I don't have a speech, not even this one
nor farewells that embrace you
warm you one last time

I know the books you read
the kind of films you watched
your worries and the things you ate

yet I don't know you well enough
to really be able to say who you are
therefore my speech is this one:
your own diary to readout

We looked around and soon we found
a shady spot, where
we quite passionately
enjoyed each other

sheltered but in public
what certainly is inexcusable
so I felt embarrassed
while I cried of happiness

it was too wonderful to tell
I found it hard to explain
and didn't know how to broach it well
couldn't overcome my shame

but tomorrow night, if I'm at ease and ready
I do want to discuss my tears seriously
before his mouth touches mine

because I think, above all, they are a sign
that we shouldn't do the nice thing
no more and better restrict our delight to kissing

For better, for worse
I am asking, asking
for knowledge of the universe
the commonplaces and
myself, to understand

the earthly paradise
Time after time I am choosing twice
becoming less young and more wise
willingly paying the price
unless it was for the asking

The years of boring, boring
school-hours of gazing, gazing
at bare walls and the ceiling
have turned into revealing
myself by asking, asking
and learning, learning

what to do when, may-
be I better wait and stay
or take a turn and go away
not depend on chance alone
but make decisions of my own

I am talking, talking
with a girl like me
talking tall and small
about ourselves we agree
with the sayings on the wall

We are asking, asking
about the wheres and whos
the manners, the rules, the dos
and don'ts, all the kinds
of problems on our minds

In the meantime I play
the piano every day
The universe was waiting, waiting
for my asking, asking
so I did, and now I'm walking, walking

to spend the odd hours playing, playing
the pianos, still in stock
inside a warehouse-block
I am playing, playing
in a paradise

Emptiness pulls me over the side-walk
past the house in which also
my parents do not live anymore

Everything is different
The heart is lacking
The table massif

of the unwritten rules
preached to obedience -
a book full inside my head

I feel its weight
move when seeing
the room, so familiar

the certainties heavy
and clear again after years
of thinning, an unlosable

belief, despite
opening
the pages and

despite my way
my truth
my life without..

I recognise bits of the road
connections are gone
signposts are still missing

The numbers can be counted
the seasons, homes, friends
The rest is a dream cord

of desires and parties
unrequited love
and perfect moments:

memories in the deep
black, lighting up
as floating islands

with graceful peaks
of adventures
a journey

through the abysses of the night
that make children cry
and me?

In the museum, we look
at the attendants: a gangster
a beach girl with sleepy eyes
and a man who's almost falling
but he startles and hobbles away
to the hall with glass tombstones

We see people wait
gloomily, enjoy
a cigar at the end
suppress the disaster at the piano
with a smile, scream to win
their case with their husbands

or cry and jump in
the lifeboats sauve qui peut
(la vie)

Pee carefully, girls on one side
The boys do it the farthest and nonchalantly

We sit in the gutter, how my buttocks ache!
Jerome pushes up himself, he just can not hold on no more

inclined backwards he leans upon the tiles
of the roof, but doing so his legs get tired

His mother is worried, so she begs, entreats
him: boy, take care, what if the bracket breaks?

Then, then, well, then your body will be doomed
Oh my dear boy, then I will also die of grief

But soon enough he sits astride upon the ridge
and downstairs strikes the clock again, what time it is

It takes some wrangle till René gets almost nude
He plunges in the house and grabs a lot of food

the greens are washed, the pizzas flabby, hard the wurst
A feast for all, along with drinks to quench the thirst

we are in need of water and there's no boat, oh why?
Come, action action action, otherwise we die!

Please, let me
do my job, don't
interfere, then it will be

finished sooner and better
I know how, I can do it
you may think about it

aren't we friends
we laugh
at economists and big bosses

and at each other
the most
and if we wish

we swim together
to the other side
that we dare to dream

My skin is growing thicker and thicker
with wet paint, all my experiences
covered with a new layer
which changes colour
with the still wet substrate

which slowly dries on my hard core
which no one sees - who I am
in my own memory
as if seen from the inside
and that is a fantasy

because from the beginning the outside
world mixed its colours in me
so I can never know
who I would have been
in wartime, drought, or cholera -

a golden hero, rosy-fingered love
or a smelly brown mush
around a black core

In the Rijksmuseum I explain
the Night Watch. The curator keeps
asking questions. But what do I know?

Jane has no doubt, she says:
Once you see it
you should also dare

to know it. That three year old girl
who is mixing pigments
in Rembrandt's studio

and has painted herself
behind huge peacocks, that
is you, his daughter

and secret student, who was aching
for his love and with his death married
out of necessity and for the sake of art

her comrade Arent
the two of them painting
under his name

There is quite some wind
the woman on the corner pulls her dog

She comes back again
for the rest an empty street, no visitors yet

The children do not call
there is no need to, if they come

for a good time, not being too busy
And there is no point

in saying anything about it
Maybe they are on the way

Could I have forgotten something?
The cookies are ready

the curtains are washed
there is no stain on my dress

We didn't need anything
we just bumped against each other
and lay together, if so, a nest
of friends, who know to find each other
no matter how far we've flown out

Become angels, who would have thought!

Our soul connection
so familiar at first sight
at each reunion - forever young
is my chicken heart then, my skin
of flesh and blood, forever young

our spirit - but oddly
detached are our wings
our cheeks and the air kisses
that escape my lips
or have transcended them

Outside the village is the bridge
without a road, at the cemetery
Occasionally townspeople sit there
painting it
Sometimes children play there

To me, it is an image
of life and this morning
I came across a woman there
She lay on the abutment
and was scared, did not dare

to come with me, because of me
she lost her no man's land
For the rest, little happens here
There's never any news
and that is official

I'm sitting at the table, maybe
sleeping, I think for a second
at the blare of a siren
that takes along the smell
of puffed chestnuts from my nose
to an emergency

In the kitchen I see
the cat looking expectantly
and the clouds pass swiftly
past the drowsy sun
We're going to play soon
first I make coffee

High and low the boiling
water and the traffic rustle
my eyes shut, I feel
the cold under the arid air
of autumn, it will take long
before spring comes

I may want and know
anything, but it makes no sense
Yes sun, yes food, what else?
But I don't tolerate sounds

let alone that I have any energy
for love or a performance
which brings the day to life -
the dead days of being too tired

for myself and the world
Thinking is already difficult
and time is going too slow
to be able to change something

Lying is still the best
dreaming with closed eyes
that I am fit, and active
with nice clothes on

We fade, we slowly sneak
away, out of the anecdotes
and the photos that remain

for strangers, later
also stripped
of our memories

everything digested
into something else
you and we dissolved

in new lives
with their own stories
in which we whisper softly

we will whisper forever
in the ancestral choir
of the human species

What I notice in the world
is important: dissatisfied
faces in the street
except for the men

who examine me
when I ask them something
I saw happy people and many
women with a stroller

reflecting my thoughts
when I was pregnant, and
I saw House For Sale signs
when we were about to marry

Outside I see images
from my own life
I see looks
that tell me what I need:

a different life
more fun and excitement
with another man
because it's been enough

I'm tired of being who I have
become in my marriage
I want a new love
to be like I used to be

I have tried:
mirrors are not usable

They give a mirror image
not my face
as everyone sees it

Only in photos
taken close and casually
can I see who I am

but most of all I recognise
myself in bad snapshots
half-focused in yellowish light

like a truth filter
that merges a steady portrait
from momentary images

At home, they say I
look a bit like mémé

It is windless
Plastic water in the canal
I'm having dinner with my mother

Then I linger at the crossroads
on the way home
My rooms are so empty

and you live nearby
I can go to you
and yet I can't

Behind the thin curtains
is the street, the city, alive
Nobody sees me

I'd like to read love letters
from you, confessions
that you never wrote to me

I keep thinking about that -
waiting for sleep, lying still
like a doll

To find your company
again, I walk
between two worlds

every day
I pass strangers
They are busy

I feel no warmth
in their breath, no warmth
in their renowned pursuits

I don't meet anyone
because here everything is
already said and done

and in the other world
where you are not
I eat and sleep

Without you, I can't stand
it there, rather I wander
through the danger

of my memories
with the enticing risk
of losing my way

Married, sometimes happy
together, with every day
with our little Kaja
until Friday or Saturday
the week is over again
and he gets angry

He scares her
I rock her and grab the bag
that is ready
I have a key

My parents know the friction
of traditions and expectations
they sent us on vacation
but we walked over
tight nerves

enjoying the view
over the bay where people
were having fun, free and easy
without poison in their blood

In the outside world
he is a friendly man
I was so in love
Oh Kaja, little Kaja
how long shall I
continue like this?

Mealy-mouthed, the words send
you out of your house
out of your expectations
into the bush of hope
the white powder

that sticks to you
but is fading more and more
with your own bones and flesh
as the only support
for your thoughts

your Midgard, middle yard
of known regions, surrounded
by the endless of mountains
a jungle in the south
and the ocean in the west

where the serpent rules, the monster
the mealy mouth speaks of
to save you from its jaws
opened wide to devour
if you are afraid

An afternoon with father
he directs a play
in the patron's building and
meanwhile, I wander around
the attic, room after room
musty stuff from the past

saints that I don't know
of wood that I don't know
smoothly and shiny waxed
but fallen out of favour
only sometimes as an advocate
carried on a throne in a procession

here they are real
here I can smell them
and touch them, see
their look close up and feel it
upon me from heaven
questioningly I look at them

I think of America, the dream
of life giving you a smile
so exuberantly

the woman sings out
on the sign of Café the Laugh
Underneath it grows some moss

that takes life as it is
between the roof tiles on the sidewalk
It must

have been very stormy last night
but everyone was inside
and forgot the world

which is not as safe
as we wish, not as solid
as thought when it was built

Everywhere there grows some moss
that takes life as it is
also in America

Lost what does not exist
maybe myself, alone
between nothing, no before, no after

Just my sweetheart, and the thought
that he may be enough, but
how, however sweet

he is, not a father
showing my happiness
to my mother

who died prematurely, or not
now this won't happen –
a future lost

to another future
that I am sadly afraid of
at most, it can drown

in sorrow for the sorrow
that drowns me, lost
in the flow of time

It doesn't matter
to the people in the street
that I look at them
if I exist

there is no need
to help me out
through the window

waiting, tired of waiting
back in the chair
back in time

lost in possibilities
of old summery desires
to be touched by you
while the horse is snorting

your innocence
unconscious and untouched
by my fantasy

your boredom
that seduces women
and keeps me awake

as I rewrite notebooks full
of poems, to have them tasted
by your blushing lips
in the afternoon hammock

But I don't want that anymore

My memory talks
to people just long enough
to get rid of them neatly
They don't demand answers
it's enough that I don't run away

Then why do I long
for contact, why don't I feel
anything? Because of the sense
that it is not possible
or is it due to the pills?

Will I get my body back
will I ever smell where I am
and no longer feel straight
through myself and others
with thin memories

from the time I learned
to behave
as if it matters
and I'm interesting
worth loving?

They slip in through a crack
between shame and decency
their bodies lie down

on the disposable covers
and smell the expectation
not the disinfectant

on my hands, not the rubber
around their longing, beating
for my proximity, their imagination

makes me desirable
the woman of their dreams
thought in the flesh

Outside, the Elephant waits
his eyes seem very small
peering inside

until the door opens
and his trunk searches for me
to swing me on his back

I didn't even live by a river
yet again I stare into the distance

at nothing, at the water
that cannot choose either

where it ends up
over which toxic grounds
and prickly expectations
diluted, frozen or eaten
by a thousand kilometers of sun

Black wings of homesickness
grow on my shoulders

but I know I'm covered
by the lion of my duties

to people like me
who once left somewhere
dreaming, to learn
that there is no way back
to their youth

At home, Lonely Hearts sing
in a band, far from our room
where I hold your hand

We put a rainbow
of flowers in the windowsill
and we praise the hard workers

The fires of the light are blasting
outside, but love cannot harm us
We no longer have expectations

Doctors cannot help us
against the riot in the streets
It is everyone for himself

Girls have stains on their dress
Tramps climb the sidewalk
Beggars are burping at dinner

The flames flutter in top
above the citadel of the gang
of rich people everyone knows

Let me my habits
Let me, let me inside
Give me a shelter
Give me a kiss

     Take me
     Protect me
     Give me your magic
     Give me what I need

Then I'll give you my blood
I will pump it outwards
I will blood on your belly
I will blood in your mouth

     Danger is everywhere
     just a blow away
     Love is everywhere
     just a kiss away

Happiness is elusive
The pie turns around
Happiness is elusively
nearby

     Let me bleed
     in your storm
     Let me bleed
     in your heart

     I here, you there
     Apart together
     Our love a bed
     full of missing

On my way home
weak from desire
for all days
with our family

     I here, you there
     Apart together
     Our love a bed
     full of missing

Wild, wild horses
cannot separate us
Wild, wild horses
we will ride

     I here, you there
     Apart together
     Our love a bed
     full of missing

Pupils are grown
properly raised
to be good Mouths
in the shopping society

They are hungry
for another life
but there are laws
and police forces

for those who do not participate
and complain about lack
of opportunities, but believe me
I figured it out:

It can't happen here
Mama Mia, not here
Do not worry
We are safe

Fellow countrymen, everyone can choose
there is a parliament for sale
     If you don't choose, you don't participate
there are nations, as many as you like
new mums and daddies
     They have plastic thoughts
With a button you open daddy's hand
for this week's pocket money
     Plastic stinks when it melts
There are nice little cars
convertibles and antiques
     Your salary goes to the factory
dogs and little balls: poo
and blood for the car accident
     The factory belongs to all of us
removable intestines
stretchers and body bags
     It stinks when it melts
New is the DeLuxe box
     But love is not plastic
with screeching, screaming and sirens
     Love is not for sale

Any way the wind blows
that's where people fall in love
until the poison stops working
your loved one pulls out
the arrow and makes you cry

No more sweet words
only the popular songs
about your own pitifulness
the widespread disbelief
in real real love

and the general envy
of cheap sensations, as if
people wish for nothing else
and have nothing more
to offer than that

Beware, wherever you are
there is always a fountain of love
nearby, where the world stands still
from timeless happiness
sealed with a coin

Who are you, you elusive
mermaid in my story
of desire and boredom?

My story, my story
of shipwreck and beach
beach, beach, pebble beach

Washed ashore, thirsty
and shivering of exhaustion
awakened by the hot sun

Beach, beach, pebble beach
washed ashore, delirious
from hunger and alone
all alone with you

dancing in the waves of the sea
the sea, the sea, the waving sea
and my story, only my story

is sailing past this beach
beach, beach, pebble beach
mama, mama, grandma

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday
Thursday, Friday, I'm doing my best
come soon, soon, don't leave me alone

Thousands of slaves of The Saviour run
bent over to a place to sit, belly to buttock
nose in the back, sections full of light pink
shoulders under the violet
shaved crowns

to open the brain
under sun and moon
to the Great Soul
and to gain self-knowledge
from the mirrors around you

the exchangeable bodies that
under the discipline of loneliness
among silent fellow sufferers
no longer can die
from everyday life's dangers

Everywhere you see yourself
among the hard faces
of armed guards
and you cling to
the changing of the light

the rustle of rain and
scents brought by the wind
He laughs best who laughs last
But what kind of laugh is that?
A laugh which is not shared...

Events flow through my head
faucets spontaneously spray
memories over my feet
Frogs jump out of the pool

What seemed so ordinary
is now demonstrating
and keeping me awake
Smashing the window panes

I hide behind the lace curtain
Shadows beat the drum
They live on the street
and declare me guilty

I am no longer safe
from the straight faces
and the doubts of my family
They slink through the house

Can people still have a discussion with me?
I can confront you
with my falter
That searching, the slow
which I can hardly bear myself
And what do you think of me?

I'm getting smaller, too small
for everything and everyone
I know, more and more
is falling off my world
Dependent on friends
who need me

So nothing seems to have changed
but it's not like that
not the way it was
not what I was worth
I know too well what it is
to endure the day depressed

It may take a long time
that I'm not there for a while
Lost in unreachable thoughts
until I sound again like
I'm doing better
than I'm telling you

The ritual after work
in the dark at the end
of the evening twilight

The dim light of the low clouds
in 1883, when the nights in the country
were still black

The farmer stoops
poking a dry smell
from the weeds of the day

It lingers
in a plume of smoke
above the sparks

The soil preserved signs
of thousands of years
of life at this site -

later, in the year 1000, a marshy
area with a terp on the Ame
Stream, the Aemestelle

as elsewhere in Europe
raised from an abbey
to reclaim the land

Houses were built
on huijes, a forest
of thin piles

as anchors in the peat, and
as an anchor of hope
and authority of the church:

the legend of the cog ship
carrying the bishop, his rescuer
and his dog

The stars are far away
far apart, just like us
They twinkle on me

lights of happiness
the stardust from when
we were together

Your lips sparkled
in my heart, your warmth
lay in my arms

I can still feel it, here
in the garden, with the stars
above, above me

and above the scents
of the honeysuckle
just as it was with you

Sometimes
everything falls
in
with yesterday
an empty day
that does not matter

Sometimes
everything falls
so short
when I'm longing
for another
I

Sometimes
everything falls
so flat
is the least an overcharge
or does nothing compliantly remain
in place under my hands as I want it

Sometimes
everything falls
apart
for no reason, my
good intentions and my I
love you

though I don't even know how to do that