creation everything was already encapsulated within the stone the child yet an embryo frozen in its mother’s womb the little girl still fossil from a lost age the fragile woman a lady delicate yet forceful they were waiting you saw and perceived felt and formed hewed away hardness smoothed out rough edges weight became lighter ballast became dust you blew it away a load fell from your shoulders it was done lady, girl germ of a child sparkle in the light © Ypie Bakker translation: Trevor Scarse
carried us what would I do without you, you say who are we without you © Janneke Spoelstra translation: Trevor Scarse
Self-interview Buried underneath deep layers of endless self-interview about the why, what and how. I dig, have dug, delved, bury, burrow, have buried and so on. Searching for the sound of the spade on stone Until the point came, or better a subtle transition, The moment when the riddle began to lead its own life. I did not strike a stone. No reflection upon reflection is where a new world had begun Just like water or clouds that are seen and unseen at the same time. You can pass through. So that you wonder whether they are truly there. Reflections of a fictitious world in your head. On its head. There is no end Of course, it will end © Ilse Vos translation: Trevor Scarse
Henk Dillerop, a new addition to the RIXT collective, was the RIXT poet of the month in April. You can read his original Frisian poems from that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘form’ – is published here.
form does emptiness have form she asks lying on the beach he thinks gets up walks to the sea and punches holes in the waves do feelings have form as well she asks he thinks and with his hands squeezes air in between the waves does colour have form too he draws her name in curly letters in the foam and life he gathers up seashells his hands full and love does love have a form he keeps still looks at her minutes ticking by doesn’t move a muscle she perceives © Henk Dillerop translation: Trevor Scarse
HUMAN BEING he is clean like a river but slibs up at the mouth he lets his Swiss shepherd fly after a stick on the cinder path rhymes a mallard not with the man he is fair like a bullet at the edge of the city he twirls the steel for the arena, where he will sing in canon he’s pitch perfect like a rock skims across the old canal smooth and flat is his word © Elmar Kuiper translation: Trevor Scarse
coat so many old things fall out of your coat pockets: plasters, coins pills for tranquillity who put them there when you weren’t looking? or was it you but forgot once sleepless nights because of money no piece of clothing contains so many secrets as an old coat with the pepper smell of sweat and rain nothing falls better into place than litter on a worn-out tile floor © Ina Schroders-Zeeders translation: Trevor Scarse