Thursday 31 December 2015

Knowledge of nature by Jan Eijkelboom


Knowledge of nature

From the procession car we had a view now and then
of forsythias, vividly set off against the
dull misery of too well-kept houses.

Near the aula we wondered what sort of tree
stood there on the lawn with paper-white blossoms.
We took it as read that it was a kind of prunus.

After the music of Bach and coffee with cake
we returned to the home of the deceased. Behind it
the grass was covered with forget-me-nots,

or so we thought. A former teacher
was able to tell us however that it was
periwinkle. Out of cut glass

we drank the whisky to which the deceased,
once a lighthearted taster, had given preference.

Jan Eijkelboom 1926 - 2008
[photo Internet]







Original title: 'Kennis der natuur'- From the collection: 'De wimpers van de dageraad', 1987 - Uitgeverij De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam

De pianist by Jan Eijkelboom


The pianist

The fanatic folds
at the top of the back of his tails
when he pulls his right shoulder up high
to then let his hand come down
not for a sledgehammer blow
but to bring about the lightest
possible tone.

Meanwhile Richter tastes the music
as if he is chewing tobacco.

Jan Eijkelboom 1926 - 2008
[photographer unknown]

Original title: 'De Pianist'- From the collection: 'Binnensmonds jubelend', 2004 - Uitgeverij De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam

Wednesday 30 December 2015

Il Poverello by Manuel Kneepkens


Il Poverello

Waiting for the golden tramcar
bound for the Nirvana of Nothingness
the one from Wassenaar to Scheveningen

I thought:

Brother Dune, I thank you for your humility
Sister Beach, I thank you for your nudity
Brother Sea, I thank you for your alluvion

This was what I thought
though I had left brother Trunks
at home.....

Manuel Kneepkens [1942]

Tuesday 29 December 2015

Eire by Manuel Kneepkens


Eire

What am I to do in this rain-drenched
moss-green
island

the sun
sets there
whiskey-coloured

visit a Pub, I think
and from there
drunk...

-at the stroke of closing time
full of midnight
desires

plan to call
the sweetest copper-haired
of all Ireland

if she wants to be unfaithful,
Miss Deirdre of Usnach
with me, a stranger
from Bergen, North-Holland

(her fairylike green eyes
as frivolous
as an Easter Rising...)

westwards far
behind the molehills
of the pixies!


O, Ireland, Blissful Island
besides
the ulcus
of Ulster...

Manuel Kneepkens [1942]
(photo Internet)


Original title: Eire

The woman of the scales by K. Michel



The woman of the scales

half hidden under the foliage
of an imperial figtree
she stands in a check apron
broadly-build and on plastic slippers
their red colour standing out vividly
against her tanned skin

she is about forty
her children except the youngest
have all left home
and her husband, that's a different story

she is not standing there doing nothing
no, between the overhanging leaves
protrudes the large opening of a sousaphone
she holds its tubular body
tight in her char-arms
while she practises scales

and the sparkling like full-blooded tones
burst from the bell of the metal horn
and her cheeks go boom flap
boom flap up and down
like the wings of a bird
ponderously flying up out of the water

later that day after the cleaning
of the thirtieth hotel room
she will put on another dress at home
and make way with her sound
ahead of the bridal couple, first to the church
and then to the feast while the rest
of the marching brass band will let
themselves be pushed forward by her bass tones

a last detail: she wears no rings
she believes in the existence of the soul 

K. Michel [1958]
photo: Roeland Fossen


Original title: De vrouw van de toonladders From: Tirade 349 November/December 1993 - jaargang 37 - Uitgeverij G.A. van Oorschot, Amsterdam