| abandoned bicycle
the dynamo is bust it's raining the tyres are flat on sunday it stands against the wall betrayed rusty with broken handlebars |
|
||
| Original title: 'achtergelaten fiets' - From the collection: 'Achter de hand', 1978 - Uitgeverij Corrie Zelen, Maasbree | |||
Wednesday, 28 January 2015
abandoned bicycle by Rein van de Wetering
Sunday, 18 January 2015
January 1943 by Remco Campert
| January 1943
for Joeki Broedelet I walked the cart track on a sharp winter's day I was met by my mother figurine in the distance The night before I dreamed that I sailed a little ship My hand caressed the duckweed in the glittering ditch The ship sailed to the other side and got entangled in the vegetation I looked up and saw my father he stuck his arm through the barbed wire He looked at me imploringly my father asked me for bread On that country road, mother you held me tight in a long embrace Your eyes were red your coat reeked of the town The German by postcard reported my father he was dead In Neuegamme, bitter place there they had murdered him I felt nothing but knew that I had to feel something Looked along my mother's sleeve to the tempting forest Only when I could I talked nineteen to the dozen about what really occupied my mind The snare I had set in front of the rabbit hole The hut I was building in the tree that nobody knew Later on I felt pain that never went away Which still racks my body as I write this Long ago, yet close by lasting one man's lifetime 20-2-1980 |
|
||
| Original title: Januari 1943 - From: Raster 15/1980- Tijdschrift in boekvorm, Uitgeverij De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam | |||
Sunday, 4 January 2015
The Bride Valley during the Big Freeze by Hans van den Bos
The
Bride Valley during the Big Freeze
The
valley looked
like
a boiling lake,
with
the higher ground
as
islands.
Down
the Sugarloaf
a
glacier of icy-snow
streamed
into that grey soup.
A
thin sky-bridge
made
of lost clouds
hung
between
Knockmealdowns
and Comeraghs.
I
watched this nature event
from
Knockaun
under
a wintery blue sky,
while
angry clouds were gathering
on
the north-west horizon,
probably
more snow or sleet.
With
my feet
in
already eternal snow,
I
went back in my thoughts
to
Carl Sagan's film
of
the Cosmos.
|
|
||
| Original title: De vallei van de Bride tijdens de vorst - 2014 | |||
Friday, 2 January 2015
The bargeman's mate by Hans van den Bos
The bargeman's mate
On
18th October, 1951,
a
barge was moored midstream,
close
to the Mallegat,
on
the river Meuse in Rotterdam,
waiting
for a towboat to sail
back
to the Ruhr region
to
load a new cargo of coal.
The mate was cleaning the
deck
using
a metal bucket on a rope.
He
had been living for half a year
in
the fore-cabin of the ship,
together
with his wife,
who
was 6 months pregnant
and
their three year old son.
Dropping
the bucket back
into
the river to refill it,
he
lost his balance
and
disappeared under water,
while,
at that very moment,
his
little son was playing
on
the roof of the deckhouse.
After
eighteen days searching
and
dragging the river downstream,
the
river police found him under the ship,
at
almost exactly the same place
as
he had fallen in,
with
the rope of the bucket
still
wound around his hand.
In
1958, the primary school,
attended
by the mate's little boy,
tried
to teach him to swim
in
the floating swimming pool
close
to the place
where
his father had drowned.
Original title: De schippersknecht - 2014
|
|
||
|
|||
Thursday, 1 January 2015
Coolbeggan in Autumn by Hans van den Bos
Coolbeggan in Autumn
The horizon turns red,
slowly a glowing ball appears,
but vanishes fast behind a grey-pink cloud.
No hunters, no cars,
the wind forecasts rain,
maybe that's why.
In a field two young calfs gambol,
one black, the other white,
apartheid out of the question.
Near the barrier a faraway text. |
|
||
| Original title: Coolbeggan in de herfst - 2011 | |||
Tradition in Adrigole by Hans van den Bos
Tradition in Adrigole
Pub, fillingstation, post and food.
On the door a yellowed poster:
Every night live traditional music.
Inside the dark room a boy,
sixteen years old, smoking,
pulls perfect pints of stout.
At the bar Mr. Korsakoff,
in conversation with a tall, scrawny man.
Two old shepherds, on a couch by the window,
gaze deep into their pints of Guinness.
The BBC brings news of Europe
and shows bad weather in the UK.
Outside, the sun shines low over Beara.
Music every night, except tonight. |
|
||
| Original title: Traditie in Adrigole - 2008 | |||
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)