English translations

Poems of Theo Monkhorst translated by Joy Misa, poet and jazz singer.

(From: Poging tot benadering, 2000)

How I seek boredom
to be freed from thinking
as the gardener clears the litter,
how I see flowers
without looking
as he prunes roses,
how I slowly disappear
as he rows through bushes
is lost to me.

All around

It is possible to sit alone in a chair
between a tree, a walking cat,
sunlight reflecting at an angle,
a column from here to
there where the transparent is black -
It is possible to hear nothing
among chiming bells, whistling birds
and the growl of an engine in the distance -
It is possible to be without.



Call me wind

Though I waver
call me wind
as teardrops rain.
I sometimes beat leaves
or sleep windless,
pass by without vanishing.
Are my caresses tender as spring,
sultry as summer, lashing as autumn?
However it may be,
in every way I leave you
and return as blowing.



Empty garden

How I seek boredom
to be freed from thinking
as the gardener clears the litter,
how I see flowers
without looking
as he prunes roses,
how I slowly disappear
as he rows through bushes
is lost to me.



Fingers

I have learned that small things are bigger
by looking at my fingers.
The gesture reduced
by distant fingers at hand.
More grave than the movement wanting to hold forth
they speak in quiet of how it comes and goes,
why uninhibited they lie open
in the light and in elusive shadows.



Growth

To catch trees at growing
one must keep up with the times,
and even then restful
blooming is beyond our ken.
Flowers are a daily reminder.
Bushes pause to ponder even in sunlight.
So before our eyes the garden has outgrown us.



The name of the wind

The wind
blows away
I call him wind
for nameless he is alone
in all that moves
I remain here a moment
to tag him with a name
that blows away
with the wind.



Night and day

If I touch her she goes,
but stays. The wind subsides,
but the anxiety. Trees creak in their sleep.
Under the moon the emptiness of which the belly is full.
The sun swells and birds glide partying.
She slides up alongside. The light shuts down.
In rain lines run through the puddles.
Lines shivering out of step.



Nothing

On this important
otherwise nondescript day,
the sun plays through the hedges latticed
with twig-snipping birds.
I reflect on who I miss
and feel strangely content.
In the garden is almost nothing
which wasn’t there perhaps
leaves were shoved aside
by rain in the night,
perhaps all differs
nothing from yesterday
when nothing was lacking.



Walking

As I peel away from my footsteps
they cleave to the sand,
me an emptiness behind myself.
So is my past rife with my absences.
I fill the future for a moment
before I disappear in passing.




Tree

Like a tree I grow in shape,
blossoms fall as snow
around my feet,
the stem hardens,
in the roots spurs of flowering.