An evening passes toward your night
The way noon crosses though a song.
And you do not tire.
scarcely in the wall, he was the center,
expanding its radius
across the gardens,
When I was little before I went to bed, my father, a big expert
on Greek mythology,
NAMES AND NICKNAMES
Out of affection
they’d cut my name short,
that’s how I learned my first
Fine drizzle drizzles, and here I am in Nanjing again
French wutong plane trees still talk to
Listen to the voice that echoes to you, Narcissus.
This is the way the grass rustles as
NARRATIVE OUTSIDE THE PARK
Susara Domroch of Kubus
‘well I’ll vote for Grandpa Mandela
why is it that you’re someone
NARVA, BRIGHT AS DAY
The languages are strange to me, I’m like someone
wearing carpet-slippers: but there
More than through skin, more than through sex
Unease is something that becomes clear through
Through the yellowish
pass the Colombian clouds.
And how they show they
First came the scream of the dying
in a bad dream, then the radio report,
From a walk
under the vault of trees
one arrived at an enclosed space.
NATURE IS GOD
Nature is as fierce as a nail
but as delicate as a finger
Nature is as
To breathe or to evaporate
to take root or to go somewhere else
Surface is skin or
A closed door is not enough for a man
to hide his love. He also needs an open door
NEERA, DON’T GET LOST
Each day for us was a day of changing birth
In the light – like pieces of broken glass in the
Neon light, how it often starts flickering
when I’m aware of my futility. Coincidence,
unable to sleep, I open my eyes
in the dark, the shape of a window
As a rule when everything is finished
And only music drifts about like twilight
The father says, Jump.
Will you catch me? asks the son.
Up on the
NEUVILLE-LE-CHEMIN – LE BAR
Several meters tall, it can be seen from afar, the statue of Jesus
on the steeple of the church
NEVER A BALM
Night: sex of the earth
jet-black black night.
We drift into silence
NEVER IN THE NETHERLANDS
then he stopped and stared at me,
knowing he was never to see my eyes again.
In February poplars are even sadder
than in summer, frozen stiff. My family
perversely you bring me here to the seaside in
We carry up
everything that will be used
for the impromptu altar
NEW SECOND STREET
Elma van Haren
You have to start looking for a point of departure somewhere,
so all lines of approach are
The sun highlights the ash-tree’s
Shadow against the golden shadow
Of the grove;
NEW YEAR'S GREETINGS
Having no faith in big words
in small words, conjunctions
interjections, in the last
Central Park, end of
NEWS FROM NOWHERE
If I say “my blood stirs and my muscles flex”
that’s not seemly
I marvel at new system shows.
The casual elegance of Armani.
from somewhere comes
the sound of water boiling
Step out of the tipi all hung with skins,
and all the deep nights slap you in the face,
It happens when we open up, and it tumbles
into us, brimming over to the horizon,
NIGHT AND FANGS
Night plants its fangs into Mother Earth
drives their pointed ends
into the wet earth
NIGHT AND FISH
At night fish have a sense
that they are flowing out of the Earth
busily flapping their
The night is here again.
Someone has let me into the control tower and thrown the
a woman irons in front of a window
in her flat’s closed cube
battery lives, stooped,
She was fourteen
long-legged like a doe
they said they took her for a ride
NIGHT OF WAR 10
A silver-haired commander came and took me to the firing zone.
I cuddled in his
NIGHT OF WAR 14
For two weeks already I haven’t heard from you.
NIGHT OF WAR 6
On the Sabbath I woke in fear.
A special kind of fear: Petrol-air bombs.
Marlene van Niekerk
it’s a honky tonk that illumines the night
it’s the keyboard of a honky tonk
The gang of killers, who had surrounded his house,
shivered in rain that since early evening
Evening. Two gardens further up spring is raging
and hijackers are stealing
Gradually, as the sun goes down,
the night staff clock in for duty.
I would like to fly with you tonight.
I would like to fly with you into the night above the
it’s night-time again, I stand listening, bowed
over my child beside her bed, so that I
Paul van Ostaijen
There must be white farms beyond the edge
of the blue fields by the moon
at night you hear
Such an evening
as in the stillness of which one hears landscapes
steaming from the trains of
Old Nikitin, simply Nikitin,
had no other name.
A child said to another child
I have ninety-nine lines
This was the reason I sat down
H.H. ter Balkt
Beige and pale blue
the angels then flew,
at the east-facing twig
NINTH WARD, MATERNITY
i enter the ninth ward a sheep hung at the neck.
No was a small word,
an insignificant word.
It listened to the large words:
NO FISH TODAY, MOTHER
No fish today, mother
Not to mention taking a bath
Washing my hands and feet,
NO FIXED ADDRESS
Linda Maria Baros
The aged, the grown-up city children, crawl on their stomachs,
they enter their houses of
NO MAN’S COUNTRY
Pedro Arturo Estrada
Blessed are those who lose all homeland
for theirs shall be the light of their own dominion.
NO MAN’S LAND
Juan Manuel Roca
Paints a bird where once a tiger was.
Its roar wipes out the whistling. He
I agree to this landscape
which does not exist.
The father is holding a violin.
NO TRACES LEFT
There are objects
All over this room
The visitor’s gaze
NO, NO AND NO
There's no hurry,
If you say this isn't the time
I agree to wait
NOCTURNAL IN DEATH
Do not press so eagerly to live!
Death erases memory.
Henceforth the past no longer
Jorge Gaitán Durán
I watched the time and I knew the night.
My mind set up fires in the nothingness.
Death always finds excuses . . .
Everything blackens once born white
or created .
Still your eyes drink
the greener the twilight
still ever thinner
José Asunción Silva
One night heavy with the scent of
NOCTURNE NUMBER EIGHT
To carry a river deep in oneself singing like a child
and the sea of time, in oneself, roaring
That evil may decompose like the hamster buried in a shoebox in the
Evening makes a fire.
Day fades. Gone melancholy.
Man and woman weave
NOLI ME TANGERE
don’t touch me
only one more step left
one firm stride
NOLI ME TANGERE
The flake hesitates in the blue sky
Once again, the last flake of the big snow.
Slow as sperm whales
we glide through the gloom
which is white
here on the heath
NOSTALGIA OF STAYING
I walk a bit
it rains a bit
I stop over in some entrance
the rain stops
NOT A QUESTION
Who is it that plays a flute in the depths of time
and causes it to echo
No, not only will the soul be scorched
the body too
in the heat of its
NOT FAR FROM THE ROAD
Discover the moment, it’s empty, it’s not far
from the edge of the road, there’s nothing
NOT KEEPING MY NOSE CLEAN
From this day on no sky a granny’s rag a ghost
A cotton phantom you could say a faded holey
NOT QUITE THERE
One thing holds, the other does not.
Today two hours of yesterday’s repeats.
It’s raining, the last flowers let
go, but people blossom.
Hölderlin reads clearly
NOT THAT BAD
I’ve learned: dying of life is
not that bad. Old age makes
one little breaker too many
you fold your wings into this merciful night with its permanently
My soul shattered like an empty vase.
It fell irretrievably down the stairs.
If fell from
Get up quietly in the early hours
just to see first light again.
Wash, put on old
NOTES FOR MY AUTOBIOGRAPHY
I was born in Santa Marta on October 4, 1957.
I have a wife, two children whom I watch
NOTES OF A FLÂNEUR
Oh well I’ll just go out a bit
my work’s getting nowhere again.
She vanishes in the clouds
And is gone
In clear nights she swallows stars of the
Jan H. Mysjkin
I delve into my memories: nothing,
I retrieve nothing.
I have written, and
there’s a large notice board
in front of the court
I hadn’t looked at it for a long time,
I can hear
draw a line, hear
departure thin out
the poem happens now
in the body of it this
happens. it breathes and it
NOW HE IS A SIMPLE SPECTATOR
Now he is a simple spectator
An insignificant fellow in the crowd
Now he no longer applauds
NOW I CAN
Now I can only make love to your voice. The pale fibres of your cries touch me, burned by the
NOW I THINK ABOUT IT
Ester Naomi Perquin
Lots of things are well beyond me but what I have
mastered, you see here, I spend a lot of
NOW THAT WE ARE NO MORE
For the painter Alenka Koderman
Now that we are no more,
Does the sky still part its
How many times
have I left
before daybreak or
at dead of night
Everything comes from the gossip
No lies no sleep
there are rooms that have no windows
so in the world of the heart there are windows with no
Nothing belongs to us
Everything is loaned to us to use as we see fit.
wake me up with twisted steroid puddle
and push it in an arch
on the Vespa