Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Elly de Waard

July and intolerably autumnal

July and intolerably autumnal
is the sky. So many leaves
from the little birch clustering already
in the earliness against
the stone steps. Their yellow
assembly is unsettling.

A cold wind falls around the corner
of the house where while leafing through
my notebooks in the morning
I sit and shiver and do not feel
at home, but still keep refusing
to escape to somewhere else.

And my heart is tired and hangs
like a red leaf on its veins
and its big noise has
been cooled, eschewed away
in the cold wind and it is making itself small
and huddles in a careful sighing.

Juli en onverdraaglijk herfstig

Juli en onverdraaglijk herfstig
is de lucht. Zoveel bladeren
van het berkje dwarrelen nu al
in de vroegte samen tegen
de stenen traptreden. Hun geel
vergaderen is verontrustend.

Een koude wind om de hoek valt
van het huis, waar ik al bladerend
in mijn geschriften in de ochtend
zit en huiver en mij niet thuis
voel, toch blijf weigeren
naar elders te vluchten.

En mijn hart is moe en het hangt
als een rood blad aan zijn aderen
en zijn grote geruchten zijn
geluwd, zijn in de koude wind
weggeschuwd en het houdt zich klein
en hurkt weg in voorzichtig zuchten.
Close

July and intolerably autumnal

July and intolerably autumnal
is the sky. So many leaves
from the little birch clustering already
in the earliness against
the stone steps. Their yellow
assembly is unsettling.

A cold wind falls around the corner
of the house where while leafing through
my notebooks in the morning
I sit and shiver and do not feel
at home, but still keep refusing
to escape to somewhere else.

And my heart is tired and hangs
like a red leaf on its veins
and its big noise has
been cooled, eschewed away
in the cold wind and it is making itself small
and huddles in a careful sighing.

July and intolerably autumnal

July and intolerably autumnal
is the sky. So many leaves
from the little birch clustering already
in the earliness against
the stone steps. Their yellow
assembly is unsettling.

A cold wind falls around the corner
of the house where while leafing through
my notebooks in the morning
I sit and shiver and do not feel
at home, but still keep refusing
to escape to somewhere else.

And my heart is tired and hangs
like a red leaf on its veins
and its big noise has
been cooled, eschewed away
in the cold wind and it is making itself small
and huddles in a careful sighing.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère