Sunday 13 December 2009

Translated poem by Hester Knibbe in 'Lyrisch van Rembrandt'


Though blind you think yourself all-seeing, but
seeing were already blind. In my arms I carry
what I have earned, while you grouse, make
me a scapegoat. With open eyes

you slept, now you just sit there, your robe
the worst for wear, a mole, not worth kicking, you
the just, the ever generous, but still
a miser, to your power wed. No

Tobit, I am not a thief, you know that,
between our bleating please and thank-you, for
giving gives honour, receiving makes trivial, that

gets your goat. Try washing your eyes
with the gall you spew, scrub the arrogant
muck off your soul. And see!

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