Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Gerrit Komrij

short-circuit

I seek her everywhere. The dancers are
So clearly visible in their green shrine.
Still out of sight the girl, though, from the square.
I hear loud groaning. Turn round for a sign.

The water’s blackish gleam. And there I spot
My mother in the pool, with eyes unseeing.
An arm outstretched. The mire is steaming hot.
She sinks. Sucked ever downwards is her being.

An ice-pole in the boiling water. – That’s
Not what Nathan had promised me, of course.
The glaciers steam, all shivery the sweat. –
She pulls me to her with magnetic force.

kortsluiting

kortsluiting

Ik zoek haar overal. De dansers zijn
Goed zichtbaar in hun groene heiligdom.
Toch zie ik niet het meisje van het plein.
Ik hoor een luid gekerm. Ik draai mij om.

Het zwarte watervlak. En daar zie ik
Mijn moeder in de poel, met blinde ogen.
Een uitgestrekte arm. Heet dampt het slik.
Ze zinkt. Ze wordt steeds dieper weggezogen.

Een ijsstaaf in het kokend water. – Dit
Is niet wat Nathan had beloofd. Het zweet
Is rillerig, de gletschers zijn verhit.
Ze trekt mij naar zich toe, als een magneet.
Close

short-circuit

I seek her everywhere. The dancers are
So clearly visible in their green shrine.
Still out of sight the girl, though, from the square.
I hear loud groaning. Turn round for a sign.

The water’s blackish gleam. And there I spot
My mother in the pool, with eyes unseeing.
An arm outstretched. The mire is steaming hot.
She sinks. Sucked ever downwards is her being.

An ice-pole in the boiling water. – That’s
Not what Nathan had promised me, of course.
The glaciers steam, all shivery the sweat. –
She pulls me to her with magnetic force.

short-circuit

I seek her everywhere. The dancers are
So clearly visible in their green shrine.
Still out of sight the girl, though, from the square.
I hear loud groaning. Turn round for a sign.

The water’s blackish gleam. And there I spot
My mother in the pool, with eyes unseeing.
An arm outstretched. The mire is steaming hot.
She sinks. Sucked ever downwards is her being.

An ice-pole in the boiling water. – That’s
Not what Nathan had promised me, of course.
The glaciers steam, all shivery the sweat. –
She pulls me to her with magnetic force.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère