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

Geart Tigchelaar was the RIXT Poet of the Month in February. You can find the translation of his poem ‘emergency kit’ below. His original Frisian poems are linked here.

emergency kit

	we lived in the same village for years
	never saw you in all those years

we were warned by the government
neighbour and the geopolitical situation

you believed it all
I shrugged my shoulders

like always

you were right again of course 
I only conceded afterwards

	we lived in the same house for years
	never saw you in all those years

it was after the blast

you walked towards me
in gas mask and bikini

as if I saw you for the first time

	it was the blast that wiped away everything

	it was the blast that united us


© Geart Tigchelaar
translation: Trevor Scarse

Aukje-Tjitske was the RIXT Poet of the Month in January. You can find the translation of her poem ‘Change’ below. Her original Frisian poems are linked here.

Change

it starts with a draft
you can only catch with your lips
just a flutter and it’s blown away
but with a sliver of luck
it might become an eddy
a breaking, half an idea

when it builds into a gust,
you’ll see it by the trees
it will caress your cheeks
grow into a flurry of wind
a conviction searching out people
swaying branches harder and harder

and then – an unstoppable storm
that whistles for attention
takes your breath jumps you
blows away every fear
cleans out every cobweb

it will bellow across the seas
astound all countries realms
hurtle across deserts forests prairies
sing dance poeticise
end all wars
make straight what’s crooked 

just one question:
which butterfly do we need
which flap of the wing


© Aukje-Tsjitske
From: Geosmine; gedichten van een geurende aarde (2025)
translation: Trevor Scarse

Myrte Marije Veenbaas was the RIXT Poet of the Month in December. You can find the translation of her poem ‘Mother’s scent’ below. Her original Frisian poems are linked here.

MOTHER’S SCENT

A wall missed you
looking at us for a lick of paint

now and then we mended holes
with needle and thread from your kit

the barn door peeled
as the rosebush smothered
and covered it

only the clothes chest resisted your departure – 
steeped in your scent, later

your yellow blouse called out to me
for an ice cream together in the city


© Myrte Marije Veenbaas
translation: Trevor Scarse

Carla van der Zwaag was the RIXT Poet of the Month in November. You can find the translation of her poem ‘Femicide’ below. Her original Frisian poems are linked here.

Femicide

This night,
ripped open by nightmares,
will end in a crimson sun birth.
This day will never become a day
like any other.
This day will bear tears
like a necklace
of tarnished pearls.
This day will encase the night
like soot
that cannot be scrubbed off.
Even the glitter of the sun
has the colour of jet.

Tomorrow
women will gather with
protest flag and piercing shouts.
Give us
back
the night.


© Carla van der Zwaag
translation: Trevor Scarse

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

Windfall

I paint you in high gloss strokes
like a karate kid
wax on
wax off

You shouldn’t clean ‘em
or the hairs will shed
our dad says, put ‘em in
a bucket of water, paint and all

Place my creaking knee higher
up the stepladder
you crawl underneath my coat
my legs tremble
wobble wobble
I grab the drainpipe
with my free hand

I paint your fruits
not too thin
I say fruitlessly to the brush
little flies land in the thick
green goop a tableau mort

Thick globs dribble down
gusts draw paths of resistance
I’m no painter

Rotting grapes strewn across the back garden
scattered by wild limbs
I’m no viniculturist
but no matter

let’s leave the harvest for next year
when the moon wants to dance
and the brush is submerged again 
in its bucket of cloudy water.


© Sigrid Kingma
translation: Trevor Scarse