Oldtimer And in Arcadia my father in his cult cabriolet, a Joyce Jupiter The Bronze Age of Romans and Celts overshadowed by the joycean hat brim of his Borsalino And always in Valkenburg, on the top of the Cauberg at the height of Klant's Zoo (closed for ages) he called to me over his shoulder ''Are we rising, Sunny Boy?'' The entire Chalkland gushed green over my tongue In my stomach the swirling Styx came to a stop Ah well, I wanted to belong to the Army of Hellas' able-bodied men, however carsick I was before Troy.... ''On the contrary we D E S C
E
ND Darth Father!'' And our escape from South Limburg's labyrinth had not yet begun...... (No way green hills! No way Deirdre! No way Sons of Usnach: Foolhardy IRA-members, all of them!)
Poor
daddy
Engineer
Daedalus
Bloody Belfast
| |
Original Title: Old Timer |
Dutch and Flemish poetry translated into English by Hans van den Bos, assisted by Hilary Reynolds.
Thursday, 22 December 2016
Oldtimer by Manuel Kneepkens
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