Tamara Feddema was the RIXT Poet of the Month in September. You can find her translation of the poem ‘18 September’ below. All her original Frisian poems can be read here.

18 September

September you only have thirty days
how can it be
that you let all my 
schoolyears 
 start with you
that you let my mom pass away 
and 
give life to me
that you 
contain
the birthdays of my unborn 
and myself
and 
that you let him rape 
me?

You are the wound that never heals, September.

I trace the scars and make them bleed
I love you and 
I want to escape you
you’ll beat me up, then kiss my bruises
you are music without a melody, September,
I don’t know what song you sing

you stole from me all my fears of what might happen 
what horrors are left to face that I haven’t survived before?
I have only one last request for you, September…
let me die in June


© Tamara Feddema

Myrte Marije Veenbaas was the RIXT Poet of the Month in August. You can find the translation of her poem ‘I too am ash’ below. All her original Frisian poems can be read here.

I too am ash

with my ear against the lid
I hear the silence of your breath 

I follow the curves of your lap
once I myself was no more 
than dust 

I see your fingers
in my hand 

I knock
you say
I am already gone 

like moor-grass in autumn


© Myrte Marije Veenbaas
oersetting: Julio Aragão Pijnappel

Hein Jaap was the RIXT Poet of the Month in July. One of his poems has been translated below. You can find his original poems in Bildts here.

223 St James’ fair

The sun sets in pink party mode at a rainbow café.
The beat of the drunk fair wafts across the sports field,
A gull flies straight through a Frisian handball.
The heat goes to my head like a turn on the swing ride.

The day after the bulldozers silence once more.
The colours of the evening dissolve into the night,
The light above the Wadden mudflats dark blue.
Just the sound of a cattle chain in a milking barn.


© Hein Jaap Hilarides
translation: Trevor Scarse

Martsje de Jong was the RIXT Poet of the Month in June. You can find the translation of her poem ‘Luts’ below. Her original Frisian poem is linked here.

Memory

Our home had a walk-in closet
upstairs next to the bathroom 
In my eyes an enormous vault
where who knows what was kept
and I could feel my way between
old books, winter clothes, ice skates, shoes
a heap of woollen blankets
on a shelf against the back wall and spiders
On the wall in black Bakelite
a rotary knob the light switch
just out of reach of my fingers
Yet what’s stuck to me the most
the soft closing of the door
the merciless click of the key
as it was turned in the lock
the darkness surrounding me


© Martsje de Jong
translation: Trevor Scarse

Jannie Roodhof was the RIXT Poet of the Month in May. You can find the translation of her poem ‘Luts’ below. All her original Frisian poems can be read here.

Luts

Your lovely lines lure me in
Let me love you

skate on winter days
sail on summer days

Your current makes me come again and again


©Jannie Roodhof
translation: Trevor Scarse

Sylke Kingma was the RIXT Poet of the Month in April. You can find the translation of her poem ‘Restauration’ below. Her original Frisian poems are linked here.

Restauration

my tarred lungs
a plea

shelter of solace 
until the storm breaks 
a restless heart
beating uncertainly

melt my icy eyes
cleanse my toxic body 
expand my thoughts
as I connect with you

my high and low tide
mother of my children
let me preserve
not by myself 

my fleeting existence


© Sylke Kingma
translation: Trevor Scarse

Tomas Dalgaard was the RIXT Poet of the Month in March. Here is the English translation of one of his poems for RIXT. You can find his original Danish poems with Frisian translations here.

Rejected from hell

Can’t you see we’re full
the devil snarled furiously
with rapists
sadists and lust murderers
All sorts of criminals
Racists
War criminals
Rich pedophiles
Unrelenting bank directors
grifters who’d do anything
for money
There is no room
for a sucker like you
Even though I’ve made
multiple extensions to the place
we’re fully booked
years in advance
There are so many people
deserving of
torture and torment 
for their misdeeds
Besides I’m swamped right now
drafting the list of sins
for the accountant
This is no Sunday school
but fiery hell
do you have any idea
how much it costs
to keep all those fires burning
I cannot afford to
take someone on
so I have to do it all
by myself
I’m drowning here
in heating bills
And when a fool like you
comes knocking
I have to
open the door
Which lets in the draught 
making the gas bills
soar even higher
You’re just a smalltime sinner
So get lost before I change my mind
and keep you here


© Tomas Dalgaard
translation: Trevor Scarse