samen (English: see below)
we zijn onfeilbaar, onafscheidelijk onder blauwe hemels van somalië.

afgedaald van steile weiden, kijkend naar het dorp in de vallei, dorp

dat geen naam heeft. dorp vol mensen, als op zomerse stranden.

gouden stranden vol met mensen, maar niemand zoals jij.

een nieuwe 20ste eeuw begon daar toen, in de andere kamer of zo.

we kwamen er ook, verschijnen in foto’s, nooit door wie ook gemaakt.

er stond een boom, de enige boom. takken

en twijgen -je ging zitten mocht zich blad ontvouwen- maar

wat je ook deed, het was verlies en voordeel, samen al die tijd.

Godenkind, 20-02-2017


we are infallible, inseperable under blue skies of somalia.

thriving on steep valley meadows, overlooking the village, a village

with no name. village full of people, like on sunny beaches.

golden beaches full of people, but nobody looks like you.

another 20th century just got started in the next room or so.

we went there too, emerging in photos, never made by nobody whatsoever.

there was a tree too, the one and only tree, branches firm

and twigs -you sat down waiting for leaves unfolding- but

whatever happened, it was your loss and benefit, all at the same time.

Godenkind, 20-02-2017

I wrote this slightly incoherent poem while reading an article about Somalia, and listening to “Winterreise” composed by Schubert, and -thirdly- vaguely remembering “Tahitian Melody” by obscure sixties band The Savage Ressurrection. I pinched one line from the lyrics, sorry guys, if you’re still out there, I owe it to you and I’ll pay you in due time 😔. The song is on spotify and youtube, by the way.

I was switching between Dutch/English all the time, Dutch being my native language.

Photos: 7 years ago, 7 months ago.
PS WordPress has messed up the verses. I can’t get it right now.




a new life…
was what I had in mind on this day, the day of candlemas,

a new life: trees recede as if they were strange to the forest,
all day long you waited until just one leaf unfolded, at last,

right out of its veins: saintlike resembling the one and the only.
I could refer to the bible, not fading away, for now, in my hands.

but it would tell you about a thousand virgin mary’s(*), all alike.
so let us stay together now, in ancient nature, under cloudy skies,

hurrying towards sundown(**) looking like this was ages ago.
I made an appointment with the Other One. he said: after all these years,

celebrate easter vigil, whit sunday, even our-lady ascension, really soon.
Godenkind, 02-02-2017

Dutch version:
een nieuw leven…
was wat mij voor ogen stond vandaag, dag van maria-lichtmis,

een nieuw leven: bomen wijken uit het woud als was het hen vreemd,
dagen lang heb je gewacht tot één blad zich ontvouwde

recht vanuit de nervatuur: volmaakt als het ware en het enige.
ik kan verwijzen naar de bijbel die niet verbleekt in mijn handen.

maar hij zou spreken van duizend maagd maria’s(*), allen dezelfde.
laten we dus samenblijven, in oude natuur, een bewolkte hemel,

die haastig wegdrijft naar einders(**) van wel eeuwen geleden.
ik heb een afspraak met De Andere. hij zei: na al deze jaren,

vier de paaswake, pinksteren, zelfs maria hemelvaart, heel binnenkort.
Godenkind 02-02-2017

A Candlemas poem which I finished today after a difficult start with only one 1 line 2 days ago. But then I learned about how trump makes things happen right away and… all’s well that ends well 🙈.

It is a mixed bag, because I was switching between Dutch/English all the time, Dutch being my native language.

(*)Actually, I’m not sure about the ‘virgin mary’ plural. (could be ‘virgins mary’), not even in Dutch (could be ‘maagden maria’). I assume there is only one Virgin Mary, but this is a grammatical issue, is it not?

(**)The Dutch version is different where I use the word “einders” which means “horizons” instead of the rather clumsy “zonsondergangen” which means “sundowns”.
Anyway, what about some more pancakes now?
PS Poem only suitable for underaged Christian citizens.🙈
Photos: today at noon, a few blocks away from my house; one made through sunglasses.


A poem in January

A poem in January

(English version: scroll down)

over brood
brood is gebroken in de bijbel.

wanneer ik brood uit de bijbel neem

dan zie ik de metgezel

op schaduwrijke wegen,
langs de waterkant.

we schenken water en wijn langs de waterkant.

het gebeurt in gemeenschap.

dit gebeurde enkel in de gemeenschap.
goden droegen er ongewone namen.

we waren het niet gewend: lover van zilver & goud,

verloren lauwerkransen, verspreiding van sneeuw,

als ging het om de oude tradities.
Godenkind 24-01-2017

about bread
bread is broken in the bible.

taking bread from the bible

I see the companion

on shady roads,
along the waterfront.

we pour water and wine along the waterfront.

it happens in community.

this only happened in the community.
gods wore unfamiliar names there.

we were not used to it: foliage made of gold & silver,

lost laurels, snow that was spread out,

as if all this was about the old traditions.
Godenkind, 24-01-2017

I wrote a little poem this morning. Snow is falling, sparingly. I have to pay my dues to the month of January.

I confess & I admit that I don’t have the faintest clue what it is about. Bit troubling. I hope you like it anyway. 

Dutch came first, then I dropped the unfinished words in Google Translate just to have a ‘basic structure’ in Shakespeare’s tongue. Then I tried to remove the usual mistakes GT makes…

BTW, I can’t add a photo of my own, because I can’t find my bible 😲. 


begint een dag/ een dag is voorbij

begint een dag/ een dag is voorbij (English version: scroll down)
is this the new day or sundown behind stained glass windows?(*)

droefheid wordt wezenlijk anders, en schikt zich naar het getij.

opeens neemt melancholie zijn nieuwe gedaante aan.
alsof bladeren in de lente zouden vallen,

gelatenheid zonder oorsprong of bestemming. gaandeweg,

als bij wet, is blauw delftsblauw of diep grasgroen in de valleien.
de dag nadert waarop jij heel veel lief zal hebben. je vinger

vindt kalenderblaadjes die voor het oog niet zichtbaar zijn.

die niet zijn ingevuld, in deze tijdrekening, nu niet, morgen niet.
Godenkind, 09-01-2017
(*) Dutch version for this line still missing

new day dawning/ day’s ending
is this the new day or sundown behind stained glass windows?

sadness moves to a different level, and conforms to the tide.

all at once, melancholy takes on its new guise.
like leaves that would fall in springtime,

resignation without origin or destination. gradually,

and by default, blue is Delfts blue or green like the grass in the valleys.
here comes the day when you will offer lots of love. your finger

finds calendar sheets that are not visible to the eye.

which have not been updated, in this era, not now, not tomorrow.
Godenkind, 09-01-2017

I wrote this poem on an early morning, in January, it was the 9th of January, actually, when life did tend to be going nowhere. 

The original version was mixed Dutch/English (can you believe it, who does does such a thing?), but I added a genuine English version, for what it’s worth. My native language is Dutch.

Odd as it may seem, I still haven’t found a good Dutch opening line for the poem. I started out in English but switched to Dutch after the first line and then translated the entire poem. The thing is, Dutch for “stained windows” reads like ” gebrandschilderde ramen”, which sounds very awkward. I need a workaround here. Actually, in some ways, Dutch is a challenging language ☺.

BTW, how strange is it that old form factors like f.i. poetry still live on in quiet corners of cyberspace…


Glad to be out there

Glad to be out there
We could have stayed inside until the church bell sounded, indifferently.

Distant but ever so clear in the icy air.

Vespers are leading up to evening mass now.

Dogs would bark, and, clearly, they are going through the motions, just for the occasion.

Then, in a temporary lapse of reason, we decided to unlock this backdoor and begin a never ending journey through nearby villages we had barely visited before. 

Time was on our side, because there would be no assignable difference between dawn and dusk.

As a consequence, time would fade unnoticed.
Photos: today, Hageland/Haspengouw region, Belgium. About 50km. away from 



Happy New Year 2017

I wrote this poem yesterday (mentally) and finished it today, so the date is set to today, but it is about yesterday. Anyway, here it is. The original Dutch version, followed by my tentative translation. I hope you like it. Cheers!
Geraakt door het zonlicht (Nieuwjaar 2017)
ik weet nog, zij woonde in het huis dat immers nooit gebouwd is.

er loopt een pad door haar tuin, die nooit was aangelegd.
ik ben niet klaar nu om te vertrekken, het is daar immers afgelegen.

ik raadpleeg wel eens oude kaarten want er was één lichtpunt.
we beminden wat ons lief was, ja, verliefden van de langste dagen.

iemand schoot een pijl van zonnelicht over de daken.
dat was de goede vriend geweest, die het goede deed waar we van droomden.

zo lang we leefden, leefden we gelukkig, als met een lotsbestemming.
onder zijn hoede, onder haar hoede, zou ik reizen, naar de stad van goud.

meer innerlijk, zo zal dit zijn, meer in dromen, drie of vier voet te gaan.
Godenkind, 02-01-2017

Ace of sunlight (New Year’s Day 2017)
I do remember her living in the house which was actually never built.

there is a path through her garden, which was never built either.
I am not ready now to leave, as that is clearly a remote area.

I often look into old maps because there was really one bright spot.
we loved what we were in love with, yes, lovers of the longest days.

someone shot an arrow of sunlight over the rooftops.
that would have been the good friend who always did the right thing we dreamed of.

as long as we lived, we lived happily, as if it were a destiny.
under his care, under her care, I would travel, to the city of gold.

more inwardly, so it will be, much like in dreams, three or four feet to go.
Godenkind, 02-01-2017
Photo: 2 days ago, in the Insel Hombroich Garden, Neuss, Germany.


Georges Limbour/ Soleils bas

Georges Limbour/ Soleils bas
Les bergers sans moutons
à Max Jacob
Nous sommes d’un pays

qui n’a pas d’arbres fruitiers

Nos mains ont pressé le lait

du sein de la cornemuse

Nos cœurs saignent dans les mûriers

pourquoi nos sœurs sont-elles laides

si les légendes nous abusent
Nous clouons les papiers blancs

des bouquetières du midi

sur les croix des cerfs-volants

aux migrations indéfinies

A ces cœurs mal équilibrés

Toute la plaine se suspend

en avant-garde ils guidereaient

des peuplades d’ambulants.
Herbes rases séchées sans même de troupeau

Vous fleurissez très haut ces cœurs vains de papier

Trainant comme un regret leur queue de bigoudis

qui n’ont dans le sommeil frisé de chevelure

en ce morne pays rougé de roussissures.
Notre vie est penchée ainsi que des fumées

nos gestes de sonneur n’énervent pas le ciel

Tels des bouquets noyés nos cerfs-volants dérivent

et le monde paraît les suivre.
This little collection contains the remarkable ‘Soleils bas’ (Low-hanging suns) suite of poems, followed by assorted poems and stories from 1919-1968.

‘Soleils bas’ was published as early as 1924 and so preceeds the quarrels between A.Breton and G.Limbour. It is a fine example of “écriture automatique” which was of the trademarks of the French surrealists in those days.
Georges Limbour was an early ‘adopter’ of Surrealist poetry and prose, shortly after World War I.

He was a member of the Surrealist Movement in Paris during the 1920s, but was expelled in 1929. Before his association with André Breton and the Surrealists, Limbour co-edited, along with Roger Vitrac and René Crevel, the avant-garde review Aventure (1921–22). Later, he contributed to Georges Bataille’s journal Documents (1929–30), and, with a number of other dissident ex-surrealists, signed the anti-Breton pamphlet ‘Un Cadavre’.

This pamphlet was arranged by a number of disaffected surrealists, sharply criticizing the movement’s leader, André Breton, in response to criticism Breton made in his Second Surrealist Manifesto. The manifesto, published in December 1929, directly criticized certain members of the movement and attempted to set the course for future group activities.

The Second Manifesto attacked individuals who were already moving away from Breton, and can be regarded both as his way of formalizing the break and attacking Georges Bataille, who he feared was starting an anti-surrealist movement. The pamphlet ‘Un Cadavre’ contained short essays by a number of those Breton criticized, many of whom he had formally expelled from the movement for reasons seemingly contrary to its goals, which in hindsight appear to be more a result of his famously imperious pride. For example, according to the Second Manifesto, the prose writer Georges Limbour was expelled for “literary coquetry in the worst sense of the word,” a reason that emphasizes Breton’s rigid disdain for literature, as opposed to poetry. Another major reason for division in the group was its increasingly politicized position, which tended toward Marxism.