Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Alfred Schaffer

Like a fairytale forest, thoroughly scoured

You won’t get out again, soft underfoot whichever
way you turned, even with a map you would
probably get lost, it was so quiet here, dark as earth. I am
simply too much my own is all you can think of now,
surrounded on all sides by trees, by sleep, where was the open place
where you sat down, where you admired the murmur of what
seethes and breathes. You haven’t gone, quite the reverse,
you belong to a secret, a myth no less – the story
goes that the sea changed colour, each step was one too many,
a pack of hounds was let loose, searching greedily
for your scent, tongues hanging out, something sucks them closer
but you, you know nothing, hey, can you hear that too, but
words seem superfluous and in such a frame of mind you are found.

Als een sprookjesbos, grondig uitgekamd

Als een sprookjesbos, grondig uitgekamd

Je komt er niet meer uit, een zompige ondergrond
waar je ook ging, als je een kaart had zou je nog
verdwalen, zo rustig werd het hier, aardedonker. Ik ben
teveel van mij alleen is al wat je nu denken kunt, door
hout omsingeld, door slaap, waar was die open plek
waar je ging zitten, waar jet ruisen van wat broeit
en groeit bewonderde. Je bent niet weg, integendeel,
je behoort tot een geheim, een mythe zelfs, het verhaal
gaat dat de zee verkleurde, elke stap was een teveel,
dat een troep honden losgelaten werd, gretig zoekend
naar je geur, de tongen uit hun bek, iets zuigt hen nader
maar jij, jij weet van niets, hé hoor jij dat ook, maar
woorden lijken overbodig en zo wordt je gevonden.
Close

Like a fairytale forest, thoroughly scoured

You won’t get out again, soft underfoot whichever
way you turned, even with a map you would
probably get lost, it was so quiet here, dark as earth. I am
simply too much my own is all you can think of now,
surrounded on all sides by trees, by sleep, where was the open place
where you sat down, where you admired the murmur of what
seethes and breathes. You haven’t gone, quite the reverse,
you belong to a secret, a myth no less – the story
goes that the sea changed colour, each step was one too many,
a pack of hounds was let loose, searching greedily
for your scent, tongues hanging out, something sucks them closer
but you, you know nothing, hey, can you hear that too, but
words seem superfluous and in such a frame of mind you are found.

Like a fairytale forest, thoroughly scoured

You won’t get out again, soft underfoot whichever
way you turned, even with a map you would
probably get lost, it was so quiet here, dark as earth. I am
simply too much my own is all you can think of now,
surrounded on all sides by trees, by sleep, where was the open place
where you sat down, where you admired the murmur of what
seethes and breathes. You haven’t gone, quite the reverse,
you belong to a secret, a myth no less – the story
goes that the sea changed colour, each step was one too many,
a pack of hounds was let loose, searching greedily
for your scent, tongues hanging out, something sucks them closer
but you, you know nothing, hey, can you hear that too, but
words seem superfluous and in such a frame of mind you are found.
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