Poem
Stefaan van den Bremt
At table with a chair
1Get rid of that calendar full of tear-off wisdom.
That day will not go away.
Once in a blue moon someone pulled up a chair.
For a short spell an unknown guest came.
He couldn’t stay, but sat at the table,
ladled a plate full of shadow, filled a glass
with light, slurped it up and left;
he could not stay where he was.
Since then that guest resides in you.
One day he came for a whole day.
Even now you don’t know what to do with yourself
And sit at table with the chair on which he sat.
2
He could not stay and would not say a word,
saved shadow and drank light.
Wiser by the day than minute and hour,
by the time that will not pass away –
and as a guest he’s also free
to wreak havoc in your skin.
Again he pulls up a whole day
and stays an eternity.
Even now his spectre eats you away
lingering at the table, chair-bound.
3
Once in a blue moon someone pulled up a chair.
At the next quarter he stood up.
At the next nothing but the chair is there
playing the innocent, he too is
a stranger to whoever is hospitable
is mute to whoever would question him.
He just stays standing there wanting only
to be rid of that crab-walk of days.
4
Who helps him to bear that day
and the guest that sat there then.
He sat there sprawling and he made
to leave to where he would catch breath.
He can only speak in thing language,
in a tongue of stiff gestures.
5
He shall sit back-lit at table
for all eternity.
He sometimes sits there as if
poised to leave once more.
6
Look into the years,
all that time of tear-off wisdom.
© Translation: 2007, John Irons
From: Sirena: poesía, arte y crítica
Publisher: The John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 2007
From: Sirena: poesía, arte y crítica
Publisher: The John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 2007
Tafelen met een stoel
Tafelen met een stoel
1Doe die kalender vol scheurwijsheid weg.
Die dag wil niet overgaan.
Die dag schoof iemand een stoel bij.
Op een blauwe maandag kwam een vreemde gast.
Hij kon niet blijven, maar zat mee aan tafel,
schepte een bord vol schaduw, vulde een glas
met licht, slurpte het op en ging;
hij kon niet blijven waar hij was.
Sinds die dag huist in jou die gast.
Eenmaal kwam hij voor één etmaal.
Nu nog weet je met jezelf geen blijf
en tafelt met de stoel waarop hij zat.
2
Hij kon niet blijven en wou niets kwijt,
spaarde schaduw en dronk licht.
Met de dag wijzer dan minuut en uur,
met de tijd die niet wil overgaan –
en ook hem staat het als gast vrij
huis te houden in jouw huid.
Andermaal trekt hij een etmaal
af en blijft een eeuwigheid.
Nu nog vreet zijn schim je uit
bij het natafelen, stoelvast.
3
Op een blauwe maandag schoof iemand een stoel bij.
Op een dolle dinsdag stond hij op.
Op een woensdag staat alleen die stoel daar
van niets te gebaren, ook hij is
voor wie open tafel houdt een vreemde,
voor wie hem uit wil vragen stom.
Hij blijft daar maar staan en wil niets kwijt
dan die krabbengang van dagen.
4
Wie helpt hem die maandag dragen
en de gast die daar toen zat.
Hij zat daar breeduit en hij stond op
weggaan waar hij op adem kwam.
Hij kan niets zeggen dan in dingtaal,
in stramme gebarenspraak.
5
Tafelen zal hij daar bij tegenlicht
tot in lengte van dagen.
Soms zit hij daar alsof hij weer
op sprong staat weg te gaan.
6
Kijk tegen de jaren in,
heel die tijd van scheurwijsheid.
© 2005, Stefaan van den Bremt
From: A
Publisher: Lannoo, Tielt
From: A
Publisher: Lannoo, Tielt
Poems
Poems of Stefaan van den Bremt
Close
At table with a chair
1Get rid of that calendar full of tear-off wisdom.
That day will not go away.
Once in a blue moon someone pulled up a chair.
For a short spell an unknown guest came.
He couldn’t stay, but sat at the table,
ladled a plate full of shadow, filled a glass
with light, slurped it up and left;
he could not stay where he was.
Since then that guest resides in you.
One day he came for a whole day.
Even now you don’t know what to do with yourself
And sit at table with the chair on which he sat.
2
He could not stay and would not say a word,
saved shadow and drank light.
Wiser by the day than minute and hour,
by the time that will not pass away –
and as a guest he’s also free
to wreak havoc in your skin.
Again he pulls up a whole day
and stays an eternity.
Even now his spectre eats you away
lingering at the table, chair-bound.
3
Once in a blue moon someone pulled up a chair.
At the next quarter he stood up.
At the next nothing but the chair is there
playing the innocent, he too is
a stranger to whoever is hospitable
is mute to whoever would question him.
He just stays standing there wanting only
to be rid of that crab-walk of days.
4
Who helps him to bear that day
and the guest that sat there then.
He sat there sprawling and he made
to leave to where he would catch breath.
He can only speak in thing language,
in a tongue of stiff gestures.
5
He shall sit back-lit at table
for all eternity.
He sometimes sits there as if
poised to leave once more.
6
Look into the years,
all that time of tear-off wisdom.
© 2007, John Irons
From: Sirena: poesía, arte y crítica
Publisher: 2007, The John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore
From: Sirena: poesía, arte y crítica
Publisher: 2007, The John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore
At table with a chair
1Get rid of that calendar full of tear-off wisdom.
That day will not go away.
Once in a blue moon someone pulled up a chair.
For a short spell an unknown guest came.
He couldn’t stay, but sat at the table,
ladled a plate full of shadow, filled a glass
with light, slurped it up and left;
he could not stay where he was.
Since then that guest resides in you.
One day he came for a whole day.
Even now you don’t know what to do with yourself
And sit at table with the chair on which he sat.
2
He could not stay and would not say a word,
saved shadow and drank light.
Wiser by the day than minute and hour,
by the time that will not pass away –
and as a guest he’s also free
to wreak havoc in your skin.
Again he pulls up a whole day
and stays an eternity.
Even now his spectre eats you away
lingering at the table, chair-bound.
3
Once in a blue moon someone pulled up a chair.
At the next quarter he stood up.
At the next nothing but the chair is there
playing the innocent, he too is
a stranger to whoever is hospitable
is mute to whoever would question him.
He just stays standing there wanting only
to be rid of that crab-walk of days.
4
Who helps him to bear that day
and the guest that sat there then.
He sat there sprawling and he made
to leave to where he would catch breath.
He can only speak in thing language,
in a tongue of stiff gestures.
5
He shall sit back-lit at table
for all eternity.
He sometimes sits there as if
poised to leave once more.
6
Look into the years,
all that time of tear-off wisdom.
© 2007, John Irons
From: Sirena: poesía, arte y crítica
Publisher: 2007, The John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore
From: Sirena: poesía, arte y crítica
Publisher: 2007, The John Hopkins University Press, Baltimore
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