Poem of the month

Eppie Dam was RIXT-poet of the month October 2018.
You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here.
An English translation of one of these poems will be available soon.

Tsjisse Hettema was RIXT-poet of the month September 2018.
You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here.
One of them – Storm Rider – is published here in translation.

Storm Rider

the exotic makes room within me
drives my reluctance off to the outer ring
where embellishments lie in wait to pounce

within me
my square habits slide roughly over each other
up to the colours
on the eight interfaces of every change of mood

out of my mouth sticks the inner button
like a grey susceptibility outside

© Dichterskollektief Bouwer-Hettema
Translation: Trevor Scarse

Stormruter

’t eksotiese in mi’j maekt ruumte
verdrieft mien eigenwiezens naor de buutenste ring
woar as de versierings klaor liggen om toe te slaon

binnenin mi’j
skoeven mien vierkaante gewoontes rieuwerig over mekaander henne
tot de kleuren
op de acht raekvlakken van elke stemmingswisseling

uut mien mond stikt de binnenste knoppe
as ’n grieze gevulighied naor buten

© Dichterskollektief Bouwer-Hettema

André Looijenga was RIXT-poet of the month August 2018. You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here. One of them – We are wolf – is published here in translation.

we are wolf

we are wolf
you hide behind hedges, beyond the woods
you’ve strung up wires, poured black roads
you speed on light wheels ahead of the night
you are stuck in the trap of clickbait
you’ll be met by the cold tooth of the wild
we are wolf

we are wolf
you convene at institutions in your desert
you fatten up the grass, steal eggs, deplete the soil
you hang on our silver televised image
you dither day and hour, bingeing
we are wolf

we are wolf
you await our coming
you gaze through binoculars, cameras
you offer not fruit of the ground but sheep
we are wolf

we are wolf
we peek, we sneak
we are but few, we are master
we are wolf

© André Looijenga
Translation: Trevor M. Scarse

Marc Kooij was RIXT-poet of the month July 2018.
You can read the original Frisian poems of that month here. One of them – Football and the sun – is published here in translation.

Football and the sun

it’s football and the sun
two competitors which you
cannot foresee beforehand

it’s not the story

there is not one word of Greek in it
let alone any Frisian

it’s not the style

premiere at the square
the image will linger in your minds
we have the world
and ten years time

it ‘s not us

© Marc Kooij
Translation: Trevor M. Scarse

Jetze de Vries was RIXT-poet of the month June 2018. You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here. One of them – Harlingen and the Wadden Sea – is published here in translation.

Harlingen and the Wadden Sea

you radiant fish glow amidst the shoal
stream like music, suck you up like a sponge
your echo chamber – the sound reverberates

you dancer beat in the heart of my harbour town

blue I lay anchored at the lighthouse, heard your name
splashing under my pillow, ring tone in your body
tail tussled – seagulls shriek wildly by

you dancer beat in the heart of my harbour town

from now on the morning lies steaming on the dike
will I run past the masts, across clinkers to quay
cast off, the glittering below sea luck
your echo chamber – the sound reverberates

you dancer beat in the heart of my harbour town

© Jetze de Vries
Translation: Trevor M. Scarse

Syds Wiersma was RIXT-poet of the month May 2018
You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here.
One of them is published here in translation.

In the Netherlands the 4th of May is commemoration day of the victims of the Second World War and Dutch victims of wartime violence. The 5th of May is  liberation day.

REAL HEROES
May 4-5, 2018

Froubuorren engulfed by the sun’s fall
as I take the Alde Leie exit.
The 4th of May, another visit
of the cry, I saw them against the wall

and didn’t know who I was, the scared man
before the firing squad or that coward
who as soon as his boss gives the razzia word
starts with the formulation of a plan.

Injustice boils the blood, but would I persist
with hangmen hunting me tirelessly?
Real heroes are a rare breed, you see
never know who’ll shy away and who’ll resist.

On ‘t Bilt the sun now lies under the lea.
Old dikes crisscross the open country.

© Syds Wiersma
Translation: Trevor Scarse

 

ECHTE HELDEN
4-5 maaie, 2018

De sinne sakket happich oer Froubuorren
wylst ik de ôfslach Alde Leie nim.
De jûn fan fjouwer maaie, wer dy stim
dy’t seit, ik ha se stean sjoen tsjin de muorren

en wist net wa’t ik wie, de bange fint
foar ‘t fjoerpeloton of dy oare skiter
dy’t as syn baas blaft as de soademiter
mei ‘t plennen fan in razzia begjint.

Fan ûnrjocht siedt it bloed, mar wat soe ‘k dwaan
as boalsfeinten my op ‘e bealch sitte?
Echte helden binne seldsum moatst witte
witst noait wa’t swije sille en wa’t slaan.

De sinne leit bedobbe op it Bilt.
Ald diken fykje troch it frije fjild.

© Syds Wiersma
Lân sûnder ljurk (Hispel, 2019)

Geart Tigchelaar was RIXT-poet of the month March 2018. You can read his original Frisian poems of that month here. One of them – The word that lives on the wind– is published here in translation.

The word that lives on the wind

stones sprung forth from the hard soil
do not merely accuse our old sins

but the look glancing across the clear horizon
as human after human has sought refuge

in boasting about their own hearth for centuries
nothing lasts and all that left brought less

connection through the lies in stained glass
clung unto the old stories and stubborn unbelief

that need neither heavy roof nor deep foundation
the sentence that’s blown away like the dust from your skin

one day we too my love will go into that same soil
words that unveiled our sincerity always

colour into new verses on misted windows
the soul of each letter that grows in freedom

like arching reeds stands as long as the world
disappears in thirsty white horses near the cliffs

© Geart Tigchelaar
Translation: Trevor M. Scarse