His warm smile
His warm hands
His eloquence
and wit - shameless

His fun for life
His will to live
His choice to
no longer suffer - too long

Untimeliness leaves us with

A beer at 11,
a library card,
a face to the sun.

A lunch in Antwerp,
and Christmas abroad -
away from fuss

Dear dad, you gave it all
away you go.

No need to look back
when one with the world
but I cannot help
but I do understand
makes sense withal
trapped in my past by
half a moon and you
caught by a song  
and dad in the car
Californian times and cigarettes
happy childhood and lucky men
compare, compare,
consistency of thinkways
my conscience clear
all the same

The other day this
friend sent her a picture
again. He calls it his
archive, she her list
of heart skips.
For reasons they're both
aware of. He's in it,
once again. So she started
to make novel lists, of her
addresses, of all states
and concerts attended. Of
all the quotes that sound.
"Meet the modern'' and feel
the sand between her toes
moves well, she might just
stay here.          For a while.
Dust will gather,
another life on standby
in a top drawer.
She kept two keys
her own tip-tongued as
his is swallowed. He'll be
in that house with her,
time again.    
                        Truth said
                        they still call
                        you mine.

The sky overcast
it nights invisibly
Misfortune outdoors
Melancholy indoors
Too lazy to do
Too eager to don't
Non-aligned like always
Best reachable solution
only a remote control away

Who am I to keep you
away from her
The gifts mean nothing -
the trips for business -
Well it's only platonic

mmm-hmm...

Pain but I can't unfold
distrust but I play delighted
To look in the eye and -
high-stake it all is but -
Something I can't overlook

non-unapologetic...

Walking backwards in my mind
digging in my heels
and eating pears

my dad the best too
taking the world 
from his shoulders
and laughing loudest

happy freckles day
thanks to mum
a curled up nose
and red hair from a box

Thinking about all the wonderful places
beautiful things treasured in my chest 
knowing I'm so so able to do
what I haven't done before

All things true
aren't lies after all

|Translation and adaptation of Reisopdracht by Riekus Waskowsky|

Because when you go…

rain, an impending rain,
a storm gusts the clouds
across the land, the sand
down the roads

protect your eyes

frightened birds sail
over the sea
the sky is quickly
falling black

...recite slowly and aloud:
I love the rain
the storm and clouds
I am not afraid.

I always leave the door open
the balcony my class room a fitting
room i don't know
to avoid claustration
an encirclement wherefore you feel
left out
no sounds no people no traffic no books
no songs no friends no barks no lights
I defer going to bed too.

in fears and trust, dreams so ''busy being free'' she thought 
she could be, it would be possible with him but in the end he did
not bring her to his senses; in the end it was just not viable as since 
the moment they mounted together when he showed her no more 
than the blue flowers in their city park but the moment (1) she
asked 'm to play her music, he laughed her away or when (2) she
travelled she asked 'm to not keep distance, which is not necessarily
impossible, he refused and let her go because of that, that stubbornly
proudness aspect of his fathers character, her mothers submissiveness, 
to busy believing they'd make it without realising it takes two to travel.

singing along to the radio
dancing around the house
lying next to you
curling up to breathe safely

gone West  
went South
East street
Northern line

The good thing about not
keeping track of the days
anymore is that I don't feel
obliged to dance on a Friday
lonely on a Sunday
and that I can do my
laundry anytime I want to.

She tries to capture
the world in words
to make sense of images
wavering, of queues shifting,
of lyrics sounding

and starts playing by heart
as she goes

Does it make sense she
is still so obsessed by
his love and her bitter
her light and his hate
which makes it all so

unwordable

'cause with the others none of that
'cause with them so unsubdued  

as she went

She lies in bed
thinks about the
torturous times
- why do sheets
always seem to
coincide with
consider, relive,
thinking too
through?
She is good at
serpentness, her
suitors said she
always seemed to  
be at best when
unkind. It is just
hard to trust one.
It is just safer to
wreck with words,
he cried.

the discussion on dying and
disappearing languages
anglicisms changing?
Don't we all do lists of literature
reality shows from all over
soaps films songs?
Verbal expressions can be translated
you know
Verbal variety can be interesting
you do know
Why should only one conjugation
variation word or phrase be right
wrong
Never in the world
that that's possible
there would be no form to live
dress eat exercise *** enjoy art
Language rules
Where would Zadie be without Shakespeare
Hockney without swimming pools
Mercury without Montserrat
I don't know

My first words
My first sip of coffee
My first real kiss
My first real smoke
My first divorce
My first poem

You always say
Ow well and I
appreciate that
But you know what?
Such a coping skill
I'm just intrigued
also a bit sad, I guess
The phones, the fastness,
a vastness, non-communication
and commuting, I guess
I think of you yet do you think 
back at me? It was on
the radio they said to leave
politics to politicians
The world is unjust, amidst
rumours and facts, and
will always be so try
do the little things
as little as possible
for the bigger corporations
with a carbon footprint
I guess I just discovered
I very wish for love
connection, a kiss and
you showing me
the blue flowers
the grey water
Indeed not that much
to ask, she said

When you ask to many questions
you're odd and difficult
and difficult is different from
the rest of the class so you better

start drawing or do maths
Since that's what
your report tells you to be.

So do what you want to be
though it may take a bit
Class forms the kids
but the kids found class

To be able to travel
to stay curious
and not escape
life
but for
life
curiousness
and not escape
me.

Growing up in a world of words
With my nan's post-war silence
my mum's Beatles' romances
and my aunt's miniskirt tales
With my boyfriend's Tolkien bias
my best friend's diving travels
and my cousin's zeal for cars
All imparted to my being
All present in the blossoming
of this girl in this world

She dresses
heedfully walks
into town the pubs
hesitantly looks
the groups, couples
but hopefully seeks
that one single
male, female doesn't matter
with a book or just staring
listening taking live in
that she doesn't feel alone
whilst ordering seating herself
that she joins from a distance
Like she always does in town

I reel off a little revolution...

I reel off a little revolution
I reel off a little pretty revolution
I am no longer of land
I am back to be water
I wear creamy crest on my head
and some shooting shadows in it
On my back a mermaid asleep
and the wind well at rest
The wind and the mermaid sing
of the rustle of the creamy crest
of the falling of shooting shadows

                   So

I reel off a little pretty rustling revolution
and I fall and I whisper and sing

She was patient, waited
a lot and a long time for
him to move to her city for
him to find a job that suits for
him to learn the language or
maybe even study and turn the
world around. This sounds all
very practical, there was love
involved indeed. Really, truly.
Living together, looking for
beetles and seeing the flora
grow. Enjoying poems and
art and each other. But
she needs positivity
a person around a plane to
catch too. She cannot wait.
More than that.

want to hear my
side of the story
or have you
made up your mind
alright?

she didn.t read that
much into the fact
that she.d given up
because of the better
idea not to scarper and
to feel not to cry
all she wanted was some
body to nestle next to
with sun under the clouds
how touching to know
he was there all these years
offering me more while I
was still settling for days
more than I expected
in the end is she; are we
comfortable with the world and
survivors in our happenstance

as we are.

Winter and my love are gone
a blackbird on my roof
her fauces moving, her beak
trembling as whispering to herself.

She listens: from the faraway tree
like a knock of rocks together
a bonfire of longing, so loud
so clear and so very terrifying...
The blackbird with a cry
dives into the spring waves
so full of wildness I can hardly
endure: winter and my love have gone.

M. Vasalis (1909-1998)

Many changes she's made
But the change of life
Powerless to complete
Fear of losing rule of life
Vulnerable while over-conscience
The wrong autograph brings confusion
The wrong side of the street disorder
A vertigo brings her to the minibar

A tension she cannot explain
Neither the way of non-commitment
She cannot sleep that long or deep,
she cannot be careless about her presence or
her friends', she cannot choose the movie or a seat
A need to pretend and run
While all the time she knows she wants protection
Which all the time she thinks she'll find in the flight.

A sultry summer night in August.
Crickets trill and the blue pool
water calms down. The hills smell
of Oleander and she lies there.
Her bikini inviting, a vermouth
with no ice. Tempting lifetime in
California. I need help, she says.

Try to get to where
I am, he says, not a lot
better but at least you try.
And drifts off. About time to
get your act together
not ask more questions
invite, so she sleeps soundly.

And cannot remember
her dreams, the rain.
What matters is not a lot
more than no ice
than to look outside
where hills, wealth,
blue in August.

a starless night. a darkness dividing us.
the weight of the love coming down
on me thinking just having a drink.
there he, is again, comes by, different
forms and ways. so I got myself
a new tattoo.                 a white one.
one you can hardly see but hear as
it's the soundwave of my song
of all songs. about birds
wind
islands
freedom.                    an endless sea.
not even a consideration
not making it up
I'd love the new and the now
and yet memory never fades,
his power of final presence
my power to loose composure
this fight you think
you won.                 no last words
                                  for me in his final
say.

From strong coffee 
to milky tea
From tea bags with strings
to spooning those without
From a bike on the right
to commuting on the left
From mayonnaise to ketchup
From rain boots to wellies
From 4 seasons in 1 day
to same summers all the same 
From 16 o'clock to 3 pm
to same differences
on isles & islands

[Freely translated after ''In de herfst'' - Vasalis]

Hollow, empty of desire
and while the yellowish amber trees,
the green stony trunks...
the light hovers silently over the leaves.

My heart far too open

too oftly captured by this light

floating thinly with the clouds...

and dreaming hurtfully, wretchedly
only 
to get away from me

and while really so despairingly.

Sitting next to him
feet on the dashboard
watching him concentrate
While she goes along to Stevie's
rooms on fire 
He doesn't like the lyrics
or her singing
Remember the hammock
that was Fleetwood Mac but
still he yelled at her
He did that more often
than she wished for
How many times can you forgive
and think it was his father
crawling in or the family situation
in the car to Paris already shouting
While she grew up in a car 
full of happiness off to Spain
further down far more smiles

I like to sit on a terrace
sipping the afternoon away
listening to others' heart-to-heart
Maybe sit in|maybe not.

Chats range from tube rides
to the colour of our Thames
to their dog not eating well
To views on life we must have.

Sun fades and all still nice
my books help me focus
turning life into questions
Questions take on words.

Outside in the green sea
Alone among people
Now is then later
Later is now then.

I cannot decide.

My hair tends to
be a bit bipolar
In the city where it just
croaks and uncurls
bit fluffy sometimes
But not the wavely curls
the undulating motion
when at the seaside
where I belong too.

I have never actually longed for a nice wedding
(although I've seen a beautiful black-and-white striped silk skirt once that...)
I have never actually cared for starting a family
(although I've read some wonderful children's books by now that...)
And there you are then, almost 50 which is supposedly the moment to look back on life
Which is supposedly the moment you celebrate with your husband and children
Which is supposedly the moment your career is uphill and your friends admire you
for it.
None of that. Really none.
Do I miss it? No, I do.
Do I miss out on something? Yes, I don't.

Why not to write
a poem a day
while the sun still out
blueing grey clouds
hunting the shine
Me into better
Insanely happy
for the artistry
of travelling entering
dreaming walking
New hights make
cogent depths
New orders mould
comfortness
The storm rumbles
And cannot thunder
by any anymore
And welds with
the sky solely

On Spring street where one
sees the dunes
from the kitchen windows  
her first place in a long time
small, old, life stories
with new bathroom fittings
took time to prettify
yellow wardrobe, blue settee
and she remembers sitting
on the Berber rug looking
around, thinking
renting out is nice.

Some coded emotion of a kind
not seasoned enough to express
if you mean to say no, just say no
just...
Some mid-morning of a kind
not timeless enough to enter
if you want to go, just go
just...
not going anywhere
not writing anything
not worth any lot
Some onlooker of life
just...

She puts the needle back on the record
Pours herself another bitter *****-lemon
Some routines for pleasure and
some rituals just punishment
she knows
to make things beautiful for herself
a day-to-day encounter indeed
The sky as limitless vastness and
the half-silvered mirror as certain truth
He shows her love while condemnation
She knows 
Some performances rewarding and
some pacts still life.

a day at the time
but time flies
and lost in moments
of desolate loneliness
not the beautiful aloneness
that makes one want to
listen to sad songs
and just cat-curl in bed
but the one that hurts
that makes the songs
just mordacious
that makes the bed
just empty

The colours in my house
nowadays 
black towels in the bathroom
while kitchen ones in orange
midnight blue on my toenails
today is the day
for my best green dress while
my argent laptop provides me
with the best tunes of the world
so today it is
dancing on the wooden floor, like 
devils may care, crimson lacquer heels
and why not, no a silver lining setting 
these days

I have never seen someone so patient
and biding to
hurt another person so badly
tracking down and retaliate
on the street in a meeting
anywhere to get back
anywhere to ridicule and belittle
you even told me once about your colleague
with such joy - assurance even
that I could not believe and
stopped to utter that you'd never change,
wouldn't you.
And even your little smile was full of pride.
And even the getting what he deserves
you believed.

After the rain
the birdsong started
All said and done
The head clear
The mind made up

You're dead for 22 years
and I miss you still
differently now
At first you were in a closer circle
to me and once even
I thought you were that dove
watching me going to work
that morning
good to know that I've got someone
to watch over me although
I don't particularly like doves

Along the Maas and
down the Binnenweg
to the pub to not meet
our used-to-be
friends cos this was
a long time ago
When I still loved you
Yet I still do love you
Nevertheless I still love you
Hence me following your tracks
our walks and all daily routines
from coffee as breakfast
to playing music all day long
The most insensitive thing to
do to myself but hey,
I've never been that good to
me anyway, have I.
Like you in a way.

How my family adore cars
white with spoilers
which to me are things
completely different
Still, we like each other a lot
and they just laugh
and I just read
The girl with the books
The odd one in

I only hope you don't think
I'm girlish or too new
romantic or overly present
or frightfully temperamentful

So I just beware a distance
as from friends as spirits
arising in an own world
without the time anymore

I only just wanted some
one kind and compassionate
and listening without consoling
and frightfully close

I find it difficult too

the desert and the sun
the wind and the red earth
my two dogs and me
the best
Saturday and Sunday
forever and ever
don't change and
don't stay.

The wind howls, the sun burns
and the red dirt whirls around
us to a city girl it cannot
come to be more romantic
to a beach girl more bluer
to a deserted girl more remote
A broken heart mended
A searching soul soothed
The dogs look at me faithfully
knowing their walk
So I leave my book
Amble for the rocks and the moon.

Bathing in the sun
for New Year's
Happy Lucky Love
and then you really
with her at the bar
Unrealistically courteous
approachable even
So, ran out wouldn't
be the first time
So, bumped my head
neither a first
You didn't look
follow hence pushed me
away for a happy new year