Wednesday 20 June 2018

Komrij, a Dèr Mouw fan, could turn a pretty sonnet himself

the language-forger

Language’s consonants and vowels portray
The corset and the flaccid belly’s spread.
A poet’s one who’s able to display
An ease when boning them that seems inbred.

Obese or slim, his words without delay
Unite, in fluid couplets sweetly wed.
His secret’s effortlessness, not to lay
A smoke screen. He takes language off to bed.

His flask of wine is language – A to Z.
And when half-drunk – albeit just in play –
He spawns a child, an epic or quartet,
Or something in-between – a sonnet, say.

His fight with blubber, though, and whalebone stay
The reader never knows is left unsaid.

1 comment:

John Irons said...

The original title was 'Taalsmid', which normally would be translated by 'Word-Smith'. Tongue in cheek, I chose an ambiguous title - Gerrit enjoyed the dig.