Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Robert Anker

Dad mum, where your son counts his days though not his drinks

Dad mum, where your son counts his days though not his drinks,
these are my friends here and we are screwed together
through the coils of time into this eye of the storm, a jolly pub.
Don\'t understand us, we ourselves still wonder why we have to live here,
so intimate down to our last names, the rest is outside
where the wind blows and all things breakable break but harshly cheerful
told shards bleed us firmly together here.
I introduce you to those who are true to me as far as the door, their
hearty laughter at your slow old age, your wide collar, your silver perm.
This is dad mum from their village which yearns for me in time
come to see us in our lifetime, look how proud they are
of our speed, our success, and how devotedly detached.
Stand up, smash everything to pieces father, fight me away from here.

Pappa mamma, waar je zoon zijn dagen telt maar niet zijn glazen,

Pappa mamma, waar je zoon zijn dagen telt maar niet zijn glazen,
dit zijn mijn vrienden hier en door de windingen van de tijd
naar elkaar geschroefd tot in dit oog van de storm, een leuk café.
Begrijp ons niet, wij zijn nog zelf verbaasd dat wij hier moeten wonen,
dat we zo intiem tot onze achternaam, de rest is buiten
waar het waait en alles breekbaar breekt maar hardhandig vrolijk
vertelde scherven bloeden ons hier stevig aan elkaar.
Ik stel je voor aan wie mij trouw zijn tot de deur, hun gulle lach
voor jullie trage ouderdom, je wijde boord, je zilveren permanent.
Dit is pappa mamma uit hun dorp dat naar mij hunkert in de tijd
bij ons leven op bezoek gekomen, kijk hoe trots ze zijn
op onze snelheid, ons succes en hoe aanhankelijk onthecht.
Sta op, sla alles kort en klein vader, vecht me hier vandaan.
Close

Dad mum, where your son counts his days though not his drinks

Dad mum, where your son counts his days though not his drinks,
these are my friends here and we are screwed together
through the coils of time into this eye of the storm, a jolly pub.
Don\'t understand us, we ourselves still wonder why we have to live here,
so intimate down to our last names, the rest is outside
where the wind blows and all things breakable break but harshly cheerful
told shards bleed us firmly together here.
I introduce you to those who are true to me as far as the door, their
hearty laughter at your slow old age, your wide collar, your silver perm.
This is dad mum from their village which yearns for me in time
come to see us in our lifetime, look how proud they are
of our speed, our success, and how devotedly detached.
Stand up, smash everything to pieces father, fight me away from here.

Dad mum, where your son counts his days though not his drinks

Dad mum, where your son counts his days though not his drinks,
these are my friends here and we are screwed together
through the coils of time into this eye of the storm, a jolly pub.
Don\'t understand us, we ourselves still wonder why we have to live here,
so intimate down to our last names, the rest is outside
where the wind blows and all things breakable break but harshly cheerful
told shards bleed us firmly together here.
I introduce you to those who are true to me as far as the door, their
hearty laughter at your slow old age, your wide collar, your silver perm.
This is dad mum from their village which yearns for me in time
come to see us in our lifetime, look how proud they are
of our speed, our success, and how devotedly detached.
Stand up, smash everything to pieces father, fight me away from here.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère