Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Mustafa Stitou

ANTON

Left, a slender gold-haired goddess –
she didn’t deign to notice me.
I brushed it off: since 9/11
there hasn’t been much call
                    for Arabs. Right,
a couple: her, outsized, pockmarked face,
a purple velvet evening dress – it had a certain
charm. So when the boyfriend went off somewhere,
we got to talking; she worked, she said,
in casting; she’d spent the afternoon
on a new Dutch mini-series,
                    casting local Nazis.
Ah, my Jewish fiancée and I,
you can see us growing older and fatter together,
delighting more and more in eating and
in sleeping. When the boyfriend came back,
he kissed her naked shoulder while staring hard
at me. The slim blonde on my left,
as I now noticed, had a tattoo
right across the back of her neck:
                    Anton*
it said,
in calligraphy,
between two hearts.

Anton

Anton

Links een tenger en goudblond godinnetje,
keurde me geen blik waardig.
Maar het deed me niets: sinds elf september
Ligt een Arabier nu eenmaal slecht
                           in de markt. Rechts
een stelletje; zij, reuzin, pokdalige kop,
paarsfluwelen avondjurk, ik vond het
wel wat hebben. Dus toen haar vriend even verdween
raakten we in gesprek; ze werkte, vertelde ze,
voor een castingbureau; die middag had ze,
voor een nieuwe Nederlandse dramaserie,
                           NSB’ers gecast.
Ach, mijn joodse verloofde en ik,
zienderogen worden we ouder en dikker samen,
scheppen steeds meer behagen in eten
en slapen. Toen haar vriend weer opdook
kuste hij haar blote schouder en keek mij
ondertussen strak aan. De slanke blondine
links van mij, zag ik nu, had op de achterkant van haar nek,
over de volle breedte, een tatoeage:
                            Anton
stond er,
in schoonschrift, tussen
twee hartjes in.
Close

ANTON

Left, a slender gold-haired goddess –
she didn’t deign to notice me.
I brushed it off: since 9/11
there hasn’t been much call
                    for Arabs. Right,
a couple: her, outsized, pockmarked face,
a purple velvet evening dress – it had a certain
charm. So when the boyfriend went off somewhere,
we got to talking; she worked, she said,
in casting; she’d spent the afternoon
on a new Dutch mini-series,
                    casting local Nazis.
Ah, my Jewish fiancée and I,
you can see us growing older and fatter together,
delighting more and more in eating and
in sleeping. When the boyfriend came back,
he kissed her naked shoulder while staring hard
at me. The slim blonde on my left,
as I now noticed, had a tattoo
right across the back of her neck:
                    Anton*
it said,
in calligraphy,
between two hearts.

ANTON

Left, a slender gold-haired goddess –
she didn’t deign to notice me.
I brushed it off: since 9/11
there hasn’t been much call
                    for Arabs. Right,
a couple: her, outsized, pockmarked face,
a purple velvet evening dress – it had a certain
charm. So when the boyfriend went off somewhere,
we got to talking; she worked, she said,
in casting; she’d spent the afternoon
on a new Dutch mini-series,
                    casting local Nazis.
Ah, my Jewish fiancée and I,
you can see us growing older and fatter together,
delighting more and more in eating and
in sleeping. When the boyfriend came back,
he kissed her naked shoulder while staring hard
at me. The slim blonde on my left,
as I now noticed, had a tattoo
right across the back of her neck:
                    Anton*
it said,
in calligraphy,
between two hearts.
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
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