Maurice Gilliams
THE BOTTLE AT SEA
The bleak profusion of the blood
brought mind and gut no stable stock.
We are created out of pride,
out of confusion and bad luck.
*
I fixed my eyes till it was in vain.
This blind pearl I did retain
– here, on the island, blossoms spring;
the pleasure of my hearth’s a monkey’s gain.
*
A lonely man grows fat in bed.
He bites his nails and cries, all sad.
Fleas and specters make him swear.
And he gets lost in swirling depths.
*
The stars move and advance
above my bold and sad existence.
My sleepless eyes discern no end,
but in me the End commences.
*
To marl you offer sun and rain
(your benevolence is rarely famed!)
– Breeches, or bread, a place for the night
many a child did never obtain.
*
A woman had to watch my attire
while I faced dream dragons in a fight.
Down I came from the blade on the grass.
There she sat sweetly lighting some fire.
*
Let me warm my feet, son.
Moon and wind made me all numb.
A man chews turnips his whole life
behind the roses of his passion.
*
The void along the stars gapes deep.
My heart is an emptier void asleep.
– Ah, mother, do not call me into being:
in grieving it is grief that you will reap.
From: The Bottle at Sea: Complete poems and Journal Fragments
Publisher: Green Integer, Los Angeles, 2006
DE FLES IN ZEE
DE FLES IN ZEE
De gure weelde van het bloed
bracht geest en buik maar wankel goed.
Wij zijn uit hoovaardij geschapen,
uit misverstand en tegenspoed.
*
Mijn ogen heb ik blindgestaard.
Dees blinde parel bleef bewaard
– hier, op het eiland, bloeit de lente;
een aap vermaakt zich aan mijn haard.
*
Een eenzaam mens in bed gedijt.
Hij bijt zijn nagels af en krijt.
Vlooien en spoken doen hem vloeken.
En in een afgrond rolt hij kwijt.
*
De sterren bewegen en gaan
boven mijn fier en droef bestaan.
Mijn slaaploze ogen zien geen einde,
Maar in mij vangt het Einde aan.
*
Aan mergel schenkt gij zon en regen
(uw mildheid wordt nog zeer verzwegen!)
– Een broek, een brood, een nachtverblijf
heeft menig kind niet eens gekregen.
*
Een vrouw moest op mijn kleergoed waken
terwijl ik vocht met dromen-draken.
Ik daalde van de kling in ’t gras.
Daar zat zij lief wat vuur te maken.
*
Laat me mijn voeten warmen, kind.
Ik ben verkleumd van maan en wind.
Een man kauwt heel zijn leven rapen
achter de rozen die hij mint.
*
De leegte naast de sterren gaapt.
Mijn hart is leger niets en slaapt.
– Ach, moeder, wek mij niet tot leven:
in smart zijn ’t smarten die gij raapt.
From: Verzamelde gedichten
Publisher: Meulenhoff, Amsterdam
THE BOTTLE AT SEA
The bleak profusion of the blood
brought mind and gut no stable stock.
We are created out of pride,
out of confusion and bad luck.
*
I fixed my eyes till it was in vain.
This blind pearl I did retain
– here, on the island, blossoms spring;
the pleasure of my hearth’s a monkey’s gain.
*
A lonely man grows fat in bed.
He bites his nails and cries, all sad.
Fleas and specters make him swear.
And he gets lost in swirling depths.
*
The stars move and advance
above my bold and sad existence.
My sleepless eyes discern no end,
but in me the End commences.
*
To marl you offer sun and rain
(your benevolence is rarely famed!)
– Breeches, or bread, a place for the night
many a child did never obtain.
*
A woman had to watch my attire
while I faced dream dragons in a fight.
Down I came from the blade on the grass.
There she sat sweetly lighting some fire.
*
Let me warm my feet, son.
Moon and wind made me all numb.
A man chews turnips his whole life
behind the roses of his passion.
*
The void along the stars gapes deep.
My heart is an emptier void asleep.
– Ah, mother, do not call me into being:
in grieving it is grief that you will reap.
From: The Bottle at Sea: Complete poems and Journal Fragments
Publisher: 2006, Green Integer, Los Angeles
THE BOTTLE AT SEA
The bleak profusion of the blood
brought mind and gut no stable stock.
We are created out of pride,
out of confusion and bad luck.
*
I fixed my eyes till it was in vain.
This blind pearl I did retain
– here, on the island, blossoms spring;
the pleasure of my hearth’s a monkey’s gain.
*
A lonely man grows fat in bed.
He bites his nails and cries, all sad.
Fleas and specters make him swear.
And he gets lost in swirling depths.
*
The stars move and advance
above my bold and sad existence.
My sleepless eyes discern no end,
but in me the End commences.
*
To marl you offer sun and rain
(your benevolence is rarely famed!)
– Breeches, or bread, a place for the night
many a child did never obtain.
*
A woman had to watch my attire
while I faced dream dragons in a fight.
Down I came from the blade on the grass.
There she sat sweetly lighting some fire.
*
Let me warm my feet, son.
Moon and wind made me all numb.
A man chews turnips his whole life
behind the roses of his passion.
*
The void along the stars gapes deep.
My heart is an emptier void asleep.
– Ah, mother, do not call me into being:
in grieving it is grief that you will reap.
From: The Bottle at Sea: Complete poems and Journal Fragments
Publisher: 2006, Green Integer, Los Angeles
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