Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Bernke Klein Zandvoort

THE OTHER

there is a night within the night and when I wake up there
I wonder where I live when my eyes bring me nothing
and find myself in the mere flare-up of a battery
somewhere at the back of the room and in my heartbeat
from years ago

in a bed beside the railway line where in the day
every fifteen minutes trains raced a silence through our conversations

                                                                        we were geared to it

nonetheless, each time, in that silence the other person appeared as an other

afraid I would no longer be able to translate the other into my mother
I polished the enigma away by focusing on the curtains
and by waiting

                                                    seconds          lasted                         years

until, last week, in my room I asked two people
to keep looking at each other
and tied a string round their forefingers
which they had to move once they no longer recognised the other

                                                and in the face an animal emerges

that a face becomes so forsaken
that you're left with your own looking

DE ANDER

DE ANDER

er is een nacht in de nacht en als ik daarin wakker word
vraag ik me af waar ik woon als mijn ogen me niets komen brengen
vind mezelf alleen in het opflitsen van een accu
ergens achter in de kamer en in mijn hartslag
van jaren terug

in een bed naast de spoorlijn waar treinen overdag
elk kwartier een stilte raasden door onze gesprekken

                                   ar waren we op gestemd

toch werd in die stilte elke keer de ander als een ander zichtbaar

bang dat ik de ander niet meer naar mijn moeder zou kunnen vertalen
poetste ik het raadsel weg door scherp te stellen op de gordijnenen
te wachten

                            seconden               duurden             jaren

tot ik vorige week twee mensen in mijn kamer vroeg
om naar elkaar te blijven kijken
en een touwtje om hun wijsvinger bond
die ze moesten bewegen als ze de ander niet meer herkenden

                                                 er in het gezicht een dier loskomt

dat een gezicht zó verlaten wordt
dat je overblijft met je eigen kijken


Close

THE OTHER

there is a night within the night and when I wake up there
I wonder where I live when my eyes bring me nothing
and find myself in the mere flare-up of a battery
somewhere at the back of the room and in my heartbeat
from years ago

in a bed beside the railway line where in the day
every fifteen minutes trains raced a silence through our conversations

                                                                        we were geared to it

nonetheless, each time, in that silence the other person appeared as an other

afraid I would no longer be able to translate the other into my mother
I polished the enigma away by focusing on the curtains
and by waiting

                                                    seconds          lasted                         years

until, last week, in my room I asked two people
to keep looking at each other
and tied a string round their forefingers
which they had to move once they no longer recognised the other

                                                and in the face an animal emerges

that a face becomes so forsaken
that you're left with your own looking

THE OTHER

there is a night within the night and when I wake up there
I wonder where I live when my eyes bring me nothing
and find myself in the mere flare-up of a battery
somewhere at the back of the room and in my heartbeat
from years ago

in a bed beside the railway line where in the day
every fifteen minutes trains raced a silence through our conversations

                                                                        we were geared to it

nonetheless, each time, in that silence the other person appeared as an other

afraid I would no longer be able to translate the other into my mother
I polished the enigma away by focusing on the curtains
and by waiting

                                                    seconds          lasted                         years

until, last week, in my room I asked two people
to keep looking at each other
and tied a string round their forefingers
which they had to move once they no longer recognised the other

                                                and in the face an animal emerges

that a face becomes so forsaken
that you're left with your own looking

Sponsors
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
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère