Thursday, 26 November 2009

Eva Gerlach - 'Lyrisch van Rembrandt' book


There you are then. Up to what? See if I stick
to my spectre role? eyes you then recognise
squeeze into yours, so you’re alive

as under gooseflesh, ‘A Graze
of Age-Old Breath’? No sweat, jerk off
my present nature, come soft-cheek, recoil

at my oils, I can read you. Marrow
stretches in your snapping bones,
how you quiver, what overflows so, spatters

the walls with Spunks of Light, glare, flaming storms –

Make no mistake now, all in principle
is present and we live immortally
in contradiction. Life Eternal? I’m

filled with blood the instant you repeat me,
my body’ll fit me naturally like a glove –
earlobe that glistens, hair wired to scalp, world

cheek by jowl, a mask glued to my phiz
and you’ll be there. Material differences
cheerfully raised, erased. There you are then.

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