I reel off a little revolution...

I reel off a little revolution
I reel off a little pretty revolution
I am no longer of land
I am back to be water
I wear creamy crest on my head
and some shooting shadows in it
On my back a mermaid asleep
and the wind well at rest
The wind and the mermaid sing
of the rustle of the creamy crest
of the falling of shooting shadows

                   So

I reel off a little pretty rustling revolution
and I fall and I whisper and sing

She lies in bed
thinks about the
torturous times
- why do sheets
always seem to
coincide with
consider, relive,
thinking too
through?
She is good at
serpentness, her
suitors said she
always seemed to  
be at best when
unkind. It is just
hard to trust one.
It is just safer to
wreck with words,
he cried.

Do put yourself
down, dear
The one thing you're
good at.

The other day this
friend sent her a picture
again. He calls it his
archive, she her list
of heart skips.
For reasons they're both
aware of. He's in it,
once again. So she started
to make novel lists, of her
addresses, of all states
and concerts attended. Of
all the quotes that sound.
"Meet the modern'' and feel
the sand between her toes
moves well, she might just
stay here.          For a while.
Dust will gather,
another life on standby
in a top drawer.
She kept two keys
her own tip-tongued as
his is swallowed. He'll be
in that house with her,
time again.    
                        Truth said
                        they still call
                        you mine.

To see the rainbow
At the end of the street
It is just a room you know
But near you
We can go for a walk
Change perspective
Hold the world
And each other maybe

|Translation and adaptation of Reisopdracht by Riekus Waskowsky|

Because when you go…

rain, an impending rain,
a storm gusts the clouds
across the land, the sand
down the roads

protect your eyes

frightened birds sail
over the sea
the sky is quickly
falling black

...recite slowly and aloud:
I love the rain
the storm and clouds
I am not afraid.

No need to look back
when one with the world
but I cannot help
but I do understand
makes sense withal
trapped in my past by
half a moon and you
caught by a song  
and dad in the car
Californian times and cigarettes
happy childhood and lucky men
compare, compare,
consistency of thinkways
my conscience clear
all the same

Or that he comes over
after two weeks
of civilised silence
to talk about their house - their
Pretty decent and nice
whilst running out
with their dog - their
a man of straw
as she did not splinter

gone West  
went South
East street
Northern line

His warm smile
His warm hands
His eloquence
and wit - shameless

His fun for life
His will to live
His choice to
no longer suffer - too long

Untimeliness leaves us with

A beer at 11,
a library card,
a face to the sun.

A lunch in Antwerp,
and Christmas abroad -
away from fuss

Dear dad, you gave it all
away you go.

can be friendly
all day
every day
if kindness has a definition
anyway

Walking backwards in my mind
digging in my heels
and eating pears

my dad the best too
taking the world 
from his shoulders
and laughing loudest

happy freckles day
thanks to mum
a curled up nose
and red hair from a box

Thinking about all the wonderful places
beautiful things treasured in my chest 
knowing I'm so so able to do
what I haven't done before

All things true
aren't lies after all

When you ask to many questions
you're odd and difficult
and difficult is different from
the rest of the class so you better

start drawing or do maths
Since that's what
your report tells you to be.

So do what you want to be
though it may take a bit
Class forms the kids
but the kids found class

On Spring street where one
sees the dunes
from the kitchen windows  
her first place in a long time
small, old, life stories
with new bathroom fittings
took time to prettify
yellow wardrobe, blue settee
and she remembers sitting
on the Berber rug looking
around, thinking
renting out is nice.

Who am I to keep you
away from her
The gifts mean nothing -
the trips for business -
Well it's only platonic

mmm-hmm...

Pain but I can't unfold
distrust but I play delighted
To look in the eye and -
high-stake it all is but -
Something I can't overlook

non-unapologetic...

Why not to write
a poem a day
while the sun still out
blueing grey clouds
hunting the shine
Me into better
Insanely happy
for the artistry
of travelling entering
dreaming walking
New hights make
cogent depths
New orders mould
comfortness
The storm rumbles
And cannot thunder
by any anymore
And welds with
the sky solely

To be able to travel
to stay curious
and not escape
life
but for
life
curiousness
and not escape
me.

My first words
My first sip of coffee
My first real kiss
My first real smoke
My first divorce
My first poem

a starless night. a darkness dividing us.
the weight of the love coming down
on me thinking just having a drink.
there he, is again, comes by, different
forms and ways. so I got myself
a new tattoo.                 a white one.
one you can hardly see but hear as
it's the soundwave of my song
of all songs. about birds
wind
islands
freedom.                    an endless sea.
not even a consideration
not making it up
I'd love the new and the now
and yet memory never fades,
his power of final presence
my power to loose composure
this fight you think
you won.                 no last words
                                  for me in his final
say.

singing along to the radio
dancing around the house
lying next to you
curling up to breathe safely

she didn.t read that
much into the fact
that she.d given up
because of the better
idea not to scarper and
to feel not to cry
all she wanted was some
body to nestle next to
with sun under the clouds
how touching to know
he was there all these years
offering me more while I
was still settling for days
more than I expected
in the end is she; are we
comfortable with the world and
survivors in our happenstance

as we are.

The good thing about not
keeping track of the days
anymore is that I don't feel
obliged to dance on a Friday
lonely on a Sunday
and that I can do my
laundry anytime I want to.

I like to sit on a terrace
sipping the afternoon away
listening to others' heart-to-heart
Maybe sit in|maybe not.

Chats range from tube rides
to the colour of our Thames
to their dog not eating well
To views on life we must have.

Sun fades and all still nice
my books help me focus
turning life into questions
Questions take on words.

Outside in the green sea
Alone among people
Now is then later
Later is now then.

I cannot decide.

She tries to capture
the world in words
to make sense of images
wavering, of queues shifting,
of lyrics sounding

and starts playing by heart
as she goes

Does it make sense she
is still so obsessed by
his love and her bitter
her light and his hate
which makes it all so

unwordable

'cause with the others none of that
'cause with them so unsubdued  

as she went

a day at the time
but time flies
and lost in moments
of desolate loneliness
not the beautiful aloneness
that makes one want to
listen to sad songs
and just cat-curl in bed
but the one that hurts
that makes the songs
just mordacious
that makes the bed
just empty

Many changes she's made
But the change of life
Powerless to complete
Fear of losing rule of life
Vulnerable while over-conscience
The wrong autograph brings confusion
The wrong side of the street disorder
A vertigo brings her to the minibar

A tension she cannot explain
Neither the way of non-commitment
She cannot sleep that long or deep,
she cannot be careless about her presence or
her friends', she cannot choose the movie or a seat
A need to pretend and run
While all the time she knows she wants protection
Which all the time she thinks she'll find in the flight.

The colours in my house
nowadays 
black towels in the bathroom
while kitchen ones in orange
midnight blue on my toenails
today is the day
for my best green dress while
my argent laptop provides me
with the best tunes of the world
so today it is
dancing on the wooden floor, like 
devils may care, crimson lacquer heels
and why not, no a silver lining setting 
these days

The sky overcast
it nights invisibly
Misfortune outdoors
Melancholy indoors
Too lazy to do
Too eager to don't
Non-aligned like always
Best reachable solution
only a remote control away

You always say
Ow well and I
appreciate that
But you know what?
Such a coping skill
I'm just intrigued
also a bit sad, I guess
The phones, the fastness,
a vastness, non-communication
and commuting, I guess
I think of you yet do you think 
back at me? It was on
the radio they said to leave
politics to politicians
The world is unjust, amidst
rumours and facts, and
will always be so try
do the little things
as little as possible
for the bigger corporations
with a carbon footprint
I guess I just discovered
I very wish for love
connection, a kiss and
you showing me
the blue flowers
the grey water
Indeed not that much
to ask, she said

Some coded emotion of a kind
not seasoned enough to express
if you mean to say no, just say no
just...
Some mid-morning of a kind
not timeless enough to enter
if you want to go, just go
just...
not going anywhere
not writing anything
not worth any lot
Some onlooker of life
just...

She dresses
heedfully walks
into town the pubs
hesitantly looks
the groups, couples
but hopefully seeks
that one single
male, female doesn't matter
with a book or just staring
listening taking live in
that she doesn't feel alone
whilst ordering seating herself
that she joins from a distance
Like she always does in town

[Freely translated after ''In de herfst'' - Vasalis]

Hollow, empty of desire
and while the yellowish amber trees,
the green stony trunks...
the light hovers silently over the leaves.

My heart far too open

too oftly captured by this light

floating thinly with the clouds...

and dreaming hurtfully, wretchedly
only 
to get away from me

and while really so despairingly.

March days have returned yet in
a completely different light than
in other years - in former times

now traffic noise has died
while standing on my doorstep
when looking at yellow flowers

new silence
green gardens
blue rooftops

Days are long and friendless and
I really need to dive in deep
to find the memory between all

this concrete, of the ocean
a smell of salt - sounds of
seagull cries. So here I am

in silence
green gardens
near rooftops

Close my eyes on the upper terrace
knowing the buildings and for a day
all has a blue peace while birds sing

full need to leave it all behind
throughout time it'll be clear
when possible turns doable

She was patient, waited
a lot and a long time for
him to move to her city for
him to find a job that suits for
him to learn the language or
maybe even study and turn the
world around. This sounds all
very practical, there was love
involved indeed. Really, truly.
Living together, looking for
beetles and seeing the flora
grow. Enjoying poems and
art and each other. But
she needs positivity
a person around a plane to
catch too. She cannot wait.
More than that.

I only hope you don't think
I'm girlish or too new
romantic or overly present
or frightfully temperamentful

So I just beware a distance
as from friends as spirits
arising in an own world
without the time anymore

I only just wanted some
one kind and compassionate
and listening without consoling
and frightfully close

I find it difficult too

want to hear my
side of the story
or have you
made up your mind
alright?

Growing up in a world of words
With my nan's post-war silence
my mum's Beatles' romances
and my aunt's miniskirt tales
With my boyfriend's Tolkien bias
my best friend's diving travels
and my cousin's zeal for cars
All imparted to my being
All present in the blossoming
of this girl in this world

A sultry summer night in August.
Crickets trill and the blue pool
water calms down. The hills smell
of Oleander and she lies there.
Her bikini inviting, a vermouth
with no ice. Tempting lifetime in
California. I need help, she says.

Try to get to where
I am, he says, not a lot
better but at least you try.
And drifts off. About time to
get your act together
not ask more questions
invite, so she sleeps soundly.

And cannot remember
her dreams, the rain.
What matters is not a lot
more than no ice
than to look outside
where hills, wealth,
blue in August.

How my family adore cars
white with spoilers
which to me are things
completely different
Still, we like each other a lot
and they just laugh
and I just read
The girl with the books
The odd one in

Would you mind at
all that much to live
with me, he asked her
All hope and cool
while walking their
city river running right
on the square where
her father had his shop
First spring light, the sun
tries a green blushing
Could it be that she
completely missaw what
embraced a home?
A silence so sensefully
inclusive, momentously
marked by this choice
so serious and whole hearted
she could not say anything
but yes. Justified her soul
that moment, that square
That made her lose sight
of her father's protection
in view of herself never
capable to choose
boundaries nor homes.

My hair tends to
be a bit bipolar
In the city where it just
croaks and uncurls
bit fluffy sometimes
But not the wavely curls
the undulating motion
when at the seaside
where I belong too.

You're dead for 22 years
and I miss you still
differently now
At first you were in a closer circle
to me and once even
I thought you were that dove
watching me going to work
that morning
good to know that I've got someone
to watch over me although
I don't particularly like doves

Along the Maas and
down the Binnenweg
to the pub to not meet
our used-to-be
friends cos this was
a long time ago
When I still loved you
Yet I still do love you
Nevertheless I still love you
Hence me following your tracks
our walks and all daily routines
from coffee as breakfast
to playing music all day long
The most insensitive thing to
do to myself but hey,
I've never been that good to
me anyway, have I.
Like you in a way.

I have never actually longed for a nice wedding
(although I've seen a beautiful black-and-white striped silk skirt once that...)
I have never actually cared for starting a family
(although I've read some wonderful children's books by now that...)
And there you are then, almost 50 which is supposedly the moment to look back on life
Which is supposedly the moment you celebrate with your husband and children
Which is supposedly the moment your career is uphill and your friends admire you
for it.
None of that. Really none.
Do I miss it? No, I do.
Do I miss out on something? Yes, I don't.

She sits on the bench closest
to the sand; able eyes,
smart soul. Meek, careful,
honest maybe. Talking; once
a psychologist,
always.

How do you loose
your wife, your life, I ask.

Irises as blue as her
goodwill dress, arranged
properly over the wooden
boards where legs crossed
elegantly.

Asking
a fellow rifle bird
about the weather.
Supping 
up some whiskey the skater
brings along because of his
birthday and guardians. It is
good to travel, she says. It is
time for beach now
next month an island. 

It doesn't rain as much
anymore.
Lady Di and Mother Theresa
were good women.

I'm not really afraid
of you.

Irises bluer because of her
tears. The moment I let her
go, I retired. She showed me.
My wife, my life.

I saw someone at home
behind those eyes.
I saw someone go.

She sees him immediately
She always does
He does too by the way
They're still connected
For ever
And anyway
She grabs her phone
She pretends
He hates her for that
For ever
And always

the desert and the sun
the wind and the red earth
my two dogs and me
the best
Saturday and Sunday
forever and ever
don't change and
don't stay.

I didn't go. And then a few months
later I did
Left a mark or maybe rather a cloud
because I took my books and left you
the table | the cookware | the roof
Disquiet became quiet
Not at first, at first I was all over the city
later it did
A becalmedness in a scene where the wind
still blows | where a snake still in my head
but it seems better to think
about things rather maybe
When in a total remoteness
With a window to the world

From strong coffee 
to milky tea
From tea bags with strings
to spooning those without
From a bike on the right
to commuting on the left
From mayonnaise to ketchup
From rain boots to wellies
From 4 seasons in 1 day
to same summers all the same 
From 16 o'clock to 3 pm
to same differences
on isles & islands

I wanted to divulge
start over and say love
and I really could have
yet instead -
my nails poured into the blue
velvet of our dining chairs
my head a cloud, grey, dark,
storms around that shouted
at you and -
I really should have
saved and said
while you -
nothing, looking or
did you try anything
Don't even recall
Only the sinking
my nails in the blue
and you blaming me
not a grownup not responsible
an I-love-you would have
protected
yet instead I held
nothing more at all.