‘I’m afraid he’s resting at the moment’ (poem) - Jan Glas - Netherlands

‘Meneer ligt op dit moment even te rusten,’
n vraauw aan tillefoon.

Zaacht geroes op lien van n rechte zee.
‘Zel e joe straks even terugbellen?’

De stem aan ander kaant oet n roemte
woarien n man aargens liggen goan is.
‘Wel kin ik zeggen dat der beld het?’

Ik wil heur vroagen woar e ligt.
Op ber?
Of e op zien zied ligt.
Of op rug.
Op baank.
Hou e zien aarms het.

De schounen, noast nkander zet, wachten.
De bril op t toaveltje wacht.
De koamer, recht ien t ìnd. Wacht.
Aingoal t licht,
de dag, de woorden
alles wacht op de man
dij even liggen goan is.
Ik zeg mien noam.

De vraauw wacht.
De zee wacht.

‘I’m afraid he’s resting at the moment,’
a woman on the telephone.

Gentle murmuring on the line of a straight sea.
‘Can I get him to call you back presently?’

The voice at the other end
from the space where a man has somewhere lain down.
‘Who can I say phoned?’

I want to ask her where he is lying.
On a bed?
If he’s lying on his side.
Or on his back.
On the couch.
How he’s holding his arms.

The shoes, placed next to each other, are waiting.
His glasses on the small table, are waiting.
The room, bolt upright. Waiting.
The light even.
The day, the words
everything’s waiting for the man
who has just lain down.
I say my name.

The woman’s waiting.
The sea’s waiting.