MARIAN EIKELHOF

 

 

The Medusa Of Our Age

 

There are worlds and words

in which the most beautiful women of the group

are sacrificed as a gesture

of kindness for the community.

She is either stoned by words

or silence(d).

No longer appears on the stage—

she is being burnt.

 

The snakes always appear

at the right time—

the wrong moment.

Like moralistic parasites

they steal,

they smile.

 

Her inner goodness

lying like a dead rose on an empty table,

crushed by their hatred

and violent coldness

cries.

 

And Nobody Does Shit

 

The Shoemaker

The shoemaker is still

at Peppelweg,

but my brother is dead.

In a week

I’ll turn sixty-two,

you’ll stay fifty-seven

forever.

The clock

has been turned back

one hour,

for you it stands still.

They say it gets easier,

even when I

still scream.

Depression doesn’t open the mail,

stays in bed,

keeps all doors closed,

doesn’t eat fruit.

And he’s still dead.

 

 

MARIAN EIKELHOF