Monday, 3 January 2011

Dagkalender van de poëzie for 2 Jan. by the Dutch writer Menno Wigman


I saw the greatest spirits of my generation
        bleed for a revolt that did not come.
I saw them dreaming between dust covers and
        waking up in the hell of twenty-two cities,
wicked as the hacked-out heart of Rotterdam.

I saw them swearing by a new-found drunkenness
        and dancing on the dark floor of the night.
I saw them weeping for the blockheads in the trams
        and praying between twice one hundred watts.

I saw them suffering from an uninvited talent
        and speaking with an agitated voice:
everything already said, not yet by them.

They were late. No promises that were lived up to.
        The cities glittered black as caviar.

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