Henk Nijp was RIXT Poet of the Month June 2022. You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘Nylân’ – is published here in translation.

Nylân

there I stood, for the first time
towering high above everything
I could even see far beyond the tracks
the scorching sun
beneath the tiles, the restless water
the howling others

the first steps easy-peasy
halfway bit slower higher
at the top the wet concrete and the jitters
the eroding blue of the iron
the rough plank underneath my feet
doubt setting in

behind me the bellowers
“come on, hurry up…!”
careful steps forward
then hesitation and standstill,
the rolling depths

no way back
into the void,
arms flailing
the crash and the bubbles
then the howling others once more


© Henk Nijp
Translation: Trevor Scarse

Preston Losack was RIXT Poet of the Month June 2022. You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘King of Fools’ – is published here in translation.

King of Fools

“Was there ever, once upon a time
When things were mitrily in feign,
A moment all were trying to find
Some birds a-bluing in the train?
Figgies felt so full of fitness
Horny buggers thricemore high
Gruff ol’ dingy doggo minace
Huffing puffing trashing fly!”

“What words get hewn when grouped in fours
From tangents found but hours before
Make some here and get some there
Low in rank as scrivonaire
Let’s dump all standards overboard
And just write “shitty dentist gourd!”
No need for proper, no need for prim:
We make nonsense interim!”

“Word for word we build up worth.
Humbug held his heft in first,
Frithay with but a Wednesday look,
Hourly crample with your Sunday schnook!
Listen crovishly! Cry on fowl!
Read a helper in a trailer park
And laugh when I get discomvowel’d!
Stand upon my diction-ark!
And knock on doors from thyme to time
Whimsing of nauseating butterrhyme!”

“No worries, man, if you don’t get it–
Don’t be confused, don’t get frustrated,
Can’t you hear how it sounds, my sons?”
Thus speaks the King upon his throne of puns!


© Preston Losack
Translation: Trevor Scarse and Preston Losack

Edwin de Groot was RIXT-poet of the month May 2022. You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘What Nr 14 already said’ – is published here in translation.

Cornelis van der Wal was RIXT-poet of the month April 2022. You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘White houses’ – is published here in translation.

White houses

White houses, in the woods
cruel animals lurk. Bones lie

in a circle around the city moat.
The sun knows what the bones should think.

Planes throw dead children like
bombs on the white city.



© Cornelis van der Wal
Translation: Trevor Scarse

Ina Schroders-Zeeders was the RIXT poet of the month March 2022. You can read her original Frisian poems of that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘Cain’s wrath’ – is published here.

Cain’s wrath

a fratricide takes place in a sunny landscape
where yellow flowers will grow down the line

for now, the flight of innocence still holds sway
the fear for the cruelty of a bitter despot

now that the mad Eastern wind wreaks havoc
nature holds its breath for when calm will return
and Abel’s death is avenged by flowers

a dull green helmet will swiftly rust
and become a nest to a pair of lustrous doves


© Ina Schroders-Zeeders
Translation: Trevor Scarse

Bennie Huisman was the RIXT poet of the month February 2022. You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘the song of asking’ – is published here.

the song of asking

when will you be home? An everyday question
asked so easily yet behind what’s obvious
lie just too many assumptions to mention
what does ‘home’ even mean to us
is it a house, a yard, a town, a county?
another, a love, a mother’s hand?
is it a language, belief or just a story?
for king and country, earth’s greatest? our homeland?

they say ‘home is where the heart is...’
the place you drive to for Christmas
but what if it’s a wish to live,
somewhere that is safe and warless?
so many people have left their home
fleeing from poverty and violence
we have room, but just to let you know
you’re welcome ‘til you become a nuisance

for our own wealth we have looted and burned
our rubbish sent to wherever we could
and our human rights have to be earned
something they likely haven’t understood
we ourselves are often questioned
but we doubt another’s habits more
how much hope have we thus dampened
when someone knocked on our closed door
when someone knocked – on my own door

where is my home? after withdrawing
from what bore that name so naturally
since then, I’m searching, sometimes not knowing
if a border, a door is opened for me
hoping my soul will see – and open up to thee


© Bennie Huisman
Translation: Trevor Scarse