Ina Schroders-Zeeders was the RIXT Poet of the Month in August. You can find the translation of her poem ‘the cathedral’ below. Her original Frisian poems are linked here.

the cathedral

to me the world looks like a cathedral
in scaffolding
built out of missed opportunities

the building
my fossil fuel
shakes due to underground wrath
of pillaged treasures

stones fall from the clock towers
one by one
assumptions and signs of good will

the proud flags of truths I remember
of democracy in power and a fair share
are frayed and broken
and the freedom they proclaimed
now just an illegal tent outside an asylum centre

the altar boys who were my innocence
are belting out false hymns
all of them plucked at one time
drunk from the communion wine
nope the kids aren’t alright

the doves of peace who crapped on stone saints
lie dead in the organ pipes
and when the old organist
wants to put my stubborn
conscience to work
pink clouds of blood and feathers rise towards the crumbling roof

leaks make the angels cry
here is under water
here rots away

grave after grave of ideals drowns beneath the stone floor
beneath the feet of the crippled sexton
who administers my soul
who doesn’t even shut the door anymore as he shuffles home
leaving me behind in the rain


© Ina Schroders-Zeeders
translation: Trevor Scarse

Janna van der Meer was the RIXT Poet of the Month in July. You can find the translation of her poem ‘breath’ below. Her original Frisian poems are linked here.

breath

from the wide sea
and across the field
the wind blows
through the slit
of our bedroom window

carefully I breathe
what will it touch?
I hold it in

downstairs the dog spins
the whites of its eyes
howling in its dream

outside the fox feasts
on the belly of a calf
its young want to as well

and next to me lies the man
in a heap
he smacks

my throat constricts
something wiggles
between the hairs on my skin
I shiver and then
let go

through the slit
across the field
towards the wide sea


© Janna van der Meer
translation: Trevor Scarse

Tryntsje van der Veer was the RIXT Poet of the Month in June. You can find the translation of her poem ‘L’univers du voyeur’ below. Her original Frisian poems are linked here.

L’univers du voyeur

never did I see you nor did I meet you
on vibrant paintings full of creatures in
creatures playing on Jacob’s ladders
bits and pieces wrapped in absurdities

never did I hear your name twirling
me along into your imagination cruel
cold and ugly but then sweetly coy
baffled I step backwards and wait

never did I read your words as a savant
the healer who makes me waver
lets me into his wondrous world of
streaky bodies in paint and crayon

never did I see your serpentine creatures 
sprouting out of the ground entwined
the mess of threads confusing me
yet slowly my thoughts untangle


© Tryntsje van der Veer
translation: Trevor Scarse

Christa Niklewicz was the RIXT Poet of the Month in May. You can find the translation of her poem ‘Plagiarism in the Beat’ below. Her original Frisian poems are linked here.

Plagiarism in the Beat

You’ve no idea, so
Go away
To understand the world here
Then you’ll be too early
And too late at the same time
Wait patiently, or don’t do it
You know, we die every night
Just like poems that are not performed
But every crisis has a seed
Just like awkward elbow orgasms
And what you in spite of that crisis
Have in mind
You have to change
Without reservation
Even with nails in your skin
Jimi Hendrix, Jesus, my nan
And friend
The fact we’re here
Means we’ve made it



© Christa Niklewicz
translation: Trevor Scarse

Simon Oosting was the RIXT Poet of the Month in March. You can find the translation of his poem ‘On the line’ below. The original Frisian poem is linked here.

On the line

i)	(on China)

like the old poet said
grey and brown the land and
graves along the roads
and everywhere people 
in excess


ii)	(love worn-out)

she was one of the hippies
in sixty-eight
with ribbons on her skirt and
a band around her hair
which was as free as her

love not war

no

now she is a limp blanket
on an electric bike
who barks at me 
I’m in her way 
walking with my suitcases 
on the cycle path

worn-out
love

no is

now is
an awfully thin line
between then and later

now is
no love


iii)	(uncertainty principle)

the train was going to Leiden
and if I
cat in the box
had remained seated
I would have gone into the past

now I alight at Schiphol
and enter China


iv)	(procession)

as we travel so we live
we are where we are
the things
whatever they may be

a square a park
an abandoned village
a grandfather who sings about Mao
and plays the Erhu
the temple of the snake

pass me by in a procession

others are standing at the forbidden city 
in queues of about one and a half kilometre


v)	(Schrödinger’s cat)

Schrödinger’s cat lives with us
he rubs against my legs


vi)	(diamonds and rust)

what once was coal has become diamonds
what is shiny metal will turn into rust


vii)	(sublimation)

the boundary between ice and vapour contain no water
that’s why the now doesn’t exist in the sublimation of was and will be

now is a dream


viii)	(Qinghe Station)

two men are filling a machine 
with water cola cold tea
the first one takes the tiny bottles 

one after another

out of small boxes
the second one has a pen and is writing
on a strip of paper
for each bottle

a mark


ix)	(near Zhangjiakou)

in between tradition and modernity
the villages are emptying out
and a shepherd is happy
with a bar of chocolate


x)	(Beijing New Year)

the snake
its lanterns are like balloons
caught on the thousands of balconies

of skyscrapers
in the
city’s skyline

we camp out on a strip 
of land we know
can’t sit still
it drifts in the direction
of the skyscrapers
coming unmistakably closer
to the gravestones
along the roads of
the grey and brown land

now is then and there
the last resting place

of the cat


© Simon Oosting
translation: Simon Oosting & Trevor Scarse

Jan Kooistra was the RIXT poet of the month in February. His poem ‘already February’ is translated below. You can read his original Frisian poems here.

already February

no moon, no stars, as if still December, frosty fog
and sounds of traveling geese, from faraway the
last signs of village life drift over as his torch
lights his search for a dog vanished into the dark

bushes, abruptly they light up, two red-hot eyes
in the night like a Wolf God from times dusty and
distant which spark thoughts of purification feasts 
a time of reconciliation, temple doors closed, no 

music allowed, merely the nightly vigil among the dead, 
he crosses the bridge and hears the dark stream murmur
how time flies, where have the years gone that he lost 
anxiety takes hold, not to mention today’s news, those

horrible images, they stay with him, those potentates who
bring death and destruction, never have enough, he would
like to chain them to a rock and leave them for the crows
but he can’t, as invisible as his sign in the northern sky

back in the village he quickens his step, even the dog wants 
to return home, he locks the door and puts out the fire, you
coming, he hears her call, no need to say that twice, he 
enters the bedroom, disrobes and holds on to her tightly


© Jan Kooistra
translation: Trevor Scarse

Edwin de Groot was the RIXT poet of the month in November. His poem ‘clockmaker’ is translated below. You can read the Frisian original here.

clockmaker

regally he glides between ding-dongs
the wheel mechanism and pendulum,
he rides across their faces like a Teflon kid
or maybe freestyle, but the clockmaker
has known it all his life, time invites you
into his home, where you’ll get a bickie
a glass of bubbly if you’re lucky and
then bonjoured away empty-handed
he won’t be besieged, he determines 
the jumps according to a template of tides 
or monsoons of set comings and goings
or as what was, is and remains, even
after the deluge; a village already sunk
bound to the soil for all time like 
a children’s grave, such a thing is rooted
does not perish and tick-tocks unrestricted


© Edwin de Groot
translation: Trevor Scarse