven rokken dragen
Close

Superbia

she has death under her skirts

she’s carrying a child that will never breathe
she’s carrying a child that will breathe a whole life long
            and then stop
                                    she can conceive a child and give it life
                                    but never immortality
she is sick, her organs will give out
she’s carrying a flask of poison
            she doesn’t know yet who to slip it to
she’s carrying a flask of poison
            she doesn’t know yet when to sip

she has death under her skirts

what if she tries to get away, by whom might death be claimed
what if she peels off her skirts at night, where will death go then
does the man who kisses her know she carries death with her
            did he look for death in a wife or for his wife in death
                        to which of them did he say ‘I do’
                                    can you say ‘I don’t’ to death, is that any use

she has death under her skirts

it must be a small death
            la petite mort
                        can death be small, can death be measured
                                    or is death a seamless fit
                                                can death be hemmed in – or cut down a size
                                                            does death come tailor-made under her skirts
                                                                        or does death go undressed                                                                                                   
            is death a dreaded guest
                        or is it a welcome rest
                                    can death be fended off
                                                or can it be transcended

how do you carry death, cradled in your arms, hoping he’ll sleep through
how do you carry death out the door when the water’s seeping through
how do you carry death under your skirts
            in a way that no one can see
how does death suit her under her skirts
            you can’t say: death would suit you
                        that’s a threat
            there’s no use saying: it suits you, that death
                        because the dead can’t (we think) hear you

there are people whom death doesn’t suit
            all people, really
                        until they want to be taken:
                                    ‘I’d have been happy for the Lord
                                                to take me sooner’
                                                            they picture the redeemer
                                                                        not the reaper

she has death under her skirts

you can wear skirts long after life has ended

Superbia

she has death under her skirts

she’s carrying a child that will never breathe
she’s carrying a child that will breathe a whole life long
            and then stop
                                    she can conceive a child and give it life
                                    but never immortality
she is sick, her organs will give out
she’s carrying a flask of poison
            she doesn’t know yet who to slip it to
she’s carrying a flask of poison
            she doesn’t know yet when to sip

she has death under her skirts

what if she tries to get away, by whom might death be claimed
what if she peels off her skirts at night, where will death go then
does the man who kisses her know she carries death with her
            did he look for death in a wife or for his wife in death
                        to which of them did he say ‘I do’
                                    can you say ‘I don’t’ to death, is that any use

she has death under her skirts

it must be a small death
            la petite mort
                        can death be small, can death be measured
                                    or is death a seamless fit
                                                can death be hemmed in – or cut down a size
                                                            does death come tailor-made under her skirts
                                                                        or does death go undressed                                                                                                   
            is death a dreaded guest
                        or is it a welcome rest
                                    can death be fended off
                                                or can it be transcended

how do you carry death, cradled in your arms, hoping he’ll sleep through
how do you carry death out the door when the water’s seeping through
how do you carry death under your skirts
            in a way that no one can see
how does death suit her under her skirts
            you can’t say: death would suit you
                        that’s a threat
            there’s no use saying: it suits you, that death
                        because the dead can’t (we think) hear you

there are people whom death doesn’t suit
            all people, really
                        until they want to be taken:
                                    ‘I’d have been happy for the Lord
                                                to take me sooner’
                                                            they picture the redeemer
                                                                        not the reaper

she has death under her skirts

you can wear skirts long after life has ended
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