Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Iduna Paalman

THE CHANCE OF YOU ASKING MY NAME IS DECLINING BY THE SECOND

You can guarantee the police search your coat when you’ve got
     nothing to say. Set your face
to dead calm staying silent, your unloaded arms by your sides.
     Being slammed to the ground
can also be a way of satisfying certain physical needs.

What I’ve stolen or been dealing, white or the colour of the
     pavement, well you tell me.
What I share, which parts of me provide you with a whole, the proof
still in my back pocket, at home an overblown tulip over the edge
of the chair, which form of notation, which order, you tell me.

If we’re talking about bodies: they function alright but don’t change
     colour
with the seasons. Does being special mean that people think about
     you at night?
Is there anyone who wants to think about me at night?

Do you know how many men select more attractive genitals, put
     them on their
own body, bathroom or cat behind them, that’s called the sharing
     economy, huge numbers
of clicks apparently. In principle you could lay claim to me, give me
     advice:
first your jokes, then your indifference

then the question whether I want to bite back, even without arrest.
     A snarl
can be heard in the sound of your car starting, but something still
     slumbers between us. Are
you in any way prepared, I think as I turn around, to continue
     watching as I unzip my
jacket, to investigate which laws you think I might be breaking?

DE KANS DAT JE VRAAGT HOE IK HEET WORDT MET DE MINUUT KLEINER

DE KANS DAT JE VRAAGT HOE IK HEET WORDT MET DE MINUUT KLEINER

Juist als je niets te zeggen hebt, kijken agenten onder je jas. Leg je
     gezicht
een doodkalm zwijgen op, je armen ongeladen langs je lijf.
     Hardhandig tegen de grond
gewerkt worden kan ook het bevredigen van een lichamelijke
     behoefte zijn.

Wat ik gestolen of gedeald heb, wit of de kleur van ons asfalt, jij
     mag het zeggen.
Wat ik deel, welke delen van mij jou een geheel verschaffen, het
     bewijs
nog in de kontzak van mijn broek, thuis een uitgebloeide tulp over
     de rand
van de stoel, welke notatievorm, welke volgorde, jij mag het
     zeggen.

Als we het over een lichaam hebben: het functioneert prima maar
     kleurt niet mee
met de seizoenen. Betekent speciaal zijn dat er ’s nachts over je
     wordt nagedacht?
Is er iemand die ’s nachts over mij wil nadenken?

Weet je hoeveel mannen online een mooier geslachtsdeel kiezen,
     het op hun eigen lichaam
zetten, badkamer of kat erachter, dat heet deeleconomie, de
     bezoekersaantallen schijnen
enorm te zijn. In principe zou je aanspraak op me kunnen maken,
     me kunnen adviseren:
eerst je grappen, dan je onverschilligheid

dan de vraag of ik ook zonder arrestatie van me af wil bijten. In de
     startgeluiden
van je auto is een snauw te herkennen, maar iets tussen ons slaapt
     nog steeds. Ben je
überhaupt bereid, denk ik terwijl ik me omdraai, te blijven kijken als
     ik mijn jas
openrits, te onderzoeken welke wet ik dreig te overtreden?
Close

THE CHANCE OF YOU ASKING MY NAME IS DECLINING BY THE SECOND

You can guarantee the police search your coat when you’ve got
     nothing to say. Set your face
to dead calm staying silent, your unloaded arms by your sides.
     Being slammed to the ground
can also be a way of satisfying certain physical needs.

What I’ve stolen or been dealing, white or the colour of the
     pavement, well you tell me.
What I share, which parts of me provide you with a whole, the proof
still in my back pocket, at home an overblown tulip over the edge
of the chair, which form of notation, which order, you tell me.

If we’re talking about bodies: they function alright but don’t change
     colour
with the seasons. Does being special mean that people think about
     you at night?
Is there anyone who wants to think about me at night?

Do you know how many men select more attractive genitals, put
     them on their
own body, bathroom or cat behind them, that’s called the sharing
     economy, huge numbers
of clicks apparently. In principle you could lay claim to me, give me
     advice:
first your jokes, then your indifference

then the question whether I want to bite back, even without arrest.
     A snarl
can be heard in the sound of your car starting, but something still
     slumbers between us. Are
you in any way prepared, I think as I turn around, to continue
     watching as I unzip my
jacket, to investigate which laws you think I might be breaking?

THE CHANCE OF YOU ASKING MY NAME IS DECLINING BY THE SECOND

You can guarantee the police search your coat when you’ve got
     nothing to say. Set your face
to dead calm staying silent, your unloaded arms by your sides.
     Being slammed to the ground
can also be a way of satisfying certain physical needs.

What I’ve stolen or been dealing, white or the colour of the
     pavement, well you tell me.
What I share, which parts of me provide you with a whole, the proof
still in my back pocket, at home an overblown tulip over the edge
of the chair, which form of notation, which order, you tell me.

If we’re talking about bodies: they function alright but don’t change
     colour
with the seasons. Does being special mean that people think about
     you at night?
Is there anyone who wants to think about me at night?

Do you know how many men select more attractive genitals, put
     them on their
own body, bathroom or cat behind them, that’s called the sharing
     economy, huge numbers
of clicks apparently. In principle you could lay claim to me, give me
     advice:
first your jokes, then your indifference

then the question whether I want to bite back, even without arrest.
     A snarl
can be heard in the sound of your car starting, but something still
     slumbers between us. Are
you in any way prepared, I think as I turn around, to continue
     watching as I unzip my
jacket, to investigate which laws you think I might be breaking?
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
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