Translations of my Poetry

Elevate form over function to get at less easily articulable truths.

Translations of my Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sat May 08, 2021 10:49 pm

2.1
Duivels was de berg en zijn hart trilde luid.
Tevergeefs stonden de bomen nog opgericht met hun stammen en ademden met hun kruinen het leven dat hen als licht geschonken werd uit de Hemel, die zich nu uitspande en de Aarde losliet. Spoedig zouden zij vallen en niemand zou er zijn om het te zien of horen. Maar de berg ziet en hoort en vergeet niet, en daarom sprak hij nu deze woorden, die als rillingen over de huid van de Aarde trokken.

Vergeefs heeft gij verstoten, de Uwen!
Vergeefs heeft gij gedacht, dat ik zou wijken!
Vergeefs heeft gij gepredikt uw grenzeloze beloften!

En toen zweeg de berg en had zijn boosheid wortel geschoten onder zijn vesten
en de wateren die hun onvatbare wegen door de gewelven banen beefden en zonken dieper in de Aarde en raakten het vuur, en sissende dampen vulden de gewelven nu, en spoedig was het stoom doorgedrongen totin de kortst en maakte het land vruchtbaar. Zo kwamen de ruimten onder de Heere leeg te staan.




2.1
Seething was the mountain and his heart trembled loudly.
The trees still stood up with their trunks in vain and breathed with their crowns the life that was given them as light from Heaven, which now expanded and let go of the Earth. Soon they would fall and no one would be there to see or hear it. But the mountain sees and hears and does not forget, and that is why he now spoke these words, which ran like shivers across the skin of the Earth.

You have cast off yours in vain.
You thought in vain that I would give way!
In vain you have preached your boundless promises!

And then the mountain ceased, and his wickedness took root under his vests
and the waters that cut their elusive ways through the vaults trembled and sank deeper into the earth and touched the fire, and hissing vapors now filled the vaults, and soon the steam had penetrated the shortest and made the land fertile. Thus the spaces under the Lord became empty.


2011-2012, Vienna - Amsterdam - Vienna - Amsterdam
Image

I am a dragon that is slaughtered every night
and as a son of God rises again from the fire of sleep
the ashes of the morning

why I exist is the gray of the moon
veiled in vigilant meaninglessness
invisible crystals in the earth light up

The Tree of Wrath, in spring green
still watching over that sacrifice
the vomiting gate of heaven drives out horses

(I remember the taxi ride
the patrician's happiness that night
while the war awaited)

Anger is never unleashed again
I fear in my smoldering heart
and beg the black night for wind.




It's so sweet clinging
my heart wrung out
Recently I saw the eagle
I managed to spare myself and her
I fought the sweet with the best
from all over the kingdom of Heaven
but now I'm standing, in my boots
in the field.

I don't stir my coffee like I did then
I wait for the labor and sink into the present
the future becomes invisible
I was never happier than for a second
life could be so soft to me
who seemed strong to myself and breathed
and gazed into the light in which crows
gathered for the great retreat
which would follow later with a screech
that I never forget.


-



Rolling shoulders
breathable ways
good jobs
future on your lap

calm efforts
released and repackaged in the curve

Eager
stay calm
we are here



-





Sneaky purple
glowing bubbles shimmering
in the scanty arc
of diament, high tide line, relief
by wife, rescue in need of decision
no more death no more eternal death
for a while

figurehead unviable
proud twilight in the night
wet in the rain park, stealthy in the grass
bordering on supremacy
an earthworm

the controversial debate is stealthily
the
wheelbarrow is different
from itself and therefore differs from 1

We cannot then conclude
that we cannot ascertain
that which rests in this value
will be a wandering target

how to find
this shovel
in the dark?

the signs are indicated
time has passed

Scream now



-



Irish glow
The alley
around and sigh
bald
Irish

Tweeds
go around the world like aces
snow evaporates

Yawn

The morning dawned on Vultures
condemned to death by fate
by flags, bears and castles
Irish miracles

The breech block closes properly
The one west
from the east of the night
of lost souls

Despaired immediately shining
anointed, cany servants share
the laundry, in the old hole

Do we get together? If this laughed inwardly
inside out
I split
the earth
too not
in gouwerblijn
or whatever that means

say without eloquence
or eloquence without saying
the sinners are the criminals
of will

The city is in the bud
Violet
gold glow
educational, dark worthy, trust
consolation, tears, weeping willow concert
why does this exist?
No answer.




-



steel bridge
A bridge is dedicated to me
by me of course from me to me to me
if I

Time, are, concrete,
root, deep, I guess
stone cracks open
grass grows sap

the world that exists
completely ignores the scum
the howling canaille
insulting the day

that night is eternal
where eagles are made of stone
their pride captured in their beaks
staring in reverence for their reverence
and so on, in the cold dark
owned by silver stars.




-



no riddle but me
(logos)

Through a crack in the curtain
I look outside on the yellow stone
hidden in the green trees
bathed in the icy air

This view, petrified, like a picture of a painting
on the wall of my still life
where it is dewy inside
because lilies dance

(neuros)

My mind pierces through clouds
like lightning that seeks and finds paths
and roars and creaks and yawns
after he crushes everything.

Dust descends, rises,
blows away and unveils
the chaos with in the middle
A spiky fortress, rising, defying.

Goblins whine sharply
tongues whips the high sky
the sun sets as king
Orange cleaves an ashes

Some people get in
have conversations with tongues
low, but proud as buildings
that resist the wrath of Wotan.

A baby now just cries the stone
still stares at me
indifferent, conversational
water creeps through pipes

I think about the wrath of Venus
the jagged edges of love
glorious fountains
soiled with sweat and washed

I am thinking of old walls
high but not too high and gold
domes like suns, immortalized
through man's sacred misdeeds

Then I think about streets again
with people in skirts and boots
and walls and shops and glasses
and a voice that recognizes me in itself.




-



since that platform
The wind blows backwards in the lost sight
the ball of fate bounces back and forth
the valve is precarious on the outside

I stare at the dock in my memory
I see the gray stones that are now blooming
imagine the greenery that I did not see then

The flow is still calm
footsteps still sound hollow and spacious
no longer my wings cling to the web.




-





Capricorn
Treasure by touch
your skirmish
your hat in the snow
that's how it is

the tree is standing
that's done
the moon shines
to

to whom has come
like eleven pillars
decayed to grit
on his hoof



-





Mother of Pearl Freighter
Unbearable antics
separated from my certain soul
consume my vaults
my crumbling primeval tree

the great grace of conscience
the genie in the bottle at sea
only seen by a pirate
and completely ignored.

An island washes up in the field of vision
and footsteps in the sand
people have been here, forbidden
they sang hymns to dead wealth

I'm lost here now
to anyone who ever left me
on the beach with bare feet
in the eternally returned song

creature, fiery ball, red
born of a raging flower
propelling star, you thing
at the basis of impossible angelic song

we cannot fail, this binds us
in spite of jerking horsepower
razor-sharp chains and cruelty
in the slowly drifting desert sand

We are not here where they are pointing
nor there where one goes
together, in sturdy caravans
in the divine midday sun

we can be found across slopes
signs appeared in caves
a smile reflected in pools
time steals its food

Enter this pearl freighter
sing your prayers, let your song be heard
about the cruel waves
it will not go unnoticed.




