DAY POEM - Menno Wigman (1966-2018) – Onbegonnen werk
Nowhere to begin
Enough. Enough. No single poem more.
The day is like a day, and that is that.
Only one mad like me seeks for a word
that can reduce the scurrying of time.
So I scratch things on paper made of wood.
And you, my friend, know coffins are just that…
All flowers in death. Most quietly in a poem.
Enough of that, enough. My pen grows limp
and you, my father, rest now in the sky.
How can I ever bring back your one glance?
And why is it the world is oh so wide
yet all the while your ashes fit my palm?
There is no science can answer such as this.
Had I the heart, I would examine this
just as an alpinist devours his gaze.
(From: Collected Poems. Prometheus, 2019)
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