A recent poem by the Dutch poet Anneke Brassinga

Auf Flügeln des Gesanges

Last night I saw the garbage men up on their carts

combing the alleys at a crawl, in fervent  sub-

jugation to the dionysian ideal, performing

polyphonic Schubert, an elevating choral

opus, threadbare as a rag. Out and about was

also Freud, his glass top hat held in one hand –

following the dream that he himself had written down,

all that I saw was sadly in pursuit throughout the town.

So too can I pretend another life will come

in which I finally re-meet you – as if we

in the shadows of tomorrow, though refound,

could wholly lose each other this time round.

To see the original poem, go to here