nederlandse taal
english language

 
Poetry International Web
en/nl
dutch news
next
 
 
 

SONDAG, LAAT – BARCELONA
Rambla de Catalunya aan ’n feestige tafeltjie
Met ’n rooi tafeldoek;
Alles laat en vol, orals die klank van Spaans –
Spaans met mense in,
Vol van ver en weg, koue bier en tapas
wat so mooi ruik
dat alles na ’n ander lewe moet proe,
maar jy sê ek moet asseblief “bitte keine Witze machen”
want jy gaan huil,
jou oë swem al klaar.
Jy weet nie wat nou skielik so vreeslik fout is nie,
seker hormone, maar jy’t jou die hele dag lank
sien dikker lyk in hierdie blink winkelvensters
as elke vrou so oud soos jy in hierdie mooi stad
en jou hare val uit en jou vel pak op
en ek moenie vir jou sê dat jy vir my mooi is nie
want hoe sal ek weet want sien
ek kyk nooit eers meer rêrig vir jou nie.
Dis die probleem met my, sien?
Ek’s altyd êrens anders, maak mos altyd
of alle ydelheid nonsens is.
Ek dink mos alles is buitendien uit rot en verval
aanmekaargesit,
maar ek moenie glo dat ek so vir jou help nie
want die ander mans is in elk geval “überhaupt nicht”
glad nie soos ek nie
en jy wil vir ander mans ook mooi wees, sodat
hulle na jou moet kyk, sodat
jy kan goed voel saam met my
en ek sê maar hulle kyk, hulle kyk
ek sweer,
maar dis nie oortuigend nie want jy sluk
so absoluut redeloos bedroef, jy kyk so
godverlate deur my
dat ek onredelik woedend wil raak van onmag, maar
ek drink maar ernstig bier,
probeer simpatiek toemaar kyk, probeer
jou hand vat,
maar jy trek weg en ons sit maar so
tot jy nie meer kan nie en sê ons moet
asseblief ‘bitte’ hotel toe en bed toe
jy voel naar van misrabel jy’t ’n klip in jou maag,
“einen Stein im Bauch”,
jy’s jammer jy weet nie, seker niks,
“es geht schon wieder”
maar nou huil jy rêrig en ek
ek sit en kyk
na jou
sit net
en kyk na jou.
SUNDAY LATE, BARCELONA
Rambla de Catalunya at a festive little table
with a red tablecloth;
late everywhere full, everywhere the sound of Spanish –
Spanish with people in it,
full of far away, cold beer and tapas
that smells so tasty
that everything must taste of another life after this,
but you say would I please “bitte keine Witze machen”
because you’re going to cry,
you eyes are already swimming.
You don’t know what’s suddenly gone so wrong,
probably hormones, but the whole day you’ve
been seeing yourself getting fatter in these shining shop windows
if every woman gets old like you in this beautiful city
and your hair failing out and your bright suit on
and I’m not to tell you that I think you’re beautiful
because how would I know because look
I just don’t really look for you in a crowded room anymore.
The problem’s with me, you see?
I’m always somewhere else, I always act as if
all vanity is nonsense.
And I also think that everything is made
of rotting ruins,
but I shouldn’t think that I’m helping you
because anyway other men are “überhaupt nicht”
totally unlike me
and you also want to be beautiful for other men, so that
they have to look at you, so that
you can feel good with me
and I say but they do look at you, they do look
I swear,
but you’re not convinced because you swallow
your sorrow so absolutely, so irrationally, you look so
abandoned by me
and it makes me want to become irrationally angry, out of
powerlessness, but
I just take a serious sip of beer,
try to look sympathetic, try
to take your hand,
but you pull away and we just sit there
until you can’t do it anymore and say that we should
‘bitte’ go to the hotel and bed
you feel nauseous with misery you have a stone in your stomach,
“einen Stein im Bauch”,
you’re sorry you don’t know, maybe nothing,
“es geht schon wieder”
but now you’re really crying and I
I sit and look
at you
jut sit
and look at you.