Poem
Alfred Schaffer
THE BRIGHT LIGHTING THAT TAKES OVER SO THAT I HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR
love no love, love no love etc.why I’m scarcely any different
from when I was painted in a cavern
with charcoal and spit.
armed with a torch and some bread and water
I descend a long forgotten shaft
venture along clammy dark blood vessels
to come across what is left of me:
a grubby-looking character who runs
and runs and runs until it reaches velocity
and takes off from the ground
clumsily, with little jerks.
© Translation: 2021, Michele Hutchison
DE HELDERE VERLICHTING DIE ZICH DOET GELDEN OPDAT IK NIETS TE VREZEN HEB
DE HELDERE VERLICHTING DIE ZICH DOET GELDEN OPDAT IK NIETS TE VREZEN HEB
geen liefde wel liefde, geen liefde wel liefde, etc.waarom ik nauwelijks veranderd ben
sinds ik met spuug en houtskool
in een diepe grot werd nageschilderd.
gewapend met een zaklamp en wat brood en water
daal ik af in zo’n lang vergeten schacht
om via klamme, duistere bloedvaten
op dat wat van mij overbleef te stuiten:
een groezelig figuurtje dat aan één stuk
rent en rent en rent totdat het snelheid heeft
en lomp, met kleine schokjes
loskomt van de grond.
© 2020, Alfred Schaffer
From: Wie was ik. strafregels
Publisher: De Bezige Bij,
From: Wie was ik. strafregels
Publisher: De Bezige Bij,
Poems
Poems of Alfred Schaffer
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THE BRIGHT LIGHTING THAT TAKES OVER SO THAT I HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR
love no love, love no love etc.why I’m scarcely any different
from when I was painted in a cavern
with charcoal and spit.
armed with a torch and some bread and water
I descend a long forgotten shaft
venture along clammy dark blood vessels
to come across what is left of me:
a grubby-looking character who runs
and runs and runs until it reaches velocity
and takes off from the ground
clumsily, with little jerks.
© 2021, Michele Hutchison
From: Wie was ik. strafregels
From: Wie was ik. strafregels
THE BRIGHT LIGHTING THAT TAKES OVER SO THAT I HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR
love no love, love no love etc.why I’m scarcely any different
from when I was painted in a cavern
with charcoal and spit.
armed with a torch and some bread and water
I descend a long forgotten shaft
venture along clammy dark blood vessels
to come across what is left of me:
a grubby-looking character who runs
and runs and runs until it reaches velocity
and takes off from the ground
clumsily, with little jerks.
© 2021, Michele Hutchison
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