Original title: Klein verzoek aan Christopher Marlowe - from: Het houdt op met zachtjes regenen - 4e druk 1978 - De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
A small request for Christopher
Marlowe
They were, those old poets, surely
masters
of posing sonorous sounding questions! Kit Marlowe,
two of your most beautiful lines (from Doctor Faustus)
are still: "Was this
the face that launched a thousand ships and burned
the topless towers of Ilium?" We, later ones,
generally look for it, rightly or wrongly,
a bit closer to the ground.
But they do make a deep impression on
us: just yesterday,
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| Christopher Marlowe [1564-1593] |
of posing sonorous sounding questions! Kit Marlowe,
two of your most beautiful lines (from Doctor Faustus)
are still: "Was this
the face that launched a thousand ships and burned
the topless towers of Ilium?" We, later ones,
generally look for it, rightly or wrongly,
a bit closer to the ground.
while undressing, when my gaze lingered for a moment on
what
my mother called my bare pins,
I suddenly thought: ‘Was this
the leg that terrified so many young goalies?’
and I was, despite all the nostalgia,
immediately comforted too: the leg might have become as stiff
I suddenly thought: ‘Was this
the leg that terrified so many young goalies?’
and I was, despite all the nostalgia,
immediately comforted too: the leg might have become as stiff
as a board, but the noggin, it’s still going
strong.
You know, Kit, Augustine once said:
‘We are only a soul, burdened with a body,’
(and although that of a soul is unfortunately highly dubious),
as you get older, you gradually
get tired of all those limbs and innards,
windpipes, kidneys, stomach, heart and liver, and you think:
How wonderful it would be if man could consist only
of sexual organs and a head.
‘We are only a soul, burdened with a body,’
(and although that of a soul is unfortunately highly dubious),
as you get older, you gradually
get tired of all those limbs and innards,
windpipes, kidneys, stomach, heart and liver, and you think:
How wonderful it would be if man could consist only
of sexual organs and a head.
And even those sexual organs… If you
had to choose,
Kit: ‘No more writing or no more rogering?’
wouldn't you choose that damn pen? Or let
me put it a bit differently
(and now I'm getting symbolic, but you yourself
were certainly not averse to that either), who
would it be if someone asked you with a pistol to your chest:
Caliban or Prospero?
You know Kit, that's why I actually don't
care
that I will never be on a high score list again,
or even that I can barely move that once-famous leg
because of the lumbago.
It's bloody painful and indecently annoying,
but it's still a minor issue: like the buzzing
of a mosquito around your head just while your very
Kit: ‘No more writing or no more rogering?’
wouldn't you choose that damn pen? Or let
me put it a bit differently
(and now I'm getting symbolic, but you yourself
were certainly not averse to that either), who
would it be if someone asked you with a pistol to your chest:
Caliban or Prospero?
that I will never be on a high score list again,
or even that I can barely move that once-famous leg
because of the lumbago.
It's bloody painful and indecently annoying,
but it's still a minor issue: like the buzzing
of a mosquito around your head just while your very
own Helena makes you immortal with a kiss.
The seasons, Kit, in human life
may be differently divided than in nature,
at fifty-four you have to admit
that it’s turning into autumn, slowly but surely.
But perhaps if you ever meet Zeus again, would you then
ask him if he wants to make sure that I too
may stumble into my winter with a head
where it is still spring.
may be differently divided than in nature,
at fifty-four you have to admit
that it’s turning into autumn, slowly but surely.
But perhaps if you ever meet Zeus again, would you then
ask him if he wants to make sure that I too
may stumble into my winter with a head
where it is still spring.
