Paul Snoek, the pseudonym of Edmond Schietekat (1933 –1981), was one of the most celebrated and popular poets in Flanders, partly because of his bravura performances in the media. One of his much-quoted quips reduced the Flemish poetic scene to three poets, Hugo Claus, Hugues C. Pernath and Paul Snoek, and proclaimed himself as the greatest of them. He was a multi-faceted artist, writing both poetry and prose and involved in the visual arts, and professionally was a Jack-of-all-trades (working, for example, as a managing director and a copywriter). As if the mystery of his personal life were destined to reinforce the mythological self-enlargement of his poems, he met his end in a car accident which retains a whiff of a successful suicide attempt.
My heels on the cool tiles of the waters
and the moon obscured through my auricle,
so I dare rest in the groove of glass hills
where the night reflects me as a sigh,
...
How could it be?
Originally I had hoped
to go through the house unnoticed,
disguised and redundant as a man
...
No. I don't speak, for I breathe in exultation.
I don't draw near in the thrifty pelt of daylight,
but I find far off in the iron eyes of the nights the ore.
...
No one knows why I work slenderly on the horizon,
why my word builds its nest in the grooves of light.
All this is my silver-slicing secret.
...
Why do I melt silver in my poems?
Why do I nobly conjure on the vertebrae of beauty?
See, this is the breaking key.
...