Poem
Vrouwkje Tuinman
BED SCENE
The first time I found someone deadwith his hands up it was a frog,
crushed on the Lauwerecht and flawlessly
dried. The person I walked with
would not let me take it home. Ever since,
I feel regret, every time I pass through that street,
I look around to find the frog.
Only twenty years later I saw him, quite
somewhere else, just as flat, but now
with one hand up and one on his heart.
The next time I found someone dead
with his hands up it was you,
reclining in bed, your arms and
legs spread out as if you were hoping
to catch more air that way, the oxygen
aimlessly floating around your deflated chest,
never reaching your heart.
Someone held out a bag for me.
Now I possess your ring and a flat frog,
I cycle through the streets amiss.
© Translation: 2020, Vrouwkje Tuinman
BEDSCÈNE
BEDSCÈNE
De eerste keer dat ik iemand dood vondmet zijn handen omhoog was het een kikker,
platgereden op de Lauwerecht en perfect
gedroogd. Hij mocht niet mee naar huis
van degene met wie ik liep. Sindsdien
heb ik spijt, en kijk ik elke keer als ik
die straat door rijd of ik de kikker zie.
Pas twintig jaar later zag ik hem, heel
ergens anders, net zo plat, maar nu
met één hand omhoog en één op zijn hart.
De volgende keer dat ik iemand dood vond
met zijn handen omhoog was jij het,
achterover in bed, je armen en
benen gespreid alsof je hoopte zo
meer lucht te krijgen, de zuurstof die
doelloos om jouw leeggelopen borst
heen dreef, die nooit je hart bereikte.
Iemand hield een zakje voor me open.
Nu bezit ik jouw ring en een platte kikker,
ik rijd ondienstig door de straten.
© 2019, Vrouwkje Tuinman
From: Lijfrente
Publisher: Cossee, Amsterdam
From: Lijfrente
Publisher: Cossee, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Vrouwkje Tuinman
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BED SCENE
The first time I found someone deadwith his hands up it was a frog,
crushed on the Lauwerecht and flawlessly
dried. The person I walked with
would not let me take it home. Ever since,
I feel regret, every time I pass through that street,
I look around to find the frog.
Only twenty years later I saw him, quite
somewhere else, just as flat, but now
with one hand up and one on his heart.
The next time I found someone dead
with his hands up it was you,
reclining in bed, your arms and
legs spread out as if you were hoping
to catch more air that way, the oxygen
aimlessly floating around your deflated chest,
never reaching your heart.
Someone held out a bag for me.
Now I possess your ring and a flat frog,
I cycle through the streets amiss.
© 2020, Vrouwkje Tuinman
From: Lijfrente
From: Lijfrente
BED SCENE
The first time I found someone deadwith his hands up it was a frog,
crushed on the Lauwerecht and flawlessly
dried. The person I walked with
would not let me take it home. Ever since,
I feel regret, every time I pass through that street,
I look around to find the frog.
Only twenty years later I saw him, quite
somewhere else, just as flat, but now
with one hand up and one on his heart.
The next time I found someone dead
with his hands up it was you,
reclining in bed, your arms and
legs spread out as if you were hoping
to catch more air that way, the oxygen
aimlessly floating around your deflated chest,
never reaching your heart.
Someone held out a bag for me.
Now I possess your ring and a flat frog,
I cycle through the streets amiss.
© 2020, Vrouwkje Tuinman
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