Poem
Hugues C. Pernath
The Ten Poems of Solitude V
I abhor the shame, the shudder of the pastWhen everything was more than being and nothing else.
When each moment unmoved, became the movement
That must repeat what once was hushed up
And which was offended against. Inhuman as man
Far from the many tracks, I quit madness
And abhor the truth that is twisted
The booty that’s divided. I escape my efforts
And together with soliloquy, the one I am.
I have covered my distances, left my prints
And mortified, washed up, I was hoist out of time
Alone and divorced from solitudes and loyalty.
Ghosts were left, swelling over the thresholds
Of my suspicion, of my fear that fails
That recoils and hankers, consumed by sterility
After the domination of the new futility.
As wretched as the wretchedness I confuse the days
The wilfulness and the pity that calms memory.
Estranged from everything, wounded and lost
I forget the riddles, the plaintive names I gave her.
In the tedium of wounds, in mist after dew
I’m perhaps left with staring, the same face
As if no one has ever existed anywhere, no voice
Rejoiced or wailed. The ills brought no knowledge
And greyer and further, her smells no happiness.
© Translation: 2007, Paul Vincent
De tien gedichten van de eenzaamheid V
De tien gedichten van de eenzaamheid V
Ik verafschuw de schaamte, het sidderen van weleerToen alles meer was dan het zijn en anders niets.
Toen ieder ogenblik onbewogen, de beweging werd
Die moest herhalen wat vroeger werd verzwegen
En waartegen werd misdaan. Onmenselijk als de mens
Ver van de vele sporen, verlaat ik de waanzin
En verafschuw de waarheid die wordt verbogen
De buit die wordt verdeeld. Ik ontkom aan mijn pogen
En met de alleenspraak samen, aan diegene die ik ben.
Ik heb mijn afstanden afgelegd, mijn afdrukken nagelaten
En afgestorven, afgedaan, werd ik uit de tijd geheven
Alleen en gescheiden van de eenzaamheden en de trouw.
Schimmen bleven achter, zwellend over de drempels
Van mijn achterdocht, van mijn angst die faalt
Die terugdeinst en hunkert, door de vruchteloosheid verteerd
Naar de heerschappij van de nieuwe nietigheid.
Even ellendig als de ellende verwar ik de dagen
De moedwil en het medelijden dat de herinnering bedaart.
Van alles vervreemd, gekwetst en verdwaald
Vergeet ik de raadsels, de klagende namen die ik haar gaf.
In de vage verveling van de wonden, in dampen na de dauw
Blijft mij misschien het staren, hetzelfde aangezicht.
Alsof iemand nooit en nergens heeft bestaan, geen stem
Ooit jubelde of kloeg. De kwalen brachten geen kennis
En grijzer en verder, haar geuren geen geluk.
© 2004, The Hugues C. Pernath Foundation
From: Gedichten
Publisher: Lannoo/Atlas, Tilet/Amsterdam
From: Gedichten
Publisher: Lannoo/Atlas, Tilet/Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Hugues C. Pernath
Close
The Ten Poems of Solitude V
I abhor the shame, the shudder of the pastWhen everything was more than being and nothing else.
When each moment unmoved, became the movement
That must repeat what once was hushed up
And which was offended against. Inhuman as man
Far from the many tracks, I quit madness
And abhor the truth that is twisted
The booty that’s divided. I escape my efforts
And together with soliloquy, the one I am.
I have covered my distances, left my prints
And mortified, washed up, I was hoist out of time
Alone and divorced from solitudes and loyalty.
Ghosts were left, swelling over the thresholds
Of my suspicion, of my fear that fails
That recoils and hankers, consumed by sterility
After the domination of the new futility.
As wretched as the wretchedness I confuse the days
The wilfulness and the pity that calms memory.
Estranged from everything, wounded and lost
I forget the riddles, the plaintive names I gave her.
In the tedium of wounds, in mist after dew
I’m perhaps left with staring, the same face
As if no one has ever existed anywhere, no voice
Rejoiced or wailed. The ills brought no knowledge
And greyer and further, her smells no happiness.
© 2007, Paul Vincent
From: Gedichten
From: Gedichten
The Ten Poems of Solitude V
I abhor the shame, the shudder of the pastWhen everything was more than being and nothing else.
When each moment unmoved, became the movement
That must repeat what once was hushed up
And which was offended against. Inhuman as man
Far from the many tracks, I quit madness
And abhor the truth that is twisted
The booty that’s divided. I escape my efforts
And together with soliloquy, the one I am.
I have covered my distances, left my prints
And mortified, washed up, I was hoist out of time
Alone and divorced from solitudes and loyalty.
Ghosts were left, swelling over the thresholds
Of my suspicion, of my fear that fails
That recoils and hankers, consumed by sterility
After the domination of the new futility.
As wretched as the wretchedness I confuse the days
The wilfulness and the pity that calms memory.
Estranged from everything, wounded and lost
I forget the riddles, the plaintive names I gave her.
In the tedium of wounds, in mist after dew
I’m perhaps left with staring, the same face
As if no one has ever existed anywhere, no voice
Rejoiced or wailed. The ills brought no knowledge
And greyer and further, her smells no happiness.
© 2007, Paul Vincent
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