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

Syds Wiersma was the RIXT poet of the month in June. You can read his original Frisian poems from that month here. The translation of one of his poems – ‘the lone poet’ – is published here.

The lone poet
North Mayo, the Nephin

The old, lone poet mostly sleeps,
a stand-alone, a king if he so wishes.
When he wakes, he briefly blinks,
and if he sees you, his word will strike
with the strength of hazel wood.

The old poet has a very big heart,
open to the north draped in shade
but he probably never birthed a saint.
He’s just a vast mound, a little hard
of heart but still the seat of Gods,
elves and the kings of Connaught.

For centuries he’s mulled over his last verse,
doesn’t want it to be clichéd, silly or terse.
At night he starts writing and calls upon
his old friend and muse: Lough Conn,
a mer á boire that catches perch for him.
Is that why his back glistens a bit fishily
in the far evening light from across the sea?


© Syds Wiersma
translation: Trevor Scarse

Aukje-Tjitske Dieleman was the RIXT poet of the month in March. You can read her original Frisian poem here. The English translation of her poem – ‘Far from home’ – is published below.

Far from home

Far from home
language leaps
out at you

the sea wall
is blinding
the meadows
of memory
make your
eyes sting

Far from home
you build another
bring your language
along with you

yet your accent changes
your eyes adjust
your ears no longer
capture the language

the dykes
and meadows
the church towers
even the city centre
you hardly ever visited
cannot be flaunted
on your windowsill

In your new house
you will always 
remain a little 
far from home


© Aukje-Tjitske Dieleman
translation: Trevor Scarse

Ina Schroders-Zeeders was the RIXT poet of the month in March. You can read her original Dutch poems from that month here (with Frisian translations). The English translation of her poem – ‘hail mary’s’ – is published below.

hail mary's

during the night, across the graveyard
strides Gabriel
one of his wings is drooping
his wheelbarrow filled with teddy bears

the next morning a trail of white feathers
like that of a butchered dove
leads up to the rusty fence
with misty light beyond

the newspapers talk of downpours
more and more teddy bears are coming down
caused by the changing
of the climate


© Ina Schroders-Zeeders
translation: Trevor Scarse

Lara Kool was the RIXT poet of the month in February. You can read the original Frisian poem from that month here. The translation of her poem – ‘Children of the Moon’ – is published here.

Children of the Moon

His sunny son
a healing source of light
but in your darkness
every sun
is merely a flame on a match
burning up
one after another
you banished his rays
through your dark desperation
Born light
yet no chance ever, never again?
to be a sun
so that even he had to search
for enlightenment
in this imposed night
but he too could only reflect
what used to be so natural
the Self



© Lara Kool
translation: Trevor Scarse