Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Karel van de Woestijne

The ladder and the rope ...

The ladder and the rope; the straw; the chilly smoothness 
of bowl and knife... The fearful morn dissembles, waits.
The air’s inert. Each silence listens to the silence.
The house is deader than a snowy winter’s night.
– The cauldron has been scoured where soggy swill once seethed,
the beast’s outside. Sluggish wise fingers fumble;
the sow quivers; she stares askance... And the day is
like a dead woman whom I’m not allowed to love...
The day is empty. Hear the horses stamping in the stable.
The day’s a void; the hollow Christmas bells are sounding...

My God, I was the head where Thou didst show Thy grace.
They knew it. And they fed me, like this beast
that their desire did feed and that their lust will slay.
With their rancour they fed my yearning thoughts
and I grew beautiful, and had not grasped their envy...
Now is the time, my God, when they will slaughter me
and – naught that my resistance can fix its fear upon...

The day’s a void. The hollow Christmas bells are sounding...

De ladder en de koorde; \'t stroo; de gladde kilte

De ladder en de koorde; \'t stroo; de gladde kilte
van teile en mes ... De huiver-morgen veinst en wacht.
De lucht is lui. De stilten luistren naar de stilte.
Het huis is doover dan een sneeuwen winter-nacht.
– De ketel is gekuischt waar zwoele draffen brasten,
en \'t beest is buiten. Logge en wijze vingren tasten;
de zeuge rilt; hare oogen loenschen ... En de dag
is als een doode vrouw die \'k niet beminnen mag ...
– De dag is ledig. Hoor ten stal de peerden stampen.
De dag is ijl; de holle kerste-klokken tampen ...

Mijn God, ik was het hoofd waar Ge Uw genâ beweest.
Zij wisten \'t. En zij voedden mij, gelijk dit beest
dat hun begeeren voedde en dat hun lust zal slachten.
Ze voedden van hun wrok mijn hunkrende gedachten
en ik werd schóon, en had hun afgunst niet verstaan ...
Thans is de tijd, mijn God, dat ze mij slachten gaan
en – niets waar mijn verweer zijn angst weet vast te klampen ...

– De dag is ijl. De holle kerste-klokken tampen ...
Close

The ladder and the rope ...

The ladder and the rope; the straw; the chilly smoothness 
of bowl and knife... The fearful morn dissembles, waits.
The air’s inert. Each silence listens to the silence.
The house is deader than a snowy winter’s night.
– The cauldron has been scoured where soggy swill once seethed,
the beast’s outside. Sluggish wise fingers fumble;
the sow quivers; she stares askance... And the day is
like a dead woman whom I’m not allowed to love...
The day is empty. Hear the horses stamping in the stable.
The day’s a void; the hollow Christmas bells are sounding...

My God, I was the head where Thou didst show Thy grace.
They knew it. And they fed me, like this beast
that their desire did feed and that their lust will slay.
With their rancour they fed my yearning thoughts
and I grew beautiful, and had not grasped their envy...
Now is the time, my God, when they will slaughter me
and – naught that my resistance can fix its fear upon...

The day’s a void. The hollow Christmas bells are sounding...

The ladder and the rope ...

The ladder and the rope; the straw; the chilly smoothness 
of bowl and knife... The fearful morn dissembles, waits.
The air’s inert. Each silence listens to the silence.
The house is deader than a snowy winter’s night.
– The cauldron has been scoured where soggy swill once seethed,
the beast’s outside. Sluggish wise fingers fumble;
the sow quivers; she stares askance... And the day is
like a dead woman whom I’m not allowed to love...
The day is empty. Hear the horses stamping in the stable.
The day’s a void; the hollow Christmas bells are sounding...

My God, I was the head where Thou didst show Thy grace.
They knew it. And they fed me, like this beast
that their desire did feed and that their lust will slay.
With their rancour they fed my yearning thoughts
and I grew beautiful, and had not grasped their envy...
Now is the time, my God, when they will slaughter me
and – naught that my resistance can fix its fear upon...

The day’s a void. The hollow Christmas bells are sounding...
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