FAREWELL Poem by Gerrit Kouwenaar
FAREWELL
Something falters, one has smoked too much, flees
coughing into the orchard, autumn breathes
narrowly, silent as a bed this is, it's silent
a mouth, only the snails on dead wood move
one would like to keep sitting here on a stone
for hours or centuries, living on a brimming
cup left behind when summer flesh and spirit
in hoarse three-part choir mortalized themselves -
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 5:34:06 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
