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Ronny Someck

LION’S MILK

My grandfather was born in the land of Arak
where lions with combed manes
lay posed as lambs.
“This is the King of the Beasts,” his finger trembled along the bottle’s label.
And in his thin mustache I saw the wind blow across the latitudes
and longitudes of a jungle I once dreamt of.

Luckily I got lost there.
Otherwise Jack Daniels would have been my father.
A mouthful of gin would have rocked the cradle of tonic in my throat.

And only in empty bottles that I wanted to throw into the sea
did I hide secret messages in memory of him,
drunk from love.

LION’S MILK

Ronny  Someck

Ronny Someck

(Irak, 1951)

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LION’S MILK

LION’S MILK

My grandfather was born in the land of Arak
where lions with combed manes
lay posed as lambs.
“This is the King of the Beasts,” his finger trembled along the bottle’s label.
And in his thin mustache I saw the wind blow across the latitudes
and longitudes of a jungle I once dreamt of.

Luckily I got lost there.
Otherwise Jack Daniels would have been my father.
A mouthful of gin would have rocked the cradle of tonic in my throat.

And only in empty bottles that I wanted to throw into the sea
did I hide secret messages in memory of him,
drunk from love.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère