Monday, June 30, 2008


Bart Stouten was inspired by a child crying on a train trip from Switzerland to Belgium. The poem just cried to be translated. Read more of his translated poetry here.


Dante walked, Odysseus made a raft,
Aeneas built a fleet and your fine train
leaves the station in failing light - -
this night the piercing look of old
longing for the road will do:
at every end of the world,
hidden deep inside,
a child dies in the morning hours
of a poem.
your fraternizing hands
bring water to his face.
listen to the last words,
how they moan to the rhythm of the train.
you are on your way to mythical places
of unexplored lunar feel
that wants to rule your silver past.
endgame without partner: feared destination
of such long unromantic now.


  1. Speaking of poetry........

    Hillary's train derailed, her campaign failed, she crept off into the night... cried herself to sleep, after beating the hell out of her creep
    husband, who dashed her chances...
    She awoke with a fake smile, lied and vowed to support the new Black Hope, and hit the campaign trail again, denying she wanted to be number two, when suddenly, Voila!, the Black Christ stumbled, decided FISA was OK, He even liked telecon immunity, and pandered to the preachers, promising to expand Bush's 'Faith-Based' follies...Was his brand the New Coke, big splash but a joke, doomed to be yanked from the shelves? His supporters said 'Whoa', who is this 'Holy Joe'?, another Bush in Black-Face? Have we been deceived again, this time by a loin