-



ludicrous danger
Endless rescue leads upstream
by nights surrounded by cool death
along banks that cannot exist without an oath
which no one is willing to discard yet

No, not a maid this time, man
no justice in broad daylight
no raucous shout in the town square
but a bull's eye

Excellent mountain cabaret art
of supremacy and declarations
of death and life like gummy bears
of rock walls without serrations or marks

I'm joking in my secret code
against the waves that groan
wishes, screeches, swipes
but remain unanswered

Ah I here, mother soul, stone
reassured by shady looks
with faithful cloud patches, red
like a toga on my soul

I look outside in vain
I suppose business, reason
come to conclusions, leave them
and lay me down in wrinkled sheets


1. The Youth

Wise man! The youth spoke in a plaintive voice urgently to the Prince, who was merciful to him. Keeper of Your People, protégé of Fate! If your heart is not made of stone, cold as the rocks of the North that endure much from the cruel sea, cooled by sharp winds and the hatred of the Sea Demons, answer me with your mighty voice, O men urging violent! For I ask you openly and naked, without hiding the stirrings of my heart from you: have you seen where my friend has gone, the godlike poet who terrified both the best soldiers of the bearded peoples of the East with his shattering fist. , as with his glorious songs enlightened the hearts of his friends while he was still with them? And the Prince who was merciful to him was torn asunder by the two wills that commanded him, that of the head and that of the heart. But in the end he chose to subdue the will of his head and spoke with his heart, and what he spoke was the truth: Dear boy who was chosen from a nation by the Sky Barster, I tell you honestly and from the bottom of my heart this truth: your friend has voluntarily joined the men who came from the North, and who utter dire war cries when they attack and break front lines. I tell you deeply grieving in my heart for your loss, that he has turned away from the horse-feeding plains on which he was raised, and set foot toward the storm-god-worshiping peoples who fear nothing, not even death and the dark death castle. And the boy was bewildered and he froze in his heart when he heard this and it turned black in his eyes and he wished that the rock-splitting destiny would take his life with a merciful thunderbolt. But then some God made a fire kindle in his diaphragm and gave wings to his words: But if this is true, King and keeper of the people you rightly worship for you are righteous and never just prefer one over the other but you always have a good reason for your judgment, that much is well known to me, and I have no doubt that what you say is the truth, even if it is cruel and it flows from your lips to the breath from your diaphragm as the man's doubting destiny ravages the ships of those who want to return home but are driven from their homes against their will, then I will muster my courage and gather my friends for a sacrificial meal to the immortal Gods who set strict rules and always pay close attention or the people do honor them correctly, and then I will burn the tenderest piece of meat of my best sheep and drink the sweet wine with my best friends to please the Gods for no mortal succeeds at his goal without the discretion of the Gods, and I will travel north! And deep in his heart the Prince, who was graciously disposed to the boy, was delighted with this purpose, for he suspected that the all-knowing Gods had foreseen all this and were already planning to make the boy's journey a success without preying on him. let him fall to the horribly howling wolves in the shady forests with the well-hidden roads, and would grant him a reunion with his friend. And they partook with great taste the meat that was presented to them on golden dishes by beautiful slaves with shining dark skins and they sacrificed carefully and then they drank the sweet wine and with each gulp their worries were lessened, for they drank the courage of the Gods in, who rule over everything and know no fear.


The Castle in the Air
It is now getting lighter outside
Lighter than ever
never ever again
so light on this hour
of the night

I don't want this screaming of molecules
this unruly awakening
creak, crunch, three times no!
the car is racing
he is ... unwelcome
a scooter -
all day is broken.
warm light inside
against that - textile
between me and the day that
here
is
now
and
I
wait for the signs of the Holy Elk with the Mysterious Antlers.

In April, the chickens lay the goldenest eggs
in the mortality denominator, the mate runs to deck
phrases around a golden section are not relevant
haven't lost that darn lightning yet.



The Earthshocker.

And as the ships departed from the salty coast, somewhere deep in the sea, the Blue-haired Earthshaker awoke from one of his nymph-inhabited dreams. He hurried from his green-black fortress deep beneath the smooth, windless mirror of darkness, and with the speed of a thousand dolphins made his way to where the keels of the ships cleaved through his waters. The Aardschokker soon realized that this was not about sacrilegers, but about shaky beings who wanted to anchor themselves more deeply in existence. And he allowed them to penetrate further into his domain, making arrangements with the swift speed that only an immortal God is capable of for their reception into his sanctuary. He set out to cause a shipwreck near the coast of a rocky, barren island where one must dig deep into one's own strength to make it right, and not fall into the arms of some dark death-lock prematurely and sadly . And the Earthshaker was pleased to be able to meddle in people's lives, for in spite of his contempt for their weakness and the vexing pity that the good among them sometimes wrought in him, in the best of them he loved and likened persistence. sometimes with the immovable tides of his own global empire. And night fell over the sea, and in the hollow black ships now the daring adventurers lit some torches, and from Mount Olympus the Lots-determiner watched in wonder at so much courage in such feeble creatures. And the adventurers opened two pitchers of pure wine - a drink of the gods - and made libations to the immortal Gods, and in particular to the Earthshaker, not knowing what it had in store for them ...

And a stiff wind rose when the morning dawned with a thousand pink fingers, and the men hastened to the ropes of the well-woven sails and pulled them taut, so that the graceful ships, which were crooked in front and behind, passed like spears moved the surface of the water, held back by no mortal force.


tent without groundsheet
The word is borderline
the speaker is a traveler
sometimes there is control
never a ticket

Climbing snail on wet asphalt
wet cracking wood in a shed
Flat lake, hot, mosquitoes and vapor
a toad spying on a butterfly

The closer along fences dikes
strokes their clean lines gently
suddenly he raises his gaze:
the breach is grinning at him.

eternal the wings die
to avert nothingness
the shy core unfolds
hidden within itself

Raised to the last degree breaks
the marshal with his cruel look
but fingers tender as dew light
this grain of sand in two

Antlers against wrathful red
Collect horns in black
Suddenly, like a lashing whiplash
marks the horizon




gray is the skin of light
Dusty capital
contains the ultimate
several times
beyond doubt

massive plain
of pure happening
an arrogant ray of light
combs the proud river

Carved out of time in light
mirrors hidden law
in innumerable sleeping eyes
until a watchful look screams







Black Cabbage
Impossibly high were the mountains, then the mountain, the mountain of ash and black coal, bigger than God, bigger than the plane that crashed in 9/11, bigger than the linguistic lag of an Donkey on a Moon Traveler, bigger than the overall BLA of the USA, bigger than the dollar, bigger than Africa, China, Elezier Achmed even thought his dick bigger than the desert. But he was wrong. The desert was bigger, and he knew it himself. The savage that ate everything - including his dick. Achmet was a bit angry, but he thought it was right again. Otherwise there could be no others. And he had to, otherwise he couldn't be there, So that was how everything was dissolved again, but the Desert was still big and Empty, and God had not yet separated the light from the dark, although this was soon to happen Elezier waited anxious, facing the moon that would illuminate him on his path through nowhere to a path out of nowhere, he hoped - bizarre times were coming for Elezier Achmed the Desert Wanderer.

Truly, nights of lilies and primordial fungi bringing visions to him, creaky beds in prisons and angry negroes, sharp teeth and claws of a female super being trying to knock him to the ground with her dreadful meow - the facial expressions of the moonless night. Achmed was not that innocent either, he had once stood on a boat after he had murdered. Out in a swamp, he had processed his past there. His past in that rotten village, where he was born a rotten apple, and therefore had to take control of his world. Evil must be retaliated by the bad self. He had learned that - and he had proved that what he had learned was the truth by becoming a successful businessman in Ethiopia and befriending the generals there. It had given him a palace full of servants and maids, and here he had tasted the life that made Guatama so overcrowded that he rolled down Zarathustra's mountain and came to a stop against a tree.

Elezier, however, had been somewhat ambiguous. Endless troubles in his infancy had convinced him that his adolescence should not have happened yet. Through this he projected before him a trajectory of ideals that would eventually bring him immortality in matter. He already knew he was immortal in the soul, he didn't have to do anything for that - so that's not interesting, Elezier thought. What is stranger, here at my feet, this strange-being - this all-representing, this totally unintellectual whole being of the wood, the stone and the animal kingdom, from which we are foamed over, beyond the edges of the being we are the destructive become ...

- this is what Ahmed said to himself as he climbed the mountain of ashes and resolved to spread this ashes over the desert, and to make it rain like the Gracious One Himself. We need to find ourselves a bigger head. And so Achmed Elezier went in search of a chalice, a carrier for the seas of happiness and disobedience.






This execution
the pillory, put back into use
because - we are back on track -
shame is life
because nature wants to hide itself.

The roads intersect and divide and wallow
in blind spirals around each other
lead to nothing but exhaustion
fall into the dust
strike the Earth.

This Earth then trembles
hears, yes
as Heaven remains silent
after rendering countless services to him
the ground groans with me

cracked base for my fort
the magma builds up
like violent vomit
from the stomach of the fire-eater
that knows no boundaries

You do, slender bird
you know limits, don't you?
Countless, they make you beauty
possibly, just like you
you know how to carry yourself.

A bird scratches my past
I don't heed it anymore
my Earth is loyal to me
who am i if not
the fickle sky?






-





Old man
Possessed old man
His orders blare silently
Through the halls of stone
Who call themselves my heart

There were once signs
On the walls, now knotty
And inhospitable

And once forty voices echoed
Mighty and rude, songs
the generous words of deed

Now it is teeming with snakes
On the dusty feet, frozen
Because of the cold that speaks from thoughts
In the dark-chewing head






Holy shrapnel
the guardians of entropy

the nihilistic herd

break their morality
in a billion holy pieces!






In The Dingy Pub
The cart drives along the meadow on the forest path, on the edge of the field of one of the Lords of the Lake District. Plotinus doesn't know why he was exiled, he doesn't want to know, he doesn't care, he's been glad he's gone for a long time. Anyway, the road is still long and food is needed. There are only garlic-smelling leaves, there is no question of game let alone catching anything, he has no rope or knife. And fishing with a spear should work but make fire, well, then try with that piece of wood. He wonders if he is going to make it, and takes the step, with the intention of heading into the forest at the appropriate time. Moreover, he has to spend the night somewhere, which has to be done regularly before nightfall.
Survival is a day's job, Plotinus realizes, and for the time being is not getting around to giving his ideals a bare bones.
He should just summarize them, so that he does not forget them, Then just like this: raving against a tree:

"Everything that is, is because it doesn't just exist, but wants to be itself, values ​​itself. Active is itself. Attracted to itself. Rooted in self-recognition. This is form from which we contemplate the void.

Hence, art always goes beyond and limits.
Hence we know without thinking
hence everything turns out unexpectedly useful
hence one should never turn away from the unexpected
hence courage is useful
and not stupid, and intelligence requires prowess.






that this exists
A friend's poem, a word that indicates so
musing, I looked out the window in my memory
the rain I felt in the house now too
my blood murmurs softly

i think i think and i know i dream
sometimes I know how to think
then I don't really think anything -
I think - I put what apparently was in the light
and see the world without rules,
exist alone,

only this, which exists
because it is this

it exists.

The cock crows
it is late
night falls
about the region
from Groningen
where an old friend is buried.



___
Whenever I was willing
came the hard animal
I drove with it together
over the swell

Whenever I bite
the world creaked
and came to a stop

____
Ohoeboeroe, Langhors and Ardanwen hijack the coast for city again and again
the lightning lights and German UFOs and purple ferris wheels and yellow lit croquettes

And de Peere said to the cookie:
Jo, but do you still have uh, you know?

That cookie said: NO!
but so it is.

"Das Universum - ein Maschine, which is aus Atomen und einer Art von Medium zwischen ihnenzusammengesetzt; die Gesetze der Energie sind die Gesetze, welche die Wirkung dieser Maschine berherrschen."




9: 1
Hastily arriving at the lake I saw the swell disappear before it was still, as Moose had intended.

The Moose spoke to me, boy, don't hurry! Then things all seem more complicated than they already are.
You have to understand, not learn.

And then the Elk was silent in all languages.


8: 6
And the Lord said to me, let the storms blow and the trees fall, and rejoice in the crackling and roaring, and rise in the wind and welcome the lightning and dance to the boom, and bathe in the raging stream of life . And he closed the door of his room, and I was back in life, in this world, where God does not usually be present except in the very nature of things. And I turned to the world and saw the things that I had done and lived in, and I turned back to God again, but the door was closed to him. And I made ready to knock, but then felt a thunderstorm go down in my heart, and I departed from the door of the Lord and descended into my deeds, my ways, and my fields, and entered the house of my life that was on fire , and saved from that what could be saved, and that was all that was of value to me, and nothing that I had saved because it might one day be of value to someone else.

Now the world was full of wind and storm and rain and lightning, and I fearlessly marched therein to new ends and great rivers to cross, and I saw castles against the gruff sky and began to imagine the world that is had not happened to me before. An image of heroic dragon tamers and beautiful miracle makers, brave people who believe in the good and brave people who create the good. And I did not think about the wicked and poor people in the deserts and tundras, for I was in earthly riches, where life is generous and there is no need to constantly knock on God's door for justification. I realized that the world was much stranger than I imagined, and that I was more in my place than anyone else.






Milikowski
2011, 2012 -
translation, google
Last edited by Fixed Cross on Sun May 09, 2021 4:37 pm, edited 11 times in total.
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Fixed Cross
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under the smoking gun

Postby Fixed Cross » Sat May 08, 2021 11:20 pm

Dit is alles. Het grote regenwoud. De oerberg en de eenzaamheid. Het boek der geschrevenheid staat gebeiteld in het leven. Een cactus staart rood naar het hemelse, de hemelzee, de starende sterren staan alleen verbijtend de stilte, het geraas in hun binnenste dat al het andere verstomt. Dit alles begint nergens en eindigt overal, verdoemd en vermaand en verbloemd en van gedaante verwisselend, eeuwig weerom als de maan boven het meer steeds weer anders liefheeft, steeds mooier haar vluchtige deugden uitstrooit en zich verstopt. Zo mooi scheen het weer, toen ik geen wolken zag - zo akelig is het nu, onder de rokende vulkaan. Dus hiervandaan, Piet - uit dit oord, waar de aarde woest is en de hemel ledig.

This is all. The great rainforest. The primeval mountain and the solitude. The book of writing is chiseled in life. A cactus stares red at the heavenly, the heavenly sea, the staring stars stand alone, choking the silence, the roar within them that silences everything else. All this begins nowhere and ends everywhere, damned and admonished and disguised and transformed, forever again as the moon over the lake loves differently, more and more beautifully scatters its fleeting virtues and hides. The weather seemed so beautiful when I did not see any clouds - it is so awful now, under the smoking volcano. So from here, Piet - from this place, where the earth is desolate and the heavens empty.
Last edited by Fixed Cross on Sun May 09, 2021 1:00 am, edited 1 time in total.
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
Image
Nietzsche's Heritage; The Philosophy of the Future - Some Music - The Magical Tree of Life
User avatar
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Doric Usurper
 
Posts: 11538
Joined: Fri Jul 15, 2011 12:53 am
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mood: Jungle

Postby Fixed Cross » Sat May 08, 2021 11:37 pm

8:16
Het grauwe wapengekletter ging maar door de afgrond en klonk door de darmwanden van de Heere. Hij had Maagzuur. Het Maagzuur was een wezen, dat hij in zich gekreeerd had - en dit wezen noemde zichzelf: mens.

En de mens was, en hij bestond, en hij leefde in het Oerwoud.
En het Oerwoud was de Heere en de Slang was de Mens,
en de Aap was de Mens, en de Mens was de Aap. En het oerwoud gaapte,
en het dier werd geboren. De mens scheidde het af als een belastingvoordeel, en het kwam neer
op vrij voedsel, en welbespraakt gevolgelte.
En de mens was in orde, en er bestond zo iets als: de kosmos. En het Maagzuur van de Heere
had zich laten afscheiden met de ergernissen van de vorige dag en legde zich neer bij de feiten: de taak tot verteren.
En zo kwam het, dat het Maagzuur tot Overmens werd, en de Heere diende als de Bovenmens.


8:16
The gray clatter of weapons went through the abyss and sounded through the gut walls of the Lord. He had Heartburn. The Stomach Acid was a being that he had created in him - and this being called himself: man.

