1327: Ann | Herman de Coninck
"Ann"
Herman de Coninck
translated from the Flemish by Laure-Anne Bosselaar and Kurt Brown
1969
I remember myself most. How, all of a sudden I had one
wife, instead of now and then this love or that.
And how we had to love each other, instead of simply
falling in love sometimes.
I used to sit in bars, boasting about how beautiful you were,
and shy, and brash too, until my women friends would say:
why don't you just go and be in love at home --
and how I still needed to order that one last drink.
I remember how silently you sat sometimes, hugging
your knees; how you wanted to be all sorts of women
for me, if only I'd be there.
And how, too young, I was unable to receive so much.
1971
(for Thomas)
I was better at losing: barely squeezed out
one poetry collection about it. I won
the Flemish Provinces Prize with your death.
I mostly remember I couldn't find my glasses.
They were on the road, next to the car. I found them
first, a new pair, then you.
Thanks to those glasses, I can still see you.
After an eternity, lasting
for a minute or two, a woman pointed to the grass:
look, a child. Oh, yes, we had that too. Quick mouth
to mouth. Tom howling as if murdered. That sounded healthy.
Only then did I realise how silent it had been before.
I thought: what if I tried to cry?
It worked. And that helped a lot in the following days.
On this day in...
2010: "The Straightforward Mermaid" by Mattea Harvey
2009: "on the difference between dead girls and ghosts" by Daphne Gottlieb
2008: "Draft #2006" by Adrienne Rich
2007: Weekend, no poem
I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.
Herman de Coninck
translated from the Flemish by Laure-Anne Bosselaar and Kurt Brown
1969
I remember myself most. How, all of a sudden I had one
wife, instead of now and then this love or that.
And how we had to love each other, instead of simply
falling in love sometimes.
I used to sit in bars, boasting about how beautiful you were,
and shy, and brash too, until my women friends would say:
why don't you just go and be in love at home --
and how I still needed to order that one last drink.
I remember how silently you sat sometimes, hugging
your knees; how you wanted to be all sorts of women
for me, if only I'd be there.
And how, too young, I was unable to receive so much.
1971
(for Thomas)
I was better at losing: barely squeezed out
one poetry collection about it. I won
the Flemish Provinces Prize with your death.
I mostly remember I couldn't find my glasses.
They were on the road, next to the car. I found them
first, a new pair, then you.
Thanks to those glasses, I can still see you.
After an eternity, lasting
for a minute or two, a woman pointed to the grass:
look, a child. Oh, yes, we had that too. Quick mouth
to mouth. Tom howling as if murdered. That sounded healthy.
Only then did I realise how silent it had been before.
I thought: what if I tried to cry?
It worked. And that helped a lot in the following days.
On this day in...
2010: "The Straightforward Mermaid" by Mattea Harvey
2009: "on the difference between dead girls and ghosts" by Daphne Gottlieb
2008: "Draft #2006" by Adrienne Rich
2007: Weekend, no poem
I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night.