Poem
Charles Ducal
THE PIG
The pig lives on the other sideof love, low
to the ground of our loneliness.
It lays itself down lets itself be bitten
as the flesh that laughs
in our most secret of dreams.
It roots in muck and at a trot
the language that we
write with our hands washed.
If one of us were to lose his head,
we’d cry, the both of us,
as though possessed.
© Translation: 2006, Willem Groenewegen
HET VARKEN
HET VARKEN
Het varken leeft aan gene zijdevan de liefde, laag
bij de grond van onze eenzaamheid.
Het legt zich neer en laat zich bijten
als het vlees dat lacht
in onze heimelijkste droom.
Het woelt in draf en drek
de taal op die wij
met gewassen handen schrijven.
Kon een van ons het hoofd verliezen,
wij zouden huilen, beiden,
van bezetenheid.
© 2006, Charles Ducal
From: In inkt gewassen
Publisher: Atlas, Amsterdam
From: In inkt gewassen
Publisher: Atlas, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Charles Ducal
Close
THE PIG
The pig lives on the other sideof love, low
to the ground of our loneliness.
It lays itself down lets itself be bitten
as the flesh that laughs
in our most secret of dreams.
It roots in muck and at a trot
the language that we
write with our hands washed.
If one of us were to lose his head,
we’d cry, the both of us,
as though possessed.
© 2006, Willem Groenewegen
From: In inkt gewassen
From: In inkt gewassen
THE PIG
The pig lives on the other sideof love, low
to the ground of our loneliness.
It lays itself down lets itself be bitten
as the flesh that laughs
in our most secret of dreams.
It roots in muck and at a trot
the language that we
write with our hands washed.
If one of us were to lose his head,
we’d cry, the both of us,
as though possessed.
© 2006, Willem Groenewegen
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