Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Erik Menkveld

THE NEW FISH

Already when the specimen was being served
adjoining tables stopped the digging
of further trenches in the chestnut purée,

the spading of curled-up lettuce leaves
stagnates, wines linger in lifted glasses:
this fish is not the usual feast

of the deep. A revelation,
hauled it would seem from primordial
waters. Though head and tail-fin gone,

seasoned fishermen blinked back their tears
at the sight of breasts, the rudiments
of limbs. How many species had had to

perish for this peerless creature? Or
in it had their origin? But the time
has come for consumption. Uncertain moment:

the chef was faced with a culinary enigma.
How to prepare what’s never been prepared
and in itself is seemingly complete?

Poach, braise or marinate? Superfluous,
an insult. And what then? Do you keep things
simple with seaweed and slivers on toast

or does this call for a complex brandade
for the more demanding stomach? Raw, unsliced
it became, with ostrich egg and shoveller roulade.

Even the sploshing ice-cube water
halts at the point of pouring.
Then the first elected eater places

the first forkful in his mouth. He chews
in silence and unparalleled abandonment. Then
starts to utter ghastly screams. Revulsion,

ecstasy perhaps? He dances round for minutes,
subsiding into baffled staring. Even
after the babas he can’t speak about it.

DE NIEUWE VIS

DE NIEUWE VIS

Al bij opserveren van het exemplaar
staken belendende tafels het graven
van verdere greppels in de kastanjepuree,

het afplaggen van de verruigde salades
stagneert, wijnen talmen in geheven glazen:
de gebruikelijke gezelligheid uit zee

is deze vis niet. Een openbaring,
opgehaald uit wateren van aanvang
lijkt ze. Al ontbraken kop en staartvin,

ervaren vissers verbeten hun tranen
bij het zien van de borsten, de aanzet
tot ledematen. Hoeveel soorten moesten

vergaan voor deze ongeëvenaarde? Of
zijn eruit ontstaan? Maar het ogenblik
van nuttigen is daar. Ongewis moment:

de kok stond voor een culinair raadsel.
Hoe bereid je wat niet eerder bereid is
en ogenschijnlijk in zichzelf volmaakt?

Pocheren, braden, marineren? Overbodig,
een belediging. En daarna? Hou je het
simpel met zeewier en mootjes op toast

of vraagt dit om een complexe brandade
voor de meereisende maag? Rauw, ongesneden
werd het, met struisvogelei en slobeendrollade.

Zelfs het plonzend ijsklontenwater
onderbreekt zich nu op het uitstroompunt.
Daar steekt de uitverkoren eerste eter

de eerste hap in zijn mond. Hij kauwt
in stilte en ongekende overgave. Begint
dan ijselijke kreten te slaken. Uit afkeer

of extase? Minutenlang danst hij rond
en bedaart tot verbijsterd staren. Zelfs
na de soesjes kan hij er niet over praten.
Close

THE NEW FISH

Already when the specimen was being served
adjoining tables stopped the digging
of further trenches in the chestnut purée,

the spading of curled-up lettuce leaves
stagnates, wines linger in lifted glasses:
this fish is not the usual feast

of the deep. A revelation,
hauled it would seem from primordial
waters. Though head and tail-fin gone,

seasoned fishermen blinked back their tears
at the sight of breasts, the rudiments
of limbs. How many species had had to

perish for this peerless creature? Or
in it had their origin? But the time
has come for consumption. Uncertain moment:

the chef was faced with a culinary enigma.
How to prepare what’s never been prepared
and in itself is seemingly complete?

Poach, braise or marinate? Superfluous,
an insult. And what then? Do you keep things
simple with seaweed and slivers on toast

or does this call for a complex brandade
for the more demanding stomach? Raw, unsliced
it became, with ostrich egg and shoveller roulade.

Even the sploshing ice-cube water
halts at the point of pouring.
Then the first elected eater places

the first forkful in his mouth. He chews
in silence and unparalleled abandonment. Then
starts to utter ghastly screams. Revulsion,

ecstasy perhaps? He dances round for minutes,
subsiding into baffled staring. Even
after the babas he can’t speak about it.

THE NEW FISH

Already when the specimen was being served
adjoining tables stopped the digging
of further trenches in the chestnut purée,

the spading of curled-up lettuce leaves
stagnates, wines linger in lifted glasses:
this fish is not the usual feast

of the deep. A revelation,
hauled it would seem from primordial
waters. Though head and tail-fin gone,

seasoned fishermen blinked back their tears
at the sight of breasts, the rudiments
of limbs. How many species had had to

perish for this peerless creature? Or
in it had their origin? But the time
has come for consumption. Uncertain moment:

the chef was faced with a culinary enigma.
How to prepare what’s never been prepared
and in itself is seemingly complete?

Poach, braise or marinate? Superfluous,
an insult. And what then? Do you keep things
simple with seaweed and slivers on toast

or does this call for a complex brandade
for the more demanding stomach? Raw, unsliced
it became, with ostrich egg and shoveller roulade.

Even the sploshing ice-cube water
halts at the point of pouring.
Then the first elected eater places

the first forkful in his mouth. He chews
in silence and unparalleled abandonment. Then
starts to utter ghastly screams. Revulsion,

ecstasy perhaps? He dances round for minutes,
subsiding into baffled staring. Even
after the babas he can’t speak about it.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère