WHILE ONE IS AT TABLE Poem by Gerrit Kouwenaar
WHILE ONE IS AT TABLE
While one is at table the dead get ever deader
the way this page feeds on its words
one inherits the knife, another the spoon
one eats his meat, another his gods
lives ago there was a morning
one heard the birds, one wasn't born
it won't help, there's no escaping
an evening like this, the fully there
the table the white one loaded with lures
and that one's immortal and shall die -
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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3/13/2026 3:27:28 AM # 1.0.0
