there are too many mariachis playing in this street
songs about women who come women who go a leaking tap
there are too many mariachis playing
there are too many phone numbers stored in our mobiles
numbers and messages from the dead we don’t dare to delete
too many numbers
and not enough bottles of wine to keep our horses
trotting up and down the boulevard all night
that’s why I’m switching to rum
there are too many people
there are not enough cages with canaries
for the mineshafts we still have to go down
my mother tries to revive one on the kitchen table
rubbing butter on its beak
there are too many halls and too many paths
one will be the end of us
there are too many mariachis playing in this street
last night the government fell back home
but I was talking to you about your sister
about my sister and about the horses
there are not enough ministers
there are too many presidents
the world is one big poetry festival
with some poets much more important than others
take away their canaries and hoist them flag and all
up onto their burning horses
because there are too many jesuses on this ship
too many sails
and not enough water for them to walk on
why isn’t anyone walking the horses?
rolls off your purple tongue
and coming from my purple lips
why isn’t anyone running with our horses?
and why wasn’t there anybody nobody at all
when our backs were up against the wall
no dead no ministers no presidents or canaries
to save our sisters and glasses?
there are too many mariachis in this street tonight
and I don’t have enough on me
to help pay the school fees
for all of their kids
Translation: David Colmer
Wêrom tinkt der net ien om de hynders?
der spylje te folle mariachi’s yn dizze strjitte
ferskes oer froulju dy’t komme en fuortgean en in lekkende badkeamerkraan
der spylje te folle mariachi’s
der stean te folle tillefoannûmers yn it geheugen fan ús mobyltsjes
nûmers en berjochten fan deaden dy’t we net fuort doarre te smiten
te folle nûmers
en der binne net genôch flessen wyn om ús hynders de hiele jûne
de bûlevaar op en del drave te litten
dêrom stap ik oer op rum
der binne te folle minsken
der binne net genôch koaikes mei kanarjes
foar de mynskachten dêr’t wy noch yn omleechgean moatte
mem besiket oan de keukenstafel noch ien by te bringen
smart boerebûter om it tichte snaffeltsje
der binne te folle gongen te folle paden
ien wurdt ús fataal
der spylje te folle mariachi’s yn dizze strjitte
fannacht is yn nederlân it kabinet fallen
mar ik hie it mei dy oer dyn suster
oer myn suster en oer de hynders
der binne net genôch ministers
der binne te folle presidinten
de wrâld is ien grut poëzijfestival
en de iene dichter folle wichtiger as de oare
pak se harren kanarjes ôf en hys se mei flach en al
op harren baarnend hynder
want der binne te folle jezussen oan board fan dit skip
te folle seilen
en der is net genôch wetter foar harren om oerhinne te rinnen
wêrom rint der net ien mei de hynders?
rôlet der fan dyn pearse tonge
en tusken myn pearkse lippen wei komt
wêrom rint der net ien mei ús hynders?
en wêrom rêde ferdomme net ien mar dan ek gjinien
gjin deade gjin minister gjin presidint of kanarje
op it stuit dat wy se echt noadich hienen
ús susters en ús glêzen?
der binne te folle mariachi’s yn dizze strjitte fannacht
en ik ha net genôch by my
om it skoaljild fan al harren bern
mei te beteljen
© Tsead Bruinja
From: Stofsûgersjongers / stofzuigerzangers (Afûk, 2013)