Posted poetry

Jan Kooistra was the RIXT poet of the month in November. You can read his original Frisian poems from that month here. The translation of one of his poems – ‘Balloo Heath’ – is published here.

Balloo Heath

on the Balloo Heath no one’s building bunkers 
with no chance of rockets raining down
no walls are being built, no fences set up

on the Balloo Heath there are no protests 
there is no black and no white, no hustling 
or bustling, no violence and no aggravation

on the Balloo Heath there is pain nor thirst 
no poverty or illness, no resentment
and no motherless child without a tomorrow

on the Balloo Heath the dead are fast asleep
in their timeworn graves because they know
yellowhammers and godwits will return from afar

on the Balloo Heath the trees always cry 
in late November, is that why the days
are so silent here on the Balloo Heath?


© Jan Kooistra
translation: Trevor Scarse

Sipke de Schiffart was the RIXT poet of the month in October. You can read his original Frisian poems from that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘boy,’ – is published here.

boy,

you will never read this, I’m afraid,
never will you know that my thoughts are with you,
that I won’t ever forget you

you represent so many others,
though you weren’t allowed the time
to write a diary

on a video I saw how you were grabbed
by an adult male, in your shorts,
with your skinny legs, how old – six, seven?

did they burn your parents alive,
shoot your grandparents, rape your sister
and chop off your little brother’s head?

as he walked your attacker held you tightly 
with his arm under your armpit,
an arm thicker than your legs

whose arm was it?

it belongs to every antisemite in the world!

I console myself with the thought
that not much is lost in a life
where something can occur
like what has happened to you


© Sipke de Schiffart
translation: Trevor Scarse

Henk Nijp 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 them – ‘on the edge’ – is published here.

on the edge

once more we dance the slowfox of silent grief,
words that we’ve never said out loud
mirror the space between our steps,
old patterns like grains in a floor,
by now we’ve learned the ins and outs,
know the score by heart

days slip through the mesh of time
vanish in the sinkhole of memories,
all that remains just the relics
of a life on the edge of existence
- maybe we pushed ourselves too hard,
were we marooned by fate

do we find comfort in ourselves, or the other,
along the straight and narrow or via the roundabout of lies,
is it purely cowardice or just impotence,
for a watchdog will only taste air and never its prey
living as he does between chain and basket,
his howls greeting the moon every night 

when eventually the lights are turned on
and the string and rhythm sections stop,
we shiver in the early-morning mist,
our arms drop, steps become strides,
I no longer lead; you’re twirling not as graciously

in the distance a cockerel crows three times


© Henk Nijp
translation: Trevor Scarse

Ypie Bakker was the RIXT poet of the month in August. You can read her original Frisian poems from that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘creation’ – is published here.

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

Janneke Spoelstra was the RIXT poet of the month in July. You can read her original Frisian poems from that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘carried us’ – is published here.

carried us

what would I
do without you,
you say

who are
we
without you


© Janneke Spoelstra
translation: Trevor Scarse

Ilse Vos was the RIXT poet of the month in June. You can read her original Frisian poems from that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘Self-interview’ – is published here.

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

Arjan Hut was the RIXT poet of the month in May. You can read his original Frisian poems from that month here. The translation of one of them – ‘Woah Black Betty’ – is published here.

Woah Black Betty

For the poem click here.