Bloodbirth at the Dan

Bloodbirth, the poem read by Fjalar the 22nd of October at the Dan O’Connell Hotel in Carlton.

Bloodbirth

Waiting on Death in The Dan

After a long period of absence, this Saturday, the 20th of August, Fjalar was back in The Dan O’Connell. He read two poems: Waiting on Death and Wine of Words. Much to Fjalar’s delight, the Dan Poets joyfully chanted along the haunting chorus of Waiting on Death. Please find it reprinted below, accompanied by its Dutch counterpart.

Waiting on Death

Even if you’d walk with me,
If I’d have given you my hand,
It is waiting,
Waiting.
Waiting on Death.

What awaits us are the flies,
Our bodies lawful heirs,
For given is this flesh.
What awaits us is decay,
Bodily betrayal, lies
Jointly pledged
While we are waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting on Death.

I want you.
Hear me, follow me,
Wait with me on Death.

Even if you’d hear me here,
If I had given you my word,
It is waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting on Death.

What awaits is the disease that is us,
Spreads from us,
Brings us upon others,
Grows wild in our waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting on Death.

I want you.
Take me, lead me,
To sickness and to Death.

Even if you were what I can’t,
Even if I’d want to be
Waiting
With you
Waiting
Death would not care.

What awaits us
We must beat to it.
We must flower in our downfall,
Harvest our disease
- To cut short, not let grow to waste -
And then, as a farewell,
With that bouquet and laughing
To go and drop by Death.

Wachten op de Dood

Al zou je met me lopen,
Al gaf ik je mijn hand,
Het is wachten.
Wachten.
Wachten op de dood.

Wat ons wachten zijn de vliegen,
Onze lijven erfgenaam,
Het reeds vergeven vlees.
Wat ons wacht is het verval,
Lijfverraad en leugens,
Samen aangegaan
Terwijl we wachten.
Wachten.
Wachten op de dood.

Ik wil je.
Hoor me, volg me,
Wacht met me op de dood.

Al zou je me hier horen,
Gaf ik je mijn woord,
Het is wachten.
Wachten.
Wachten op de dood.

Ons wacht de ziekte die we zijn,
Die zich uit ons zaait,
Anderen ons aandoet,
Woekert in ons wachten.
Wachten.
Wachten op de dood.

Ik wil je.
Neem me, leid me,
Naar ziekte en de dood.

Al was jij wat ik niet zijn kan,
Al zou ik willen
Wachten
Met jou
Wachten,
De dood maakt het niet uit.

Wat ons wacht
Moeten we voor zijn,
We moeten zelfverwoestend bloeiend
Van onze ziekte oogsten
– Liever snoeien dan de woeker –
En dan als afscheid,
Met die bloemen,
Lachend langs de dood.

Even if you’d walk with me,

If I’d have given you my hand,

It is waiting,

Waiting.

Waiting on Death.

What awaits us are the flies,

Our bodies lawful heirs,

For given is this flesh.

What awaits us is decay,

Bodily betrayal, lies

Jointly pledged

While we are waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting on Death.

I want you.

Hear me, follow me,

Wait with me on Death.

Even if you’d hear me here,

If I had given you my word,

It is waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting on Death.

What awaits is the disease that is us,

Spreads from us,

Brings us upon others,

Grows wild in our waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting on Death.

I want you.

Take me, lead me,

To sickness and to Death.

Even if you were what I can’t,

Even if I’d want to be

Waiting

With you

Waiting

Death would not care.

What awaits us

We must beat to it.

We must flower in our downfall,

Harvest our disease

- To cut short, not let grow to waste -

And then, as a farewell,

With that bouquet and laughing

To go and drop by Death.

Al zou je met me lopen,

Al gaf ik je mijn hand,

Het is wachten.

Wachten.

Wachten op de dood.

Wat ons wachten zijn de vliegen,

Onze lijven erfgenaam,

Het reeds vergeven vlees.

Wat ons wacht is het verval,

Lijfverraad en leugens,

Samen aangegaan

Terwijl we wachten.

Wachten.

Wachten op de dood.

Ik wil je.

Hoor me, volg me,

Wacht met me op de dood.

Al zou je me hier horen,

Gaf ik je mijn woord,

Het is wachten.

Wachten.

Wachten op de dood.

Ons wacht de ziekte die we zijn,

Die zich uit ons zaait,

Anderen ons aandoet,

Woekert in ons wachten.

Wachten.

Wachten op de dood.

Ik wil je.

Neem me, leid me,

Naar ziekte en de dood.

Al was jij wat ik niet zijn kan,

Al zou ik willen

Wachten

Met jou

Wachten,

De dood maakt het niet uit.

Wat ons wacht

Moeten we voor zijn,

We moeten zelfverwoestend bloeiend

Van onze ziekte oogsten

– Liever snoeien dan de woeker –

En dan als afscheid,

Met die bloemen,

Lachend langs de dood.

Two Dutch Poets at The Dan

The Stage at The Dan O'Connell Hotel

The Stage at The Dan O'Connell Hotel

Saturday, the 12th of March saw two Dutch poets sharing the stage at The Dan O’Connell Hotel. Karin “Kate” van den Bos, visiting from Rotterdam, brought some of here finest pieces of poetry to an enthusiastic audience assisted by Fjalar, who translated.

Some lovely reactions, as well as some pictures, were posted on facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=44825&id=100000394305594

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?id=1208747196&aid=2117681

Thank you, Silvana and Michael! And, of course, the Dan Poets for having us…

Dancing Dog façade & feature

The Dancing Dog Café

Just a picture of the Dancing Dog Café façade. Fjalar was feature poet there on Sunday the 13th of February.

He read some 20 poems and translations of poems, divided into two acts. The first act revolving around love and the poison it involves, the second act on the whole somewhat darker.

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Act I.

  • To Sear, Flow and Glow (Verzeng, Vloei en Gloei)
  • Temptation (Verzoeking)
  • Sear me (Verzeng Me)
  • Gif en Huidruil & Poison and Skintrade
  • Alleen je Huid & Just Your Skin
  • Een Beetje Gif & A Bit of Poison
  • Splendour Spilled (Mooi Vergoten)
  • To Hold Your Heart (Je Hart Vasthouden)

Act II.

  • Homecoming (De Terugkeer Volmaakt)
  • Lord of Abstinence (Heer van Afvalligen)
  • Cenotaph (Cenotaaf)
  • What Grows to Waste (Wat Onder Ons Vergaat)
  • Await the Flies (Wachten ons de Vliegen)
  • Be Welcome, Twilight of my Shame (Wees Welkom, Schemer van mijn Schande)
  • Under Your Skin (Onder de Verfhuid, also known as Painted Butterfly)
  • Wash What You Were (Was Je Van Me?)
  • Come to Pass (Van Mouwen en Passen)

Some of these poems had their première this afternoon, others were already well known.

At The Dan O’Connel, 29-I-2011

Another Saturday seeing Fjalar read at The Dan O’Connell. The poems read were:

  • To Sear, Flow and Glow (Verzeng, Vloei en Gloei)
  • Temptation (Verzoeking)
  • Sear Me (Verzeng Me)

Fjalar to be Feature Poet at Westword

Sunday, the 13th of February, Fjalar will be the feature poet at Westword Poetry.

Westword Poetry happens at the Dancing Dog Café, located at 42a Albert Street, Footscray, corner of Raleigh Street.

At The Dan O’Connell, 22-I-2011

This particular Saturday, Fjalar read the following two poems:

  • Homecoming (De Terugkeer Volmaakt)
  • To Hold Your Heart (Je Hart Vasthouden)

Both poems are translations of Dutch poems that can be found elsewhere on this site, just like the English versions.

To Hold Your Heart

I want to hold your heart
With my fist
Beat on your hidden chambers.
Hold in my hand,
Dearly,
Hold your heart,
Feel it beat for me,
For the hearts that were in my hand
Never quite were after mine.

I want to hold your heart
And like a ripe fruit
Softly squeeze it in the sun
To let the weak-sweet fluids
Fragrantly drip from my fingers
Holding your heart.
Lick the juices you leave,
Before you leave
Your stain on me.

-

Translation of Je Hart Vasthouden. Read the Dutch original here. Translation by Fjalar.

Homecoming

Let them meet death, disease
Where I am not.
Let them drag their wounds through mud
Away from me.
Let them have mutilated them
While I was here.

I will curse what they have praised,
Illuminate with torches what was home,
With flames erase what reminds.

Then there, there will be only me,
Arriving in their pasts,
By time and distance healed and milder
Flesh become regret,
To grovel before,
For forgiveness,
Begging to forget.

Then I will take them in my arms,
Cut their throats and tell them,
Weeping, how I’ve missed them.

-

Translation of De Terugkeer Volmaakt. Read the Dutch original here. Translation by Fjalar.

De Terugkeer Volmaakt

Laat ze dood ontmoeten, ziekte daar waar ik niet ben. Laat ze wonden door de modder sleuren, weg van mij. Laat ze zelfverminken bij vertrek.

Ik zal wat ze loofden in hun sporen lasteren, met een toorts hun thuis verlichten, brandschattend wissend wat herinnert. Hun vlucht zal schuldig lijken.

Alleen ik ben dan nog daar, in hun verleden komend, verzacht door tijd en afstand het vlees geworden van hun spijt waarvoor ze zullen kruipen voor vergeving.

Pas dan zal ik ze in mijn armen sluiten, ze huilend zeggen hoe ik miste en ze dan de keel doorsnijden.

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