LANGUAGE MACHINE Poem by Geert van Istendael

1

Speak, city, speak!
Stretch your countless tongues up to the sky,
lick the rain, tan in the sun,
taste, taste the rubble, city, hurl ruins
into your throat's gorge, choke on grit and cough up anger.
Use your tongues to push the glass out of the windows,
crawl through the cellars, spiral along staircases,
slumber in gardens and kiss, city, kiss,
the people of rank,
very carefully kiss their exquisite basket of crabs.

Stay silent, city, still the same silence stands, be patient,
sunk deep in beauty no longer existing,
violated, transubstantiated,
to foundation, to dust, to memories rapidly tarnished.
Stay silent, tongues, stay silent, don't let the languages
roll off your rosy curves just yet,
the countless languages of this linguistic city,
speech city, scrap city, dragon city.*
Wait, but don't wait for seasons to pass,
don't wait for the archangel Michael,
don't wait until the forest of knowledge sways
in full bloom.

Speak, Brussels, speak,
as soon as the chime of languages
summons the countless travellers to listen.