HISTORY LESSON
by Iduna Paalman
In the city of survivors everything’s put into words
schematically. Sign plates under house numbers
record how much violence has been done, which attempts failed.
At the back of your book there’s a list of all the conclusions
ever drawn – you’re a bad student if you don't read it.
Number 1: remembering is learned, matter of both
obedience and reluctance adopting the course of events.
In the city there’s a gigantic pond in which anyone can swim
and cups and aspirins are distributed at the fountain. What they call
mitigating circumstances rules here. Someone gives a speech
about the patch on a brother's knee – as big as
his breast pocket – all that’s left of him
is my heart. Your book says commemoration can be learned too, matter
of paying tribute to everything you’ve been taught.
In the city plots are devised as if they were houses
that protect against cold and repetition. You’re a good student
if you write your sources down correctly (collective memory’s a gift
you claim at the age of fifteen). Applications are rarely rejected,
matter of knowing that those who survived
can say: our past belongs to winners. In the city there are
lots of mattress stores, survivors work there as advisors.
When lying down they ask if you can be quiet at the right time,
question authority at the right time, whether or not you
can just go with the flow. If you can’t they pull you up by your feet
and slide beneath another layer. Assure you now
you’ll sleep real well.
schematically. Sign plates under house numbers
record how much violence has been done, which attempts failed.
At the back of your book there’s a list of all the conclusions
ever drawn – you’re a bad student if you don't read it.
Number 1: remembering is learned, matter of both
obedience and reluctance adopting the course of events.
In the city there’s a gigantic pond in which anyone can swim
and cups and aspirins are distributed at the fountain. What they call
mitigating circumstances rules here. Someone gives a speech
about the patch on a brother's knee – as big as
his breast pocket – all that’s left of him
is my heart. Your book says commemoration can be learned too, matter
of paying tribute to everything you’ve been taught.
In the city plots are devised as if they were houses
that protect against cold and repetition. You’re a good student
if you write your sources down correctly (collective memory’s a gift
you claim at the age of fifteen). Applications are rarely rejected,
matter of knowing that those who survived
can say: our past belongs to winners. In the city there are
lots of mattress stores, survivors work there as advisors.
When lying down they ask if you can be quiet at the right time,
question authority at the right time, whether or not you
can just go with the flow. If you can’t they pull you up by your feet
and slide beneath another layer. Assure you now
you’ll sleep real well.
AUDIT
by Iduna Paalman
There’s a group of risk managers, I am one of them. We meet
in a house with tinted windows, assess the threats, split up shrewdly
and take to the streets.
After just one block I’ve already scraped the scrapings off a paving stone,
a crash off a car, a growl off a dog. I free bones
of premature fractures, garages
of calculation errors hidden deep in the steel structures.
I remove fleeing from woman, early abandonment
from child.
From what suffers pain and cold I remove contagion. I fix
what grates bristly, drips rusty, stands helpless naked in the field.
Compass needles down slowly engorged coat pockets, choking hazard
for still breath, undercurrent in strange corridors, floodgates
to speech
come evening I report: what’s gone wrong has been prevented,
what cries can fall asleep in peace.
in a house with tinted windows, assess the threats, split up shrewdly
and take to the streets.
After just one block I’ve already scraped the scrapings off a paving stone,
a crash off a car, a growl off a dog. I free bones
of premature fractures, garages
of calculation errors hidden deep in the steel structures.
I remove fleeing from woman, early abandonment
from child.
From what suffers pain and cold I remove contagion. I fix
what grates bristly, drips rusty, stands helpless naked in the field.
Compass needles down slowly engorged coat pockets, choking hazard
for still breath, undercurrent in strange corridors, floodgates
to speech
come evening I report: what’s gone wrong has been prevented,
what cries can fall asleep in peace.
Translated from the Dutch by Daniel Nemo
Original versions
Homeric Hymn to Helios
a green fish in a green sea
a green fish in the shape
of a rhombus .inconspicuous .and
let’s say home is the yoke
of fetters or better yet home iz
the hollowed-out butt knot
butt knot in color option wasp
.and let’s say today the sun
iz shining the sky set with
green inchworms, the yoke
thrown down, the butt knot
near enough to green to blend in
.and the sea-hare grazing and its
gaze friendly and benign beneath
its poisonous eyelids in the green haze
.and the sea asp and the self-proclaimed
sea asp taskmaster lie down on a hard
bed, just a board on a cloth
braided belly pressed to braided belly
a green fish in the shape
of a rhombus .inconspicuous .and
let’s say home is the yoke
of fetters or better yet home iz
the hollowed-out butt knot
butt knot in color option wasp
.and let’s say today the sun
iz shining the sky set with
green inchworms, the yoke
thrown down, the butt knot
near enough to green to blend in
.and the sea-hare grazing and its
gaze friendly and benign beneath
its poisonous eyelids in the green haze
.and the sea asp and the self-proclaimed
sea asp taskmaster lie down on a hard
bed, just a board on a cloth
braided belly pressed to braided belly
Translated from the Ancient Greek by Fortunato Salazar
A Poem
by Fernando Pessoa
Everything’s as sharp as a sunflower
In my eyes.
I’m used to walking the roads
Looking left and right
And sometimes looking back ...
And what I see each moment
Is something I've never seen before,
And I do that really well ...
I can feel the wonder
A child would if, on being born,
He realized he was truly born ...
I feel reborn with every moment
To the constant newness of the world ...
I believe in the world as in a marigold,
Because I see it. But I don't think about it
Because to think is to not understand ...
The world wasn’t made for us to think about
(Thinking is a sickness of the eyes)
But for us to look at it and be in accord.
I have no philosophy: I have senses ...
I speak of Nature not because I know what it is
But because I love it, and this is why I love it,
Because the one who loves never knows what he loves
Nor why he loves, nor what it means to love ...
To love is the greatest innocence,
And the only innocence is not to think ...
In my eyes.
I’m used to walking the roads
Looking left and right
And sometimes looking back ...
And what I see each moment
Is something I've never seen before,
And I do that really well ...
I can feel the wonder
A child would if, on being born,
He realized he was truly born ...
I feel reborn with every moment
To the constant newness of the world ...
I believe in the world as in a marigold,
Because I see it. But I don't think about it
Because to think is to not understand ...
The world wasn’t made for us to think about
(Thinking is a sickness of the eyes)
But for us to look at it and be in accord.
I have no philosophy: I have senses ...
I speak of Nature not because I know what it is
But because I love it, and this is why I love it,
Because the one who loves never knows what he loves
Nor why he loves, nor what it means to love ...
To love is the greatest innocence,
And the only innocence is not to think ...
Translated from the Portuguese by Daniel Nemo
the autobiography between us
by toino dumas
shadows tell tales
to the moon glow
slow merge
say / say again / say in-between
bacteriogenesis on the surface of the heart
no, never alone
we are written together
between reef and tide
our divide
is thorny and distraught
temperature drops
from inner to surface body
enough for me
i could call it, maybe
dove of ashes
or ashen dove
i blink out
the autobiography between us
i will always have the courage
to not finish this poem
recorded river
bed of biographers
fluids trickling out
in the futurity of lands
so little left
reading stalls at the point
where your throat meets the waves
i wet my lips
in your same river twice
to the moon glow
slow merge
say / say again / say in-between
bacteriogenesis on the surface of the heart
no, never alone
we are written together
between reef and tide
our divide
is thorny and distraught
temperature drops
from inner to surface body
enough for me
i could call it, maybe
dove of ashes
or ashen dove
i blink out
the autobiography between us
i will always have the courage
to not finish this poem
recorded river
bed of biographers
fluids trickling out
in the futurity of lands
so little left
reading stalls at the point
where your throat meets the waves
i wet my lips
in your same river twice
Translated from the French by Arielle Burgdorf
When Something Falls from a Window
(Even the Smallest Thing)
by Rainer Maria Rilke
How the law of gravity
strong as an ocean current
brings to bay each ball and berry
and carries them to the navel of the world.
Each stone, blossom, and child
is guarded by a grace
ready for flight.
Only we, in our arrogance,
push out beyond what we belong to
into empty space.
If we surrendered
to the earth's intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.
Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making,
namelessly alone
outside each circle.
We must begin again
to learn from things,
like children, because they are
in God's heart. They never left him.
This is what things can teach us: to fall,
to patiently trust our weightiness.
Even a bird must do that
before it can fly.
strong as an ocean current
brings to bay each ball and berry
and carries them to the navel of the world.
Each stone, blossom, and child
is guarded by a grace
ready for flight.
Only we, in our arrogance,
push out beyond what we belong to
into empty space.
If we surrendered
to the earth's intelligence
we could rise up rooted, like trees.
Instead we entangle ourselves
in knots of our own making,
namelessly alone
outside each circle.
We must begin again
to learn from things,
like children, because they are
in God's heart. They never left him.
This is what things can teach us: to fall,
to patiently trust our weightiness.
Even a bird must do that
before it can fly.
Almond Trees in Blossom
by Rainer Maria Rilke
Almond trees in blossom: all we can
do here is recognize our own earthly appearance
that leaves no trace.
I’m always amazed at you, happy ones, at your demeanor,
at how you wear the ephemeral ornament with eternal sense.
Oh, if only we knew how to blossom: our heart would rise above
every small danger and find peace in the greatest danger of all.
do here is recognize our own earthly appearance
that leaves no trace.
I’m always amazed at you, happy ones, at your demeanor,
at how you wear the ephemeral ornament with eternal sense.
Oh, if only we knew how to blossom: our heart would rise above
every small danger and find peace in the greatest danger of all.
I Love the Dark Hours of My Being
by Rainer Maria Rilke
I love the dark hours of my being.
My senses deepen into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life
already lived and read
like a story, and understood.
They come with the knowing
I can open to another life
that is wide and limitless.
So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a grave,
making real the dream of the one
its living roots hold tight:
a dream once lost in anguish and song.
My senses deepen into them.
There I can find, as in old letters,
the days of my life
already lived and read
like a story, and understood.
They come with the knowing
I can open to another life
that is wide and limitless.
So I am sometimes like a tree
rustling over a grave,
making real the dream of the one
its living roots hold tight:
a dream once lost in anguish and song.
Translated from the German by Daniel Nemo
L'Alouette
by Daniel Nemo
Le poète voit l’alouette se consumer
tel un cierge pour les oiseaux disparus.
[Son chant enseigne les mots
pour aimer au dedans
comme au dehors
du poème.]
Je la vois aussi
et le vois
la regarder …
Nous regardons tous les deux vers le ciel.
A travers la pénombre
une brèche emplie d’une demi-lumière s’ouvre.
tel un cierge pour les oiseaux disparus.
[Son chant enseigne les mots
pour aimer au dedans
comme au dehors
du poème.]
Je la vois aussi
et le vois
la regarder …
Nous regardons tous les deux vers le ciel.
A travers la pénombre
une brèche emplie d’une demi-lumière s’ouvre.
