Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Leonard Nolens

VERKLÄRTE NACHT

We are sitting naked at table. Your eyes light up the room.
Luminescent, your butterfly hands stir the air as you speak
To me, or quiet in sleep on the black cloth remain.

I touch them every day. Their lifelines know my name.
Their transparent veins conceal the course of my fate, the beat
Of our blood that changes the white of your cheeks to desire’s mottled bloom.

The back door blows open. The first drops of rain rustle through
The trees, sprinkling the wind-shaken window in which you sit glowing,
A light which shows me myself, into whom I may fade and pass.

You pile up the plates, brush the crumbs off an fill up my glass.
From the kitchen I hear the clink of knives and blue porcelain echoing,
Far off. My legs are aching with not being able to go to you.

Verklärte Nacht

Verklärte Nacht

We zitten er naakt aan tafel. Je ogen verlichten de kamer.
Je fosforescerende vlinderhanden verschikken de lucht
Als je tegen me praat of slapen op het zwarte kleed.

Ik raak ze dagelijks aan. Hun levenslijn weet hoe ik heet.
Hun doorzichtige aders verbergen de loop van mijn lot, de vlucht
Van ons bloed dat het wit van je wangen verandert in vlekkend verlangen.

De tuindeur waait open. Beginnende regen doorritselt de bomen,
Besproeit het rukkende raam waarin jij zit te blinken,
Licht waarin ik me zie, in wie ik misschien verdwijn.

Je stapelt de borden, verwijdert de kruimels en schenkt nog wat wijn.
Ik hoor in de keuken het blauw porselein en de messen tinken,
Ver. Mijn benen doen pijn van het niet naar je toe kunnen komen.
Close

VERKLÄRTE NACHT

We are sitting naked at table. Your eyes light up the room.
Luminescent, your butterfly hands stir the air as you speak
To me, or quiet in sleep on the black cloth remain.

I touch them every day. Their lifelines know my name.
Their transparent veins conceal the course of my fate, the beat
Of our blood that changes the white of your cheeks to desire’s mottled bloom.

The back door blows open. The first drops of rain rustle through
The trees, sprinkling the wind-shaken window in which you sit glowing,
A light which shows me myself, into whom I may fade and pass.

You pile up the plates, brush the crumbs off an fill up my glass.
From the kitchen I hear the clink of knives and blue porcelain echoing,
Far off. My legs are aching with not being able to go to you.

VERKLÄRTE NACHT

We are sitting naked at table. Your eyes light up the room.
Luminescent, your butterfly hands stir the air as you speak
To me, or quiet in sleep on the black cloth remain.

I touch them every day. Their lifelines know my name.
Their transparent veins conceal the course of my fate, the beat
Of our blood that changes the white of your cheeks to desire’s mottled bloom.

The back door blows open. The first drops of rain rustle through
The trees, sprinkling the wind-shaken window in which you sit glowing,
A light which shows me myself, into whom I may fade and pass.

You pile up the plates, brush the crumbs off an fill up my glass.
From the kitchen I hear the clink of knives and blue porcelain echoing,
Far off. My legs are aching with not being able to go to you.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère