This page is an archive of poetry I wrote several years back. It is also an archive of my linguistic ancestral Dutch/Flemish matrix and its implied nationalist obliqueness. Is it thus as a painting on the pristine white museum wall or an isolated word in the dictionary hinting of singularly a former, excluding any meaning in-between and rigidly ignoring any latter; dead?
Automobiel in 3/4 Allegro -in retrospectus-003
De lamp
licht
STRAALT
STAMPT
mijn oog UIT
donker bruin vermoeden
dat ik blind ben
Groen
’ranje
Rood
Groen
claxon roept
snoept
luid klak
klapt
trommelruis
Suist
verliest ’t vlies
WAT?
toeter weg!
blies
bruist
buiten
de blaasbalg
walg wat?
Wie niet ZIET
HOORT moet VOELEN
wordt vermoord
bloedsmoel
KLAP
rap
rood sap
Groen
’ranje
Leve is
’n franje
met d’auto kan je
rijde
snijde nooit meer lijde
–Anima Suri’07 (pre-1996)
Plato Herbezocht
jezus is een reflectie van god
de mens is een reflectie van jezus
de gemaakte dingen zijn een reflectie van de mens
een kunstwerk is een reflectie van de gemaakte dingen:
Maak je me nog eens een Beeldje,
een Karikatuur van een Held,
een Surrogaat voor een mensenkind;
dat ik bidden kan?
–Anima Suri’07–
19 Augustus 2007
Krassende Snaren.
We stouwen onze omgeving vol
met mechanische geluiden
zonder meer
Wanneer we onze muziek
daar uit putten
noemen we’t lawaai
Stop
Sta stil met je oren
en
ik componeer je een lijster.
–Anima Suri’07–
Schaarbeek 18 Augustus 2007
The Surrealist’s Story on a John
John wrinkled his eyelid and pantomimicly said,
“two sugar cubes to the Upper East Side.”
I nodded, while stirring ubiquitously with my beetle,
the yellowish one, that is.
We were synchronized as a shriveled old couple: moistless, and without momentum.
“John we’re encountering a 411″ said the yellowish beetle suddenly.
The place was in shock.,
“We r busted…, John who r u, she asks” he wispered,
“there r only 2 things to do now: talk to Lakma or have our horses geared up,..”
John being put on hold, remarked: “Give the grassy null to central plaza some leeway, we might need
it.”
I kept sturring the beetle, all remained quiet with the interruption of a spoon.
“John Handlow, I presume sideways?”
stinged the twenty point three carat pencil holder.
“And, u r?” John threw back with a twist of lemon,
“My middle name is Bureaucracy” the pencil holder rebutted pedantically while taming the hairless
lion. The code was framed.
“John is still doing it, still doing it, ill doing it, uwing it, gingit, it, t t t”
buzzingly echoed through the dungeons of the mid town interlude trainstops.
The light turned green and all pedestrians turned upwards.
John, at times like these, while he turns over that one page., is in full control of the crystal flow.
The cricket had landed on the left rim of John’s outer lobe.
“All hail the cricket!” his sugarcoated rainmaking globes declared while bouncing between
Then someone might come along and say a dog is something with four legs to eat upon
while being challenged by another who uses the same definition without ’upon’.
As such, the taste for a table and a dog are closely related.”
Police women entered
investigating the death of silence & Co.
“Hi,” said policewoman One, “My name is not Bambi, it’s Lakma, One… One Lakma.”
John scribbled with his left tooth: “Is that with or without a cube of milk?”
Smiling was the three legged lady cop with a saladbar on her head
she looked just fab
John couldn’t remain yellow in the corner of his egg yolk
and started dribbling with drool:”yoke yoke on the ox gently down the field”
“Meril Streep Meril Streep Life is just a fling!”
“Stop it!” yellowed the spoon beetle
John sat down draped around the feet of Cop non-Bambi
as if he was a pelt pelted at the loop slide slipper slope at the edge of the bicycle inner hip
Indeed he lay down, swayed cripple in all offence of not being hypnotized
with the beauty of that loose tooth
yellow-brown
Foolishly enough the Cop did not know this was John favourite colour for camouflage
Foolishly enough the Cop did not know this was John’s favourite camouflage colour
Foolishly enough the Cop did not know this was John’s favourite colour for camouflage wrote the
author for a third time yet only twice with a possessive ass
and nothing was more clear than the chocolate beard melting in cucumber melodies:
John was for the fifth time hum-free
he took his bicycle
and ate it
intrinsically
not stilling
his stomach
he began nibbling his feet’s nostrils
only so in the bar bar measure measure three fourth desktop beat
flip flop disappear did John
–Anima Suri’07
M’n Lief
M’n Lief
Jij Houdt van mij
dat verbaast me
telkens opnieuw
Niet dat ik niet
weet waarom
maar dit lijkt
algemeen aanvaard,
vrij verkrijgbaar.
Wat is het dan dat jou doet kiezen
voor mij:
de lijm, de delen
samengehouden
als een mysterieus geheel?
Datzelfde mysterie
– ook al kan ik
tientallen redenen bedenken –
Is tevens de motor, de branding
in mijn liefde voor jou
Dit onbekende
maakt het leuk
jou elke dag
opnieuw verder te ontdekken
— Anima Suri’07 Beijing, 28 Dec. 2004
voor Katarina
Bevloerde vent
Bevloerde vent
Die koude vloer
ligt gespreid onder je voeten
je betreedt hem alsof het steeds
zo is geweest
-Kniel neer –
-stop het lezen van deze print
en lees de stenen.
Lik hen, en je zal de zouten
van duizenden arbeiders proeven
de steenhouwer van Havelaar
de zwart-beaarde nagelriemen
Het vergeten lijk
in de kleipolders ontgonnen
Het kraken van je jeugd in de voegen
Dit alles
tussen de tegels van je structuur.
— Anima Suri’07 (2003-2005)
Tautologically Pathetic
Tautologically Pathetic
No one else was around, there I was in complete solitude.
I wasn’t bothered by a soul, not even.
Not even my own.
I was completely separated and without others to disturb me.
I was truly all alone. I lived.
I lived, if not for a second, I lived alone.
i know, it is good to allow myself to
remain untouched or even unchanged
by lonesome desolateness.
This loneliness leaves me completely unforlorn.
I might even say I do not sit alone, as
I sit with myself – self indulgently touched
by narcisism – by my own side-
Never before did I grant myself so much relief
in regards to being tautologically part
of something:
I sat alone, by myself.
–Anima Suri’07 (2003) — for me.
Meaningless Possessive
The dictionary possesses what love means
The Church owns the meaning too
The flickering tv,
The book on the dusty shelf,
The salespeople for lubricant and condoms.
The flag bearers,
The mothers of the world,
The teachers of facts,
The rapist and molester,
The army and conformist,
The shop and restaurant love’s all you can eat,
The disillusioned with the dildo,
The macho, The gigolo,
The self-restraint,
The virgin,
The celibate,
All are celebrating
and so are we
It’s obvious, non have met; neither you nor me.
–AnimaSuri’07
Presence versus Abscence
Nostalgia slows down time
or rather, makes time elastic
it –
resolves space
teleports feeling
creates momentarily
an emotional rift.
Nostalgia:
transporting you
non-physically
over an intengibly swallowed
scape
it is of emotions profoundly our own
redigested
As much as the shortest distance
between two points is the folding
of its inevitably surrounding space
so too is the shortest distance
between feeling and your true self,
nostalgia
–animasuri’06
As an ode to Samuel V.
Ronny Rhizome (EN)
1.
Shining silk, the darkness falls
its black light floods the wooden walls
warily he flits from stone to stone
whispering he speaks
his anxious gaze the gutters shroud
neither hushed nor too loud
spells his name with solemn tone
I am Ronny Rhizome
2.
–free translation into English by Elke Wörndle
three pillars
Tea, cookies, smiles:
three pillars withstanding social storm
tiptoeing between the tabletops
and the silences
interluded
by a short gentle sunday’s slurp
in grandma’s kitchen
sneakingly courting the cookie jar
or seated at the old fireplace:
summer warmth
in the hearts
of they who roam there.
Anima Suri’08
Lorenesquely Capitalized
So Roam with me between two flights
at a coffee table over an esspresso – Lorenesque
the drama condensed in the story we make of it;
or not:
so find I and you you and I in drama of
So fine a line to lure one into
So far a lore knows every line
Sofija Rome Brussels – a list
yet low run the Capitals
where we can sit down
and sip a script or two
as sophist’s arguments
secured as the reality
towards the next frame
of mind
Founded on reason wars have been fought
over coffee trade routes -decadent-
decades caved under the insecurities
found in risk
where two espresso’s now bring peace
sit down before waving flags of surrender.
simply drink an espresso in Rome
and bring Sophia Loren along
–Anima Suri’08–
to Elke Wörndle