Poem of the month

Simon Oosting was the RIXT Poet of the Month in March. You can find the translation of his poem ‘On the line’ below. The original Frisian poem is linked here.

On the line

i)	(on China)

like the old poet said
grey and brown the land and
graves along the roads
and everywhere people 
in excess


ii)	(love worn-out)

she was one of the hippies
in sixty-eight
with ribbons on her skirt and
a band around her hair
which was as free as her

love not war

no

now she is a limp blanket
on an electric bike
who barks at me 
I’m in her way 
walking with my suitcases 
on the cycle path

worn-out
love

no is

now is
an awfully thin line
between then and later

now is
no love


iii)	(uncertainty principle)

the train was going to Leiden
and if I
cat in the box
had remained seated
I would have gone into the past

now I alight at Schiphol
and enter China


iv)	(procession)

as we travel so we live
we are where we are
the things
whatever they may be

a square a park
an abandoned village
a grandfather who sings about Mao
and plays the Erhu
the temple of the snake

pass me by in a procession

others are standing at the forbidden city 
in queues of about one and a half kilometre


v)	(Schrödinger’s cat)

Schrödinger’s cat lives with us
he rubs against my legs


vi)	(diamonds and rust)

what once was coal has become diamonds
what is shiny metal will turn into rust


vii)	(sublimation)

the boundary between ice and vapour contain no water
that’s why the now doesn’t exist in the sublimation of was and will be

now is a dream


viii)	(Qinghe Station)

two men are filling a machine 
with water cola cold tea
the first one takes the tiny bottles 

one after another

out of small boxes
the second one has a pen and is writing
on a strip of paper
for each bottle

a mark


ix)	(near Zhangjiakou)

in between tradition and modernity
the villages are emptying out
and a shepherd is happy
with a bar of chocolate


x)	(Beijing New Year)

the snake
its lanterns are like balloons
caught on the thousands of balconies

of skyscrapers
in the
city’s skyline

we camp out on a strip 
of land we know
can’t sit still
it drifts in the direction
of the skyscrapers
coming unmistakably closer
to the gravestones
along the roads of
the grey and brown land

now is then and there
the last resting place

of the cat


© Simon Oosting
translation: Simon Oosting & Trevor Scarse

Jan Kooistra was the RIXT poet of the month in February. His poem ‘already February’ is translated below. You can read his original Frisian poems here.

already February

no moon, no stars, as if still December, frosty fog
and sounds of traveling geese, from faraway the
last signs of village life drift over as his torch
lights his search for a dog vanished into the dark

bushes, abruptly they light up, two red-hot eyes
in the night like a Wolf God from times dusty and
distant which spark thoughts of purification feasts 
a time of reconciliation, temple doors closed, no 

music allowed, merely the nightly vigil among the dead, 
he crosses the bridge and hears the dark stream murmur
how time flies, where have the years gone that he lost 
anxiety takes hold, not to mention today’s news, those

horrible images, they stay with him, those potentates who
bring death and destruction, never have enough, he would
like to chain them to a rock and leave them for the crows
but he can’t, as invisible as his sign in the northern sky

back in the village he quickens his step, even the dog wants 
to return home, he locks the door and puts out the fire, you
coming, he hears her call, no need to say that twice, he 
enters the bedroom, disrobes and holds on to her tightly


© Jan Kooistra
translation: Trevor Scarse

Ineke van der Heide was the RIXT Poet of the Month in January. You can find the translation of her poem ‘the cathedral’ below. Her original Frisian poems are linked here.

Stumbling

Have to dash
get a wiggle on
try again
my boots
too large
I’m stumbling
I’m bumbling
like a cow in clogs.


© Ineke van der Heide
translation: Trevor Scarse

Edwin de Groot was the RIXT poet of the month in November. His poem ‘clockmaker’ is translated below. You can read the Frisian original here.

clockmaker

regally he glides between ding-dongs
the wheel mechanism and pendulum,
he rides across their faces like a Teflon kid
or maybe freestyle, but the clockmaker
has known it all his life, time invites you
into his home, where you’ll get a bickie
a glass of bubbly if you’re lucky and
then bonjoured away empty-handed
he won’t be besieged, he determines 
the jumps according to a template of tides 
or monsoons of set comings and goings
or as what was, is and remains, even
after the deluge; a village already sunk
bound to the soil for all time like 
a children’s grave, such a thing is rooted
does not perish and tick-tocks unrestricted


© Edwin de Groot
translation: Trevor Scarse

Job Degenaar was the RIXT poet of the month in September. You can read his original Frisian poems from that month here. The translation of one of his poems – ‘Fall’ – is published below.

Fall

Sometimes other worlds trundled by: Weird Al
with his handcart and shovel for horse manure
the proud display of patriotism on Queen’s Day
and the ice cream man under shade trees

who rang his creamy temptation, cutting through 
Radio Luxembourg, the one and only pop station,
the reception of which continually distorted
into a tinny sound, falling away on your transistor

just to make a comeback, after which the decline
started anew, just like you now, where little remains
of the emptiness of back then, the lazy days, your
lonely orgasms, the slow seasons, the low clamor

of a city family finding its way through
the clay, where a father ruled, a mother
sighed and children tested their limits
The world included many harbors – 

A rowing boat rocks through the reeds
man under the moon plus son
traveling through the years, surrounded
by the glittery spray of onyx

he, who had become a distant shade, only brightening
from time to time, and you, the last of the tribe,
who has taken over the oars, trying to preserve
the memory of your lives against the flow of time


© Job Degenaar
translation: Trevor Scarse

Cornelis van der Wal was the RIXT poet of the month in August. You can read his original Frisian poems from that month here. The translation of one of his poems – ‘The thrill of a chill’ – is published here.

The thrill of a chill

No thrill like a chill at summer’s end,
Broiling in my bed I long for an Ice Age.
As I speak to you, thin sweat covers my lips.

They should ban the sun,
but no politician is bold enough.
No more climate is what I say.

Slowly I turn into a hot, moist sponge.
Soon a heavy autumn storm will set me free.
Cold be thy name.


© Cornelis van der Wal
translation: Trevor Scarse

Sigrid Kingma was the RIXT poet of the month in July. You can read her original Frisian poems here. The English translation of one of her poems – ‘States of disarray’ – is published below.

States of disarray

How charming you were
such a smooth talker
at times very distant
took your time to think
and though you might not give
someone the time of day
behind the scenes you were giving

You used to be so easy-going
recklessness wasn’t your style
neither was giving each their due
and I only truly loved you
when I got my way
but now that you’re dying
I will speak plainly

I need you
you simp, you slouch
why didn’t you take care of yourself?
no wonder everybody gets tired
so quickly of your shenanigans

Should I have gotten a gun?
Shot down all those creeps?
your heart is pounding
as I spread the ashes of angry thoughts
hush hush, tut-tut
your tongue grows weary

How young you were
sitting on the fence, that’s true
a scaredy-cat, a wimp even
still, I have to be honest
I did not see it coming
So long, dear democracy.


© Sigrid Kingma
translation: Trevor Scarse