And the man was, and he existed, and he lived in the Jungle.
And the Jungle was the Lord and the Serpent was the Man,
and the Monkey was the Man, and the Man was the Monkey. And the jungle yawned,
and the animal was born. Man separated it as a tax break, and it came down
on free food, and eloquent birdry.
And man was all right, and there was such a thing as the cosmos. And the Heartburn of the Lord
had let himself be parted with the annoyances of the previous day and had resigned himself to the facts: the task of digesting.
And so it came to pass, that the stomach acid became overman, and the Lord served as the superman.
Last edited by Fixed Cross on Sun May 09, 2021 1:01 am, edited 2 times in total.
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Translation by Google of my Dutch Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 12:28 am

2:8
En de Heere liet me toe in zijn schatkamer. Voor maar één seconde, maar ik zag twintigduizend eeuwigheden in de fonkeling van één parel, en dertigduizend in de glinstering van een gouden ring, die ik ontwaarde rond de vinger van wat een standbeeld leek te zijn, van een vrouw aan een poel, waaruit muziek opsteeg als bijen en zwermen libellen, betoverende, beheksende muziek. Deze poel was rood, de stof was geen bloed en geen wijn, maar iets erboven, iets dat fonkelde als het gesneden oppervlak van een robijn, maar zacht uitnodigde als fluweel. Ik had echter geen tijd om de poel te benaderen, of uit te vinden of de vrouw van steen was of dat zij leefde, of enige andere wetenschappelijke observatie te betrachten. Ik stond weer buiten, ook al zag ik niet om me heen, maar was ik in gedachten nog voor lange uren bij wat ik gezien had. Toen ik het koud begon te krijgen merkte ik dat het nacht was, en dat ik in de bergen stond, en huiverde bij het vallen van sneeuw op mijn hals. Ik zette krachtdadig de pas erin naar beneden, en arriveerde met gelukzalig bonzend hart en ruisend bloed in het veilig oord, waar ik mijn stee had staan. Voor ik ging slapen echter zat ik aan tafel met de mannen van het dorp en vertelde verhalen, die ze niet geloofden, en voelde me bevoorrecht, te weten dat hoe goed ik ook vertelde, ik nooit zou kunnen beschrijven wat ik gezien had.


2: 8
And the Lord allowed me into his treasury. For just one second, but I saw twenty thousand eternities in the sparkle of one pearl, and thirty thousand in the glitter of a golden ring, which I perceived around the finger of what appeared to be a statue, of a woman at a pool, from which music rose like bees and swarms of dragonflies, enchanting, haunting music. This pool was red, the cloth was neither blood nor wine, but something above it, something that sparkled like the carved surface of a ruby, but was inviting as soft as velvet. However, I had no time to approach the pool, or find out if the woman was made of stone or if she was alive, or make any other scientific observation. I was outside again, even though I did not see around me, but I was still in my mind for long hours with what I had seen. When I started to get cold I noticed that it was night and that I was standing in the mountains, and shuddered at the snow falling on my neck. I vigorously lowered the step in it, and arrived with a blissfully pounding heart and rushing blood in the safe place where I had my step. Before I went to sleep, however, I sat at a table with the men of the village and told stories they did not believe, and felt privileged to know that no matter how well I told, I could never describe what I had seen.
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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eternity like a plague of flies

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 12:57 am

3:1
En de Heere vergat wie ik was, en liet me onbedoeld achter op de bergtop, waar ik stierf van de kou. Mijn geest verliet mijn lichaam, en dwaalde door de bergen en de wolken, die er hetzelfde uitzagen. Ik zag niet, wat waarheid was en wat leugen, ze deden er niet, toe, alles was een mist. En de Heere bestond nog, ergens, en er was muziek, die klonk door kastelen en in sferen waar engelen en satyren ronddansten, maar ik was uitgesloten van dit alles, en van eten en drinken en ademen, aanraken en proeven, ruiken en alles, dat ik me nog wel vaag herinnerde, als een spijt, onder de naam Heere. Ik bad, en ik knielde voor zover mijn lichaamsloze gestalte dit toeliet, en ik herhaalde de naam van mijn spijt keer op keer, en er veranderde niets. Naar verloop van tijd begon ik patronen te zien, en dacht dat ik mezelf begon te kennen. Vierkanten, driehoeken en cirkels, en ik dacht dat ik mijn ziel zag, gemaakt van objecten, die eeuwig bestonden, overal in het universum. En toen ik dit geloofde werd ik ook een verzameling algemeenheden, en verloor ik zelfs de bergen en wolken uit het oog, en bevond me nu in een zwarte ledigte, met alleen vaag opflakkerende schijnsels van figuren om me heen. En toen ik zelfs voor deze vormen mijn interesse verloor, en niet meer dacht dat ik ze was, toen verdween ik zelf voor mezelf, en was er alleen nog pijn. En toen wist ik plots weer, wie ik was, en verschenen eerst weer de bergen, die ik afbrak, en de wolken, die ik tot regenen bracht, en de brokstukken en tranen regenden neer op de Aarde en vormden kraters vol water en modder. Ik liet mij neervallen in een zo'n modderpoel, en woelde en wemelde en schreeuwde, en de naam van de Heere was mij vreemd. Al wat ik wist uit te brengen was een schreeuw van haat tegen het eeuwige, dat niet bestond maar zich toch opdrong aan mij, als een vliegenplaag, terwijl ik me vastgreep in de blubberige substantie van mijn smart.



3: 1
And the Lord forgot who I was, and inadvertently left me on the mountain top where I died of the cold. My spirit left my body and wandered through the mountains and the clouds, which looked the same. I did not see what was truth and what lie, they did not matter, everything was a mist. And the Lord still existed, somewhere, and there was music that sounded through castles and in spheres where angels and satyren danced about, but I was excluded from all this, and from eating and drinking and breathing, touching and tasting, smelling and everything, that I still vaguely remembered, as a regret, under the name of Heere. I prayed, and I knelt as far as my bodiless stature allowed, and I repeated the name of my regret over and over, and nothing changed. Over time I started to see patterns and thought I was getting to know myself. Squares, triangles and circles, and I thought I saw my soul made of objects that existed eternally all over the universe. And when I believed this I also became a collection of generalities, and even lost sight of the mountains and clouds, and now found myself in a black void, with only faintly flaring glimpses of figures around me. And when I even lost interest in these forms, and no longer thought I was them, then I disappeared from myself, and there was only pain. And then suddenly I knew again who I was, and first the mountains appeared again, which I broke down, and the clouds, which I brought to rain, and the debris and tears rained down on the Earth and formed craters full of water and mud. I let myself fall into one of those mud puddles, and tossed and swirled and screamed, and the name of the Lord was strange to me. All I managed to utter was a cry of hatred for the Eternal, which did not exist but nevertheless forced itself upon me, like a plague of flies, gripping myself in the muddy substance of my grief.
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Draak Akkerblakeraar translations

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 4:23 pm

1:4
En zo kwam de Heere tot de zoon en de zoon tot de Heere: in bevelen die als daden schalden. Dalen beefde op hun grondvesten en bergen spuwden vuur. Dit was eindig, en de Zon slokte het op. Geen mens die overbleef durfde zich te herinneren, wat er voorgevallen was. Er was er slechts één, die door de herinnering overweldigd werd, als door een rover in het bos die hem in zijn slaap overviel. En dit was nu juist Hein, die goed in varen was. Zo kwam het dat God de zeeen veroverde en de kanalen beheerste, havens uitademde en steden leven inblies. En zo kwam het dat het nageslacht van Hein koningen voortbracht, die hun weelde deelden met het vragende volk. En het volk leerde en baadde in de glorie van Heins God, en permitteerde zich een grote weegschaal, welke men vulde met goud aan de linkerzij, en aan de rechterzij zichzelf maat gaf aan het Goud. En zo kwam het, dat de dikste mens werd uitverkoren om te worden geofferd naar God, die zich in walging afkeerde. En zo was het volk Gods verloren.


1: 4
And so the Lord came to the son, and the son to the Lord: in orders that resounded as deeds. Dalen trembled to their foundations and mountains spewed fire. This was finite, and the Sun swallowed it. No one who remained dared to remember what had happened. There was only one who was overwhelmed with memory, as if by a robber in the forest who fell upon him in his sleep. And this was precisely Hein, who was good at sailing. So it was that God conquered the seas and controlled the canals, breathed out ports and breathed life into cities. And so it was that the offspring of Hein brought forth kings, who shared their wealth with the questioning people. And the people learned and bathed in the glory of the Lord God, and allowed themselves a great pair of scales, which they filled with gold on the left, and on the right gave themselves measure of gold. And so it came to pass that the fattest man was chosen to be sacrificed to God, who turned away in disgust. And so the people of God were lost.







-




2:2
De boosheid van de Heere wierp een schaduw over mijn schouder alsof er een raaf op zat. Ik bereikte de stroom die klaterde en waste me maar de schaduw week niet. Ik keek toen in de zon en zag duister. Zo keerde ik mij in mijn ziel en trok terug van de zaken, die de Heere mij beloofd had.

Voortdurend leefde ik onder bomen, in gezelschap van holdieren, en van kruipende beesten van de grond. Ik was niet gelukkig, maar voelde ook geen smart. tijd trok aan mij voorbij als mist, en de Heere sprak niet tot mij. Soms rende ik en verwondde mij, en dan vloekte ik, alsof ik de Heere nooit gekend had. In de nacht werd ik soms wakker met een stekende pijn in mijn hart. Soms sliep ik diep, dagen lang.

Toen ik tenslotte vrienden had gemaakt met enkele dieren begon ik te voelen, dat ik de Heere miste. Ik ging op zoek naar de grenzen van het woud, maar vond ze niet. Ik vroeg de dieren me te helpen, maar zij misleidden me. Ik was hen dierbaar. Tenslotte slachtte ik een van hen, en joeg de anderen op de vlucht. Zo was ik alleen in het bos, wakker, met open ogen. En zo zag ik, dat er soms licht door de bladeren viel.

Ik klom in een boom en speurde de vier windstreken af. Ik zag niets dan bladerdek. Toch vulde hoop mijn buik en ik daalde af naar de grond met vernieuwde wil. Stappen zette ik, duizenden, met krachtige tred, en toen kwam ik bij een ruine, die mij deed vermoeden, dat het woud spoedig zou ophouden. Een vreemde spanning kwam over mijn leden, en ik begon te trillen. Toen hoorde ik de stem van de Heere:

Mijn zoon: jij hebt gedwaald, moedwillig heb je je voor mij verscholen. De wereld heeft zich in tweeen gespleten. Er is een brug, ergens verborgen in mijn rijk. De zon schijnt er, maar ook is er regen, en hoewel er wind staat, is het er ook stil. Vind nu deze plek, en verbind net als deze brug de twee delen van mijn rijk. Zo zul je mij dienen, en niet meer dwaas zijn maar redelijk.

Wederom ging ik op weg, en ik voelde dat hete nevels in mijn hoofd hadden gestaan, die nu wegtrokken door mijn neusgaten. Ik brieste als een stier terwijl ik paden zocht, en toen ik ze gevonden had zag mijn hart de schaduw niet meer, want die was gevlogen.



1: 4
2: 2
The Lord's anger cast a shadow over my shoulder as if it had a raven on it. I reached the stream that gurgled and washed, but the shade did not yield. I then looked into the sun and saw darkness. So I turned into my soul and withdrew from the things which the Lord had promised me.

I was constantly living under trees, in the company of cave animals and creeping beasts of the ground. I was not happy, but I did not feel any sorrow either. time passed by me like fog, and the Lord did not speak to me. Sometimes I ran and got hurt, and then I cursed, as if I had never known the Lord. In the night I sometimes woke up with a stabbing pain in my heart. Sometimes I slept soundly for days.

When I finally made friends with some animals I began to feel that I missed the Lord. I looked for the boundaries of the forest, but did not find them. I asked the animals to help me, but they deceived me. I was dear to them. Finally I killed one of them and put the others to flight. So I was alone in the woods, awake, with open eyes. And so I saw that sometimes light fell through the leaves.

I climbed a tree and scanned the four points of the compass. I saw nothing but foliage. Yet hope filled my stomach and I descended to the ground with renewed will. I took steps, thousands, with strong gait, and then I came to a ruin that made me suspect that the forest would soon end. A strange tension came over my limbs, and I started to shake. Then I heard the voice of the Lord:

My son: you have erred, you have deliberately hidden yourself from me. The world has split in two. There is a bridge hidden somewhere in my realm. The sun is shining, but there is also rain, and although there is wind, it is also still. Now find this place, and like this bridge, connect the two parts of my empire. In this way you will serve me, and you will no longer be foolish but reasonable.

Again I set off, feeling that hot mists had been in my head, now moving through my nostrils. I roared like a bull looking for paths, and when I found them my heart could no longer see the shadow, for it had flown.
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Translations of my Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 4:34 pm

1:14
En de Heere sprak tot mij: jij ijzeren gordijn,
vertoon de barsten van mijn wil,
smelt in het vuur van mijn koningschap
draag de vestingen niet meer, die mij verstoten
berg je voor mijn onheil
als ik het uitstort over de jouwen, die de mijnen niet zijn
kom hier in mijn wateren
duik onder in eeuwigheid
doorvloei de aderen van mijn overvloed
en ken mijn hart.

En ik schrok als na een bliksemslag
en keek de schapen in de ogen
zoals zij om mij heen stonden verzameld
in de dorder wordende vlakte
en in mijn hart gehoorzaamde ik de Heere al
toen ik huiswaarts keerde.




1:14
And the Lord spoke to me: you iron curtain,
show the cracks of my will,
melt in the fire of my kingdom
wear no more the strongholds that cast me off
hide from my disaster
when I pour it out on yours, which are not mine
come here into my waters
plunge into eternity
flow through the veins of my abundance
and know my heart.

And I was shocked as if after a lightning strike
and looked the sheep in the eye
as they gathered around me
in the ever barrener plain
and in my heart I already obeyed the Lord
when I returned home.






-



1:13
En de Heere sprak tot mij: Geel zal je worden, en groen van jaloezie - en paars van woede;
Ja waarlijk een regenboog van nijd en andere afgrondelijke sentimenten zal zich over jou uitspannen, voordat je zal ontwaken in het goud van mijn hart.
En ik begreep de Heere niet, en ik zei: grom!
En de Heere zweeg.

En na verloop van tijd fluisterde de Heere in mijn oor:
Ja mijn zoon, het is zo, dat alles zich tegen je heeft gekeerd.
en de vogels vlogen op van hun takken en krasten, dit waren de raven in het veld.
En de zon was bleek en verschool zich, en wolken trokken over de velden.
En de Heere zweeg weer. En het duurde honderd jaren voor hij weer sprak,
en toen lag ik al stil in mijn stee, want ik was vergeten, dat dingen nog leefden.
en dat de wereld nog niet vergaan was zoals hij was gestorven in mijn hart.
En de Heere sprak toen: Ontwaak, mijn zoon. De heldere morgen is hier: de beek
kabbelt en klatert muziekvol van de berg, en de stammen breken met hun wortels
door de koele stenen bij de bedding
en alles vermengt en verheugt
zich en jij zal je verheugen, deel te zijn van dit vermengen en verheugen.
En ik stond op en kraakte en geeuwde, want de morgen was gekomen.



1:13
And the Lord spoke to me: You will become yellow, and green with jealousy - and purple with anger;
Yes verily a rainbow of envy and other abysmal sentiments will spread over you before you will awaken in the gold of my heart.
And I didn't understand the Lord, and I said growl!
And the Lord was silent.

And in time the Lord whispered in my ear:
Yes my son, it is true that everything has turned against you.
and the birds flew from their branches and scratched, these were the ravens in the field.
And the sun was pale and in hiding, and clouds passed over the fields.
And the Lord was silent again. And it took him a hundred years to speak again,
and then I was already still in my stee, because I had forgotten that things were still alive.
and that the world had not yet ended as it had died in my heart.
And the Lord spoke then: Awake, my son. The bright morning is here: the brook
ripples and splashes music from the mountain, and the trunks break with their roots
because of the cool stones at the bed
and everything mingles and rejoices
and you will rejoice to be part of this mingling and rejoicing.
And I got up and creaked and yawned because the morning had come.


-
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Translations of my Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 4:42 pm

ochtendzon blijft roeren
opkloppen

als aardbij verorberd
voelt zacht hemelwater
mij een aap

dan de rit
door machines en spiegels
die ons blind vervormen
tot glashelder beeld

laat ik me passeren
wacht, drink zon
in de koffie

't vlees van de dag
wacht onder vroege sterren






morning sun keeps stirring
whip up

eaten like a strawberry
feels soft rainwater
me a monkey

then the ride
through machines and mirrors
that blindly distort us
to a crystal-clear image

I let myself pass
wait, drink sunshine
in the coffee

the meat of the day
waits under early stars





--



PROLOOG
Aan een bureau zit hij
tranend nog niet
maar wel al met een hand
in de bloedige aanslag

NU BEGINT HET
Zelfs die gooi ik weg
die walgkroket
die amateur, lapzwans
dweil

nee ik houd niets
in mijn opgeheven hand
naar God, of althans
de totale duisternis

een wandeling langs
de Leidsestraat, onze melkweg
trap, exodus, mayonaise
druipend en levend en schoppend

verdriet blijft uit
als de kaars zomaar dooft
wat mag geweest zijn
als het er is geweest?

EPILOOG
Strandwinter, een beest
gruwelt door de greppel
zijn naakte lijf schrijnt
tegen de helkoude zon




-


PROLOGUE
He sits at a desk
not tearing yet
but already with one hand
in the bloody attack

NOW IT BEGINS
I even throw those away
that disgusted croquette
that amateur, lapzwans
mop

no i keep nothing
in my raised hand
to God, or at least
total darkness

a walk along
the Leidsestraat, our Milky Way
stairs, exodus, mayonnaise
dripping and alive and kicking

grief does not come
when the candle goes out just like that
what may have been
if it has been there?

EPILOGUE
Beach winter, an animal
horrors through the ditch
his naked body aches
against the very cold sun
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Translations of my Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 5:30 pm

En de Heere was oud en guur, krakend en bevend en stomend, briesend in zijn stoel, gekerfd door kraaienbekken toen de Heere even naar de wc was. Stond die stoel daar eens.
Het leven van een De Heere gaat niet alleen over rozen, ook over dadels en komkommers, kamelennekken (een delicatesse in het Oosten) en ook over water, overigens. De stemming in het huis van de Heere was bedrukt, en het wachten was op de uitbarsting. De Heere perste zijn lippen samen en walgde dusdanig van wat hij te melden had dat hij het weer inslikte, en zijn maag daarmee veel kwaad deed. Uiteindelijk was een wijs vogeltje bereid Des Heeres oor binnen te vliegen en wat prikjes uit te delen in diens innerste, en de Heer nieste!
Blaasbalg! Kosmisch oerwonder, grote wolk van vernuft! De schanddaden der mensheid kwamen onder druk te staan en sikkeneurden, en verlieten toen maar het speelveld en gingen douchen, in koud water zoals Bob Arend het doet. Hoe dan ook, ze verdwenen van het toneel en de Elite kwam het veld op.




Arnold Van Akkeren
Wit licht in het krijt
Krassend op het bord
De leraar krijst


Arnold Van Akkeren
White light in the chalk
Scratching on the blackboard
The teacher screeches
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Translations of my Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 5:36 pm

Deze wereld
groen blauw
rode horizon

sporen trekken in zand
hout kloven door water waden
kinderen rennen een bal rolt

torens rijzen en vallen
miljarden hysterische gesprekken
krekels in de avondrust

ik zie vuur knetteren
ik hoor vuur knetteren
ik voel vuur knetteren
ik ruik vuur

stenen zijn warm
wolken hopen op
wit barst uit de hemel





This world
green Blue
red horizon

leaving traces in sand
split wood to wade through water
children run a ball rolling

towers rise and fall
billions of hysterical conversations
crickets in the evening rest

I see fire crackling
I hear fire crackling
I can feel fire crackling
I smell fire

stones are warm
clouds are heaping up
white bursts from the sky




-



naar A. Adler
Droom in zicht
grote schoffelende waarheidsploert
ruige zeerots scherp rand snij bloed
druipt in de grauwe golven
schuim ja prinses van oer gewald
bitter glanzen, de cruelle hemel
bomen schaars maar heet en grijs
is het kokend steen onder
mijn afgesleten zool

Mijn lieve diepe haatje
kerend tegen hen
die niet zien mijn totalitaire
meesterübermachtsverdrag
met de godinnezonen & zon
& maan & sterren & planetenkorps
rode stormen, gouden ringen
wat weet jij nou helemaal, knuppel?
vraagt de stier aan zijn lap



after A. Adler
Dream in sight
great shoveling truth floor
rough sea rock sharp edge cut blood
dripping in the gray waves
foam yes princess of primal rolling
bitter shine, the cruelle heaven
trees sparse but hot and gray
it is a boiling stone underneath
my worn out sole

My sweet deep hate
turning against them
who don't see my totalitarian
master uber power treaty
with the goddess sons & sun
& moon & stars & planetary corps
red storms, gold rings
what do you know at all, douche?
the bull asks his cloth
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Translations of my Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 5:43 pm

Berend. Was een man. Dat had hij bedacht. Hij was stoer. Had hij ook bedacht. Toen was het afgelopen. Met de stoerheid. En met Berend. Zo heette die gast toch? Ja. Hij zat op een stoel. Hij was moe. (weer). Het leven van Berend. Jezus man, Mozes man, Abrhaham, ham in general - Berend at alles. Met Jam.

Tot, toen, en.
De deur ging open.
het draakje kwam binnen.
Berend ging zitten, van zijn stoel.

[hier een tekening]

Zoals u ziet, veel groen en geel.
Nu was er een boskabouter.
Die had een geel eendje.
En een zeilbootje, met een drenkeling aan boord
een Superman.
Deze was geacht, de wereld in zijn grote sterke armen te nemen, en er mee naar de overkant te vliegen.
Maar hij had zijn cape verloren
en droeg nu die van zijn vriend,
Batman.

Muterende oorlogen vinden plaats op het stapelbed.
Maar in de grotten van de harige Sjeik is geen stapelbed.

Ach drie grachten ploert
zegende kluin
roterende klucht
ploertenopperhoofd

Berend was nog steeds niet bij de ijskast. Het zou nog veertien annalen doorduren voor hij zijn kaas te pakken had, en begon zich te realiseren dat hij geen beschuit meer heeft, en dat de winkels al dicht zijn, en dat de nacht aan het val...




Berend. Was a man. He had figured that out. He was tough. He had also thought. Then it was over. With the toughness. And with Berend. That's the name of that guy, right? Yes. He was sitting in a chair. He was tired. (again). The life of Berend. Jesus man, Moses man, Abrhaham, ham in general - Berend ate everything. With Jam.

Until, then, and.
The door opened.
the dragon entered.
Berend sat down from his chair.

[here a drawing]

As you can see, a lot of green and yellow.
Now there was a forest gnome.
It had a yellow duckling.
And a sailing boat, with a drowning person on board
a Superman.
He was supposed to take the world in his big strong arms and fly it to the other side.
But he had lost his cape
and now wore his friend's,
Batman.

Mutant wars take place on the bunk bed.
But there is no bunk bed in the caves of the hairy Sheikh.

Ah three canals
blessed kluin
rotating farce
blackhead chief

Berend was still not at the refrigerator. It would take another fourteen annals to get hold of his cheese, and begin to realize that he is out of rusk, and that the shops are already closed, and that night is falling ...




-





Opaaaalen nacht!
Nog meer a's. AAAaaaa
wat mooi.

Deze hier dier
he wat lekker die zat erin.

deze kooi,
hier,
leeg
behalve
de TOTALE VOLte.

Het Dier
Beest Ding
Gene

Barazoen! Zomaar een
woord

Ik schep op
Bal met rijst
klauw
gurk


De betekenis is NIET
zowaar ik nacht heet

GURK

Een ridder heft zwaar
heeft zwaar
heeft het zwaar
van het heffen van het zware zwaard

"Zwaarder dan het Zwaard van Mijn Vader"

had mijn vreugdemaat
op zijn zalmroze ziel
en perzikgele huid
waar ik

geluk
ig wa
s.

+s = †

Het raam stond open
dat weet ik nog zo verdomd, uitzinnig goed
we sleepten godverdomme een bank
helemaal van de rivier
om op te zitten en in te verdwijnen

gedurende wat er restte.

Die grindpad
die geluid
dat niet

+s

Dat S
+ niet
= dus ja
verborgen goud achter blauwe hemel
verdwalen, vaag, veel en lang
gebroken iets
uitblijvend niets

het had niet zo moeten zijn
maar heeft zo gezijnd
Sinterklaas
Nee, die bestaat niet
nooit niet
en is geen permanente meteoorinslag
oorverdovend vanwege
onze samenwerking.





Opaaaalen night!
More a's. AAAaaaa
how beautiful.

This one here animal
hey how nice it was in it.

this cage,
here,
empty
except
the TOTAL FULLness.

The animal
Beast Thing
Gene

Barazon! Just one
word

I brag
Rice ball
claw
gurk


The meaning is NOT
actually my name is night

GURK

A knight is heavy
has heavy
is having a hard time
of lifting the heavy sword

"Heavier Than My Father's Sword"

had my joy-mate
on its salmon-pink soul
and peach-yellow skin
where I

luck
ig wa
s.

+ s = †

The window was open
I remember that so damn well, outrageously good
we dragged a goddamn couch
all the way from the river
to sit on and disappear into

during what remained.

That gravel path
that sound
not that

+ s

That is
+ not
= so yes
hidden gold behind blue sky
get lost, vague, many and long
something broken
failing nothing

it shouldn't have been
but has been like that
Saint Nicholas
No, it does not exist
never ever
and is not a permanent meteor impact
deafening because of
our collaboration.




-




onmogelijke openingszin
De Supermens stootte zich aan het nachtkastje. Hij wreef zijn knie en ging door met rondstruinen.



impossible opening line
The Superman hit the bedside table. He rubbed his knee and continued to wander.
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Translations of my Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 5:52 pm

strak trek de ochtend
De woede is triomf, zo is het gewoon
ik haat al die dingen, vreedzaam geleuter
sinas, fanta, mensen die weten
hoe ze mosterd op hun kroketten smeren
hoe ze waggelend zich erkennen, bellend
hoe ze hun kamertje opgeruimd hebben
of hun villa met gepolijst hout als vloer
honden hebben ze, twee, en een man
(of een vrouw)
en dat is het ergste niet, ze hebben zichzelf
op die manier, die 'savonds vergeet
waar het plaatsvindt.

De verhalen die verteld worden
in Godsnaam wat zijn ze waard
wie herinnert ze zich nog, nadien
als het echte verhaal ontspint
als de leeuwen los zijn, de vogels
krijsend en de zon voor de wolken hangt
de regen horizontaal door de straten jaagt
de straten met ooit winkels
waar ooit een aankoop een daad was
languit lachen we dan, gestrekte gezichten
in wakkere koppen met heldere blikken
de wind trotserend met tranen

Ik ratel misschien in dit oerwoud
deze hoopvolle brandhaard, de tong
van een vlam laait en lurkt aan de lucht
de maan vervormt in de zinderende spiegel
de zon is overal
de wouden op Venus ze zingen dit lied
Mercurius met zijn stalen, koude kant
beraamt de toekomst, rotsvast en hard
klassiek als de zuilen waarop de tijd rust
de Goden hebben het bepaald zonder gok
in een opwelling weliswaar maar een grote
als het leven zelf

Ja oorlog, geen twijfel, die woekert
alsof het er één is, één brandend hart
één zeis, één sikkel, één korenveld
waarover de sikkelaar struint
waarboven de raven opvliegen
waar een vogelverschrikker verrot
waar zonlicht geen schaduwen werpt
omdat niemand achter zich kijkt
maar voor zich, in gifgroene ogen
van noodlot, van vuurrode tongen
en stevent, vooruit met de borst
gehavend, geschonden, verhit
onverdeeld, gebundeld als mankracht
van alle gestorven legioenen
toen ze nog ploeterden richting horizon



tighten the morning
The anger is triumph, it just is
I hate all those things, peaceful drivel
orange, fanta, people who know
how they smear mustard on their croquettes
how they acknowledge themselves staggeringly, ringing the bell
how they cleaned up their room
or their villa with polished wood for the floor
they have dogs, two, and a male
(or a woman)
and that's not the worst, they have themselves
in that way, who forgets at night
where it takes place.

The stories that are told
what for God's sake they are worth
who still remembers them, afterwards
when the real story unfolds
when the lions are loose, the birds
screaming and the sun hangs before the clouds
the rain is sweeping through the streets horizontally
the streets with ever shops
where once a purchase was an act
we laugh at length, faces straight
in alert heads with clear eyes
defying the wind with tears

I might rattle in this jungle
this hopeful seat of the fire, the tongue
of a flame blazes and sucks the air
the moon warps in the shimmering mirror
the sun is everywhere
the woods on Venus they sing this song
Mercury with its steel, cold side
plans the future, rock solid and hard
classic as the pillars on which time rests
the Gods have determined it without guessing
on a whim admittedly only a big one
as life itself

Yes war, no doubt, it is rampant
as if it were one, one burning heart
one scythe, one sickle, one wheat field
over which the sickle roams
above which the ravens fly up
where a scarecrow rotten
where sunlight does not cast shadows
because no one is looking behind them
but in front of him, in green eyes
of fate, of scarlet tongues
and runs forward with the chest
battered, violated, heated
undivided, bundled as manpower
of all the dead legions
when they were still struggling towards the horizon






-




Tandenborstel des Tijds
Ze kwam bij het etalageraam staan
ook zij, nu was iedereen er
en keek uit op de buit
die ik verworven had
in mijn babywagen

Mijn hagelwitte ik
mijn tandeborstel des tijds
poetsend het vuil der eeuwen
wassend het donkere glas
brandend vergeeld perkament

Dit gruis hier was ooit
iets anders dan niets
dit poeder, dit stofje dit buskruit
dit middel tot iets was ooit
een verschijning van iets anders.




Toothbrush of Time
She came to the shop window
she too, now everyone was there
and overlooked the loot
that I had acquired
in my baby carriage

My snow-white me
my toothbrush of time
cleaning the dirt of the ages
washing the dark glass
burning yellowed parchment

This grit here once was
something other than nothing
this powder, this speck, this gunpowder
this means to something was once
an appearance of something else.





-




spekvet gistmolen
graafzand van droesem
eega, draagpost
steen afgezaagde klok
tikkend, heersend

ad-rem is die buil
kop op, zet hem/haar
tegenin, tegendraads
radeloze windstreek

achterom, de steeg
kromhout, beschutte kroeg
schuimkraag, barst in
gebroken witte kroes

de kastelein, een krachtterm
die avond was nog jong
als bloed dat dampend vloeit
terwijl de peuk nog rookt




bacon fat yeast mill
digging sand of lees
wife, porterhouse
stone sawn clock
ticking, ruling

ad-rem is that bump
head up, put him / her on
contrary, contrary
distraught direction of the compass

back, the alley
crooked wood, sheltered pub
foam head, bursts
off-white crucible

the landlady, a curse
that night was still young
like blood that flows in a steamy way
while the butt is still smoking





-



voor 2 Kraaien
Ze kwam uit het keukenraam
Haar haar was vluchtig gewassen
En rook naar mijn drama
Haar zang was versteend in
duizend stukjes geslagen
de viool van het leven
was geen Stradivarius
en werd niet bespeeld
door lenige vingers
Slechts in betonnen kloven
Stond water
In de maan zat een gat
Dat me riep
Oh jee zei hij
Het is zover oh jee
De maan met zijn zwarte vogels
Kraalogen, dode beesten
Niets wetend en slecht
De maan is dood
Op zijn troon.



for 2 Crows
She came out of the kitchen window
Her hair had been lightly washed
And smelled like my drama
Her singing was petrified
beaten a thousand pieces
the violin of life
was not a Stradivarius
and was not played
through nimble fingers
Only in concrete gaps
Water stood
There was a hole in the moon
That called me
Oh dear he said
The time has come, oh dear
The moon with its black birds
Beading eyes, dead beasts
Knowing nothing and bad
The moon is dead
On his throne.







-




Dalend
Gorgelend evenbeeld
Geestesziekte, steen
Grauwe kleermakerszit
Botte bijl, damp.

Koorts dienaar
Oppervloed, kramp
Deze verstekeling
Rekent af.



Sinking
Gurgling equal image
Lunacy, stone
Grim cross-legged
Blunt ax, vapor.

