Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Jos De Haes

A Kiss in Ter Kameren

Say in the fragmenting air
a throttling fungus has its elm,
orange duck foot get stuck
in the freezing water,
I don’t know what I

The light however on slates,
abbot or abbess tuck in
the roofs of Ter Kameren,
squeeze all round broken bone,
although even if I

And again the lobed moorhen
that steps with a cracked foot
all the beheaded, the clogged pores,
in the name of all Saviours,
stalks, you would I

But love, the edge today,
fever on the wound’s thin edge,
black and wet on the edge,
sacred plague of history,
as I understand, I,

Moving lip flesh against bone,
on all sides it thrusts,
your cold spittle I suck,
if it ferments I shall,
it can’t be that I

Een kus in Ter Kameren

Een kus in Ter Kameren

Zeg in de splinterende lucht
een wurgzwam heeft haar olm,
oranje eendepoot loop vast
in het bevriezend water,
ik weet niet wat ik

Het licht nochtans op schaliën,
abt of abdis dek toe
de daken van Ter Kameren,
nijp alles rond gebroken bot,
hoewel al kon ik

En weer ’t gelobde waterhoen
dat stapt met een gekraakte poot
- alle onthalsden en verstikte pories,
in de naam van alle Heren,
stronken u zou ik

Maar lief, de rand vandaag,
koorts aan de dunne wondrand,
zwart en nat aan de rand,
heilige pest der geschiedenis,
naar mijn begrip, ik,

Bewegend lipvlees tegen been,
aan alle kanten duwt het,
jouw koude speeksel zuig ik,
als het gaat gisten zal ik,
het kan niet dat ik
Close

A Kiss in Ter Kameren

Say in the fragmenting air
a throttling fungus has its elm,
orange duck foot get stuck
in the freezing water,
I don’t know what I

The light however on slates,
abbot or abbess tuck in
the roofs of Ter Kameren,
squeeze all round broken bone,
although even if I

And again the lobed moorhen
that steps with a cracked foot
all the beheaded, the clogged pores,
in the name of all Saviours,
stalks, you would I

But love, the edge today,
fever on the wound’s thin edge,
black and wet on the edge,
sacred plague of history,
as I understand, I,

Moving lip flesh against bone,
on all sides it thrusts,
your cold spittle I suck,
if it ferments I shall,
it can’t be that I

A Kiss in Ter Kameren

Say in the fragmenting air
a throttling fungus has its elm,
orange duck foot get stuck
in the freezing water,
I don’t know what I

The light however on slates,
abbot or abbess tuck in
the roofs of Ter Kameren,
squeeze all round broken bone,
although even if I

And again the lobed moorhen
that steps with a cracked foot
all the beheaded, the clogged pores,
in the name of all Saviours,
stalks, you would I

But love, the edge today,
fever on the wound’s thin edge,
black and wet on the edge,
sacred plague of history,
as I understand, I,

Moving lip flesh against bone,
on all sides it thrusts,
your cold spittle I suck,
if it ferments I shall,
it can’t be that I
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère