DAAR ZIJN GEEN PILLEN TEGEN

Ik durf nauwelijks te kijken naar
de vrouw die strompelt over
de stoep, gedrongen adagio

steunend —
er is zoveel angst
ik zou een schema kunnen schetsen

van het grote verval
we zijn weldra allemaal
van vroeger-weet-je-nog.

De bruiloft is voorbij,
de zomer afgelopen.
Leven, leg dat maar eens uit.

Dit boek is bijna halverwege.
Daar zijn geen pillen tegen,
zei mijn arts.

8PM, inevitability has taken over
as I took a few steps
around my home.
I sat on the stoep
as the moon observed my insecurities
my thoughts became numb
as my words were the remedy
to my sudden dark energy
I was as weak as a frail branch
on the end of a tree
no consciousness to bare,
just being a matter that cannot be seen;
I inhaled intoxication
to express my intricate aroma
and I exhaled detoxication
towards my obscure divinity.

In the bush
On the stoep
Of a house
In the middle of lions territory

We smoke the magic herb
And discover the fruits
Of youth
Like a midsummernightsdream

The table filled
With empty bottles
We search
For the next

Singing songs
Warcries
Of brotherhood
Like Adam

We find a foundation
On which to build
Like bricks on water
The house of love

Manhood
On fire
Chaos
And

Stability

Op de stoep staan dozen,
in de post niks om van te blozen,
aan de deur een kast en
in de verkeerde kamer
een zetel die niet past.

Snel volgen de mannen,
gewapend met een hamer,
om de latten weg te halen en
mijn huisje te verbannen
naar ongehoorde zaagverhalen.

Ik zal dan moeten werken,
ik zal veel moeten tellen,
ik zal mezelf dan merken
en nooit meer dezelfde zijn.

In my recollection we fancied the world ours;
We'd roam in desolate streets spending hours
In the dark, searching for shinning smiles to meet,
Looking for softly carpeted flats to have a seat.
Now we shelter ourselves in defeat,
Now we are but cowards.
...
Through the leaves down past the willow,
Up the creeping vine and slipping in the window,
Fragranced air comes to rest on my pillow.

Under the darkest shade of those trees
I glimpse a separate part of me;
He's wreathed in ecstasy.

I see me in the brightly feathered peacock forest
Roaming with that wind that the autumnal season sends.
Here he's happened on the rodents den,
Here it plummets without any foreseeable end.
...
Now I sit on stoep
Smoking my sins
Perhaps this is a loop
Is this where I've been?

There in that dishonest place,
Enthralled in that liquids hard embrace
I gazed on truths countenance
And was dubious of high romance.

Oh, me of mine
Farther than before
I lead myself
From the shore.

This vessel wanes I worry lest we waste the rest.
Look yonder the water how it begins to crest.

And what a vapid water did it look
At my first glance,
And now swelling in anger
Drowns recompenses fighting chance.