When I was younger, I wrote poems.
Sometimes it is hard to tell where they came from. Although English is not my mother’s tongue and I have never been pregnant, one of my best poems is in English, about a mother giving birth. I will share that one with you next week (cliff-hanger).
Where do poems come from? This one, from my first volume of poetry, tries to answer that question.
Acknowledgment
Though my name is on the cover
‘t was not I that wrote these words
Yes, my hand picked up the pencil
and this body at the table sat
Yet, it was the breath of God, that
(blowing in my ear)
that prompted these words to spring from the well
and flow onto this paper
so effortlessly
The one about Death and Recycling
Ultimate recycling
Oh Traveler, lay your weary bones to rest
in this here bed of dirt
Give yourself to Earth's embrace
and let her hug you in her womb
Let Death's sweet slumber take you
up and up and far away
beyond the yonder clouds
and let your wasting flesh dissolve
(by way of worms' intestines)
into a bubbling porridge
that will fertilize the land
and feed the hungry trees
Where did this one come from? I don’t know, but I do know what I like about it:
The combination of solemn language, with archaic words like yonder, and the matter-of-fact, down to Earth descriptions of the decomposing body.
I don’t know where they came from, but I do know where you can find them: they are collected in three volumes called: Poems about God and other Women, Alle Spuigaten Uit (Spinning Out of Control), and Hurricane’s Song.
Still available. Come to think of it, I should make a compilation of all my poems in English for my non-Dutch readers.