Requiem for a tomcat by Wim de Vries

Requiem for a tomcat

Wim de Vries - 1923-1994
photo Internet

I still think often of the neighbours' cat.

They called him Lazarus because

he was constantly being stoned by

fanatic pigeon fanciers.

It was the best sort of tomcat,

going out at night and

humping what he could hump, coming

home in the morning with torn ears

he then slept the whole day and went

out again in the evening.

A great cat, still absolutely natural. A

real bloke you might say.

He had already turned twenty when he died.

The vet gave him a jab because

he soiled himself.

I still remember that I cried when he

was buried in the garden.

That day I wrote, young as I

was, the first epitaph in

my life.

A simple little plank whereupon was written

Here lies Lazarus, the terror of

pigeon flyer and sparrow

May he rest in peace.

Original title: Requiem voor een kater - From the collection: Zwaarbewolkt, enkele opklaringen - 1980 - Rotterdamse Kunststichting

The Jump I. - by Peter Nijmeijer

(Dún Laoghaire, Co. Dublin)

Peter Nijmeijer - 1947-2016

It cannot be denied, this view

that like a ship comes straight at you: the quay,

the gray-blue mountains, the sparing evening sun

(later you can destroy the negatives).

And although you're only just here, you were

here before, two shaky feet

on a fabrication of iron and wood.

Is the water moving or you stationary?

For a moment you see nothing, one might say that
looking back is also closed off, do you

always dock at evenfall.

It doesn't matter if it is now or at another time.

And even if you set foot on the hesitant shore
exactly on time: Like what is your position here
and for how long? (But never mind how you harp on,
it cannot be denied, this view.)

Original title: (Dún Laoghaire, Co. Dublin) - From the collection: De sprong - 1983 - Meulenhoff - Amsterdam

Remco Campert - Poetry Night 2014

Groyne by Willem van Toorn

Groyne

The slanting grey stones. Grass in between. 
Halfway a hollow pollard with a deformed heart 
in the bark and initials of dead lovers long ago. 
At the end the wooden beacon. If you swim 
there, the eddies pull you down without mercy. 
The drawing in my uncle's scout book, arrows 
show precisely how you must let yourself be 
dragged down into the depths and then escape 
along the bottom 'with a few firm strokes'. The 
priest or curate who went rowing with three 
boys near the point and capsized. Days later, the 
bodies were washed ashore, near groynes by 
distant villages. Only catholics could be that 
stupid.


Original title: Krib - From the collection: Dooltuin - 1995 - Em. Querido's Uitgeverij B.V. - Amsterdam

Love at first sight by Hans van den Bos

Love at first sight

A house for herself and her

children she could forget

with only a widow's pension.

An education she'd never had,

except two years domestic science.

All she could do was find a man,

who would support her

and both her children.

Young woman, twenty-nine years old,

widow with two children, seeks

acquaintance with man of same age,

with a view to a serious relationship.

This advertisement she placed,

on the advice of her friend,

in a local newspaper, because

living in with her parents,

was a dead-end situation.

A letter, unexpected,

came from the east of the town,

he twenty-six years old,

still living with his mother,

a member of the Salvation Army.

Probably love at first sight,

because a short time later

they were married.

Original title: Liefde op het eerste gezicht