Fever servant
Supreme flood, cramps
This stowaway
Settles the bill.
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Translations of my Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 5:57 pm

de kloostertuin
Haar stralen zijn zeldzaam
en gevoelige zwaarden
die stenen daar fluisteren
met sensuele tongen
hier breekt er een lans
voor een dierbaar schepsel
en kleurt de as
de dageraad dieper
intense vokalen
begeleiden het lichtconcert
dat door mijn scheermes speelt
de geest is de zwakke
de tanende maan
nu, hier, heilig
wast het bloed het hart.
de brug is van zilver
en was me geraden
de heilige vijand
van de berusting
De weg is onzeker
kleuren vermengen
inkt beroert zich
in zwavelzure regen
tegen de klippen op
niet zal me verstoren
dit zwijn te braden
dit vuur te eten
dit lied te zingen
deze sterren te tellen
deze oerdood te sterven
steeds weer en opnieuw
en steeds maar door
het zijnde te scheuren
in goed en in kwaad
dit doek te weven
van draden van drang
dit wapen der verbranding
van al de zielen
die verdwalen in mijn web
ik breng hier de uiers
van de dode koe
de melk die verzuurde
wij stervend aan ranken
in de zon die lijdt
onder zijn eigen wreedheid
de onafwendbaarheid van zijn licht
Balder verlicht me
met een toornige stoot
stook vuren op, hoog
boven de huizen van geluk
licht de luchten
en regen diepe weerzin
tegen alles
dat niet dit is.
Stilte, maanlicht
verraadt een goedheid
hier in de kloostertuin.




the monastery garden
Her rays are rare
and sensitive swords
those stones whisper there
with sensual tongues
a lance breaks here
for a precious creature
and colors the ash
the dawn deeper
intense vocals
accompany the light concert
that plays through my razor
the mind is the weak
the waning moon
now, here, holy
the blood washes the heart.
the bridge is made of silver
and I had guessed
the holy enemy
of resignation
The road is uncertain
mix colors
ink stirs
in sulfuric rain
against the rocks
won't disturb me
roast this boar
eat this fire
sing this song
count these stars
this primordial death to die
over and over and over again
and on and on
being to tear
in good and in evil
weave this cloth
of threads of urge
this weapon of combustion
of all souls
who get lost in my web
I bring the udders here
of the dead cow
the milk that soured
we are dying of branches
in the sun that suffers
under his own cruelty
the inevitability of its light
Balder enlightens me
with a wrathful thrust
stoke fires, high
above the houses of happiness
light the skies
and rain deep disgust
against everything
that is not this.
Silence, moonlight
betrays a goodness
here in the monastery garden.






-


slangenkuil
Tegenstand verzamelt zich
in het neusje van de zalm
galoppeert over de vlakte
esthetisch tegen de vlammen

de maan speelt poker
met haar eigen verschijning
en wint, pot na pot
de buit is ondraaglijk

verderf stort ineen
rookt, smeult, tot as
daar, ogen, blauw
glurend door het sleutelgat





snake pit
Opposition gathers
in the cream of the crop
gallops across the plain
aesthetically pleasing against the flames

the moon plays poker
with its own appearance
and wins, pot after pot
the loot is unbearable

destruction collapses
smokes, smoldering, to ashes
there, eyes, blue
peeking through the keyhole









-




sterreschreeuw
Een grijs verleden
diep in mijn botten
baart alle kleur
van het bloed

Kevers kruipen
in de nacht
vormen een leger
van kruisvaarders

Ik zag de zon
hij was bleek en mooi
en de weg was lang en recht
met golvende bochten

Rammend en beukend
op mijn gestel
zijn de daden
van een leeg verleden

Bij binnenkomst
moet u betalen
met u leven
en uw kroon

geen eeuwigheid is hier
grijze gezalfde
getekende gelovige
brekende speer

U wacht een moeras
dat leven heet
en aan de overkant
baart het leven

de torens in as
ooit, smeulend, ooit brandend
ooit in vole glorie
tot men stal de vlag

Dit vaandel verloren
leeft voort in het onweer
de oorlog, de smart
en de sterreschreeuw




star scream
A gray past
deep in my bones
gives birth to all color
of the blood

Beetles crawl
during the night
form an army
of crusaders

I saw the sun
he was pale and beautiful
and the road was long and straight
with undulating curves

Ramming and pounding
on my frame
are the deeds
of an empty past

At arrival
you have to pay
live with you
and your crown

no eternity is here
gray anointed
drawn believer
breaking spear

A swamp awaits you
that is called life
and across the street
gives birth to life

the towers in ashes
ever, smoldering, ever burning
ever in all its glory
until they stole the flag

Lost this banner
lives on in the storm
the war, the sorrow
and the star scream
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Translations of my Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 10:34 pm

toen, daar
Hanengekraai. Hetzelfde vuur brandt. De tegenstrijd zit erop, de ochtendlucht kleurt. Als de vogels hun nesten verlaten schemert de zon brandend langs de randen van de blaadjes.
Ik weet niet wie deze tijd beheerst - ik weet niets.
Ik begrijp alleen dat er een doel nodig is om vooruit te komen.
Het land is sappig onder de voeten van mijn verbeelding. Druiven, wijnranken -
de heuvels glooien en de zon schijnt door het witte zijde
het bed is opgemaakt en ik neem een bad in de marmeren ruimte.

Als er ooit een begin was van dit verhaal, dan was het toen.
Een vriendschap brak af, een duisternis brak aan
maar dat wist ik toen niet
ik ontdekte alleen maar de kunst
en ik droomde alleen van de liefde.



-

kal en raas
Het roze druipt van de muren van verdoemenis en maakt plaats voor het zwart dat daar altijd heeft gezeten. Ik kijk me aan. Het is grijs en grauw voor mijn ogen, maar erachter schijnt blauw totin de hemel. Ik scheur het rookgordijn aan flarden en kijk twee sabeltanden aan. Waar is te tijger?
Waarom rammelt het hiernamaals altijd aan het geraamte van het schietgebed? Hoezo is de deur open, de poort wagenwijd? Tegemoetkomend aan het donderend geraas van de koningsrit wankelt het oorwurmen tot aan de einder. Wie is waar? De storm zal het zeggen.
Koningen dromen van zalven. Drenkelingen wenen voor allen. Komt u maar, komt u maar tot mij. De scherpschutter aast op de rakeling. Toenadering bezuurt het vat, de grombaard komt tot zijn trekken in een aasgierend waarnemingsbeleg waarbij zelfs hij botviert.


cal and raas
The pink drips from the walls of damnation and gives way to the black that has always been there. I look at myself. It's gray and dull to my eyes, but beyond it, blue shines up to the sky. I rip the smokescreen to shreds and look at two saber teeth. Where is the tiger?
Why does the afterlife always rattle the skeleton of the prayer prayer? Why is the door open, the gate wide? In response to the thunderous roar of the Kings ride, the earwigs stagger to the horizon. Who's true? The storm will tell.
Kings dream of ointments. Drowning people weep for all. Come on, come to me. The sniper is aiming for the shot. Rapprochement hurts the barrel, the grunt comes to his own in an eager observation siege in which even he takes it out.
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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Re: Translations of my Poetry

Postby Fixed Cross » Sun May 09, 2021 10:50 pm

Lofliedje
Kom toch, scharminkel, in het woud der eeuwen
waar ik op je wacht, tussen de schaduwen van het stekelgewas.
Kom ook als je niet wil, wordt hier gedreven door zweepjes
jouw lot, eenzaam dier
Ik lach je uit om je rafelige kleertjes
je voeten bloeden en ik geniet
je ogen verraden veel meer dan je weet.

In mijn armen nu, ik zoog je,
melk die je niet lust, maar je slurpt
zo mag ik het zien, nog maar net bovengronds
maar nu ken je de doder. Is hij niet lief?

Ik had ooit een ziel, ach, over mijn schouder
plons in het riool (heeft dat ook eens wat moois!)
nu ben ik de Aarde, geen grenzen
slangen krioelen rondom me, lief en leuk
groen en glanzend, soms geel zelfs!
Fonkelrode ogen, brandend, gemeen
lispelende tongetjes, hier is het fijn.

Zeg me je naampje, dan verscheur ik het
doe het je vergeten, wordt één van mij
leuk kleutertje, met je eendje aan je touwtje
het bos van verwondering, heel goed
dat je gekomen bent!




Praise song
Come on, scoundrel, into the forest of the ages
where I wait for you, among the shadows of the thorny crop.
Come even if you don't want to, they are driven here by whips
your fate, lonely animal
I laugh at you for your ragged clothes
your feet are bleeding and I enjoy
your eyes betray much more than you know.

In my arms now I sucked you
milk you don't like, but you slurp
this is how I can see it, only just above ground
but now you know the killer. Is not he sweet?

I once had a soul, ah, over my shoulder
splash in the sewer (does that have something nice too!)
now I am the Earth, no boundaries
snakes swarm around me, sweet and fun
green and shiny, sometimes even yellow!
Sparkling red eyes, burning, mean
lisping tongues, it's nice here.

Tell me your name and I'll tear it up
make you forget, become one of mine
nice toddler, with your duck on your rope
the forest of wonder, very well
that you came!
The strong act as they may, the weak accept what they must.
- Thucydides
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