Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Hugo Claus

ENVOI

My verses stand gawping a bit.
I never get used to this. They’ve lived here
long enough.
Enough. I send them out of the house, I don’t want to wait
until their toes are cold.
Unhampered by their unclear clamour
I want to hear the humming of the sun
or that of my heart, that treacherous sponge that hardens.

My verses don’t screw classically,
they babble commonly and bluster far too nobly.
In winter their lips leap.
in spring they lie flat at the first warmth,
they ruin my summer
and in autumn they smell of women.

Enough. For another twelve lines on this sheet
I’ll hold my hand over their head
and then they’ll get a boot up the arse.
Go and pester elsewhere, one-cent rhymes
tremble elsewhere before twelve readers
and a snoring reviewer.

Go now, verses, on your light feet,
you have not trodden hard on the old earth
where the graves laugh when they see their guests,
the one corpse stacked on top of the other.
Go now and stagger to her
whom I do not know.

ENVOI

ENVOI

Mijn verzen staan nog wat te gapen.
Ik word dit nooit gewoon. Zij hebben hier lang
genoeg gewoond.
Genoeg. Ik stuur ze ’t huis uit. ik wil niet wachten
tot hun tenen koud zijn.
Ongehinderd door hun onhelder misbaar  
wil ik het gegons van de zon horen
of dat van mijn hart, die verraderlijke spons die verhardt.

Mijn verzen neuken niet klassiek,
zij brabbelen ordinair of brallen al te nobel.
In de winter springen hun lippen,
in de lente liggen zij plat bij de eerste warmte,  
zij verzieken mijn zomer
en in de herfst ruiken zij naar vrouwen.

Genoeg. Nog twaalf regels lang op dit blad  
hou ik ze de hand boven het hoofd
en dan krijgen zij een schop in hun gat.
Ga elders drammen, rijmen van een cent,
elders beven voor twaalf lezers
en een snurkende recensent.

Ga nu, verzen, op jullie lichte voeten,  
jullie hebben niet hard getrapt op de oude aarde
waar de graven lachen als zij hun gasten zien,  
het ene lijk gestapeld op het andere.
Ga nu en wankel naar haar
die ik niet ken.
Close

ENVOI

My verses stand gawping a bit.
I never get used to this. They’ve lived here
long enough.
Enough. I send them out of the house, I don’t want to wait
until their toes are cold.
Unhampered by their unclear clamour
I want to hear the humming of the sun
or that of my heart, that treacherous sponge that hardens.

My verses don’t screw classically,
they babble commonly and bluster far too nobly.
In winter their lips leap.
in spring they lie flat at the first warmth,
they ruin my summer
and in autumn they smell of women.

Enough. For another twelve lines on this sheet
I’ll hold my hand over their head
and then they’ll get a boot up the arse.
Go and pester elsewhere, one-cent rhymes
tremble elsewhere before twelve readers
and a snoring reviewer.

Go now, verses, on your light feet,
you have not trodden hard on the old earth
where the graves laugh when they see their guests,
the one corpse stacked on top of the other.
Go now and stagger to her
whom I do not know.

ENVOI

My verses stand gawping a bit.
I never get used to this. They’ve lived here
long enough.
Enough. I send them out of the house, I don’t want to wait
until their toes are cold.
Unhampered by their unclear clamour
I want to hear the humming of the sun
or that of my heart, that treacherous sponge that hardens.

My verses don’t screw classically,
they babble commonly and bluster far too nobly.
In winter their lips leap.
in spring they lie flat at the first warmth,
they ruin my summer
and in autumn they smell of women.

Enough. For another twelve lines on this sheet
I’ll hold my hand over their head
and then they’ll get a boot up the arse.
Go and pester elsewhere, one-cent rhymes
tremble elsewhere before twelve readers
and a snoring reviewer.

Go now, verses, on your light feet,
you have not trodden hard on the old earth
where the graves laugh when they see their guests,
the one corpse stacked on top of the other.
Go now and stagger to her
whom I do not know.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère