Poems shun my stiff

iron-hard body, in which --


no longer burns fire.


Gedichten mijdenGedichte meiden
mijn ijzerstijve lichaam --meinen Steifkörper, in dem --

waar geen vuur meer brandt.kein Feuer mehr brennt.

Poem H4026
Amsterdam, 2023-08-10
it doesn't come to me anymore (Antjie Krog) - 2022
Poem "dit kom nie meer op my af nie" (collection "Plunder" ["Pillage"])
Collection: Over
Tribute to: Krog, Antjie 
 

It cannot, should not

be, that I am the old man --


in that mirror there!


Het klopt niet, mag niet,Es darf nicht sein, dass
dat ik die oude man ben --ich der alte Mann bin, da --

in de spiegel daar!in diesem Spiegel!

Poem S1812
Amsterdam, 2023-07-01
The wrinkles of Esther Ornstein - The history of a neglect (Simon Vestdijk) - 1959
Novel "De rimpels van Esther Ornstein - De geschiedenis van een verzuim", chapter 2-1 (AD 1921)
Collection: Inmost [1]
Tribute to: Vestdijk, Simon 
 

I flip-flop about,

the dirty tongues hanging down --


tired from my body.


Ik slof door de stad,Ich flip-flop herum,
de vuile tongen hangen --die Zungen hängen müde --

moe uit mijn lichaam.aus meinem Körper.

Poem S1603
Amsterdam, 2022-12-18
Patrick Kitete in Kinshasa (Kris Pannecoucke) - 2022
Patrick Kitete in a suit of flip-flops, Kinshasa 2022 (photo Kris Pannecoucke)
Collection: On living on [2]
Tribute to: Pannecoucke, Kris; Kitete, Patrick 
 

Oh, I'm really old,

as old as my behaviour --


so tired of waiting.


Och, ik ben al oud,Oh, ich bin schon alt,
zo oud als ik me gedraag --so alt, wie ich mich benimm:

zó het wachten moe.müde, zu warten.

Poem S1216
Amsterdam, 2021-08-17
The Red and the Green (Iris Murdoch) - 1965
Novel
Collection: Dreams of love
 

Why make an effort

to tidy up the house now --


evening is falling?


Waarom moeite doenWarum mich mühe
om het huis op te ruimen --geben, aufzuräumen, jetzt --

nu het avond wordt?wo der Abend fällt?

Poem S0935
Amsterdam, 2019-09-28
Collection: Greeting from before
 

Zywa End of days

When
my future no longer is conceivable
tomorrow a repetition of today
hour upon hour the same day

when
whens actually no longer
exist, everything needs
to be done once more

when
my breath weaker
my blood slowly
my bowels upset

when the very last question
is why
do I still long
for what I don't experience anymore

when my memories just
loiter in the time
when everything was new
seeming endless

now it is a scary idea
to long constantly
for what I miss

Poem 1193
Amsterdam, 2017-03-11
Collection: Moons
 

Mother is gloomy,

her life declines, she irons --


out her fear, fiercely.


Mama is somber,Mutter ist düster,
alles wordt minder, ze strijkt --alles wird weniger, sie --

verwoed haar angst glad.bügelt ihre Angst.

Poem S0198
Amsterdam, 2014-05-17
Ironing - IV (Lieve van Impe) - 2006
Poem (collection "Opaal")
Collection: Actively Passive
Tribute to: Van Impe, Lieve 
 

Zywa The Elephant

Why have I suffered
woven all my tapestries
that have been disposed of
after a while
or otherwise, are decaying?

The cherry blossoms are falling
see how early they fall
they snow in the night
I would like to cry

    Where have the times gone
    when the tapestries were woven
    which are decaying?

Comthreads are swimming
across my eyes, my body
aches, I do not want anymore

    Where have the times gone
    when the tapestries were woven
    which are decaying?

I am the elephant
in the middle of my room
never mind, nothing is wrong!

    Where have the times gone
    when the tapestries were woven
    which are decaying?

The children are talking
softly past me, all together
at the same time

Poem 227
Amsterdam, 2014-04-12
Collection: Moons
 

The older you get,

the more past there is to share --


with fewer people.


Hoe ouder, hoe meerJe älter, desto
verleden om te delen --mehr Früher, und weniger --

met minder mensen.Menschen von damals.

Poem H0370
Amsterdam, 2012-10-22
Collection: A Home
 

Zywa Delived

A peaceful view, the vase with a rose
another day passed, the curtain closed
bye parrot, you never sung any song
bye parrot, shut your eyes, the night is long

In the bathroom mirror I see
both who I was and who I am: a double me
I won't get well, and never healthy again
in my mouth the taste of amalgam
I don't enjoy meals, just give me a pill

Is anyone living in the clock on the tower?
it keeps on striking, hour after hour
and I ask myself: when will it stand still?

Poem 34
Amsterdam, 2005-10-01
Collection: Moons
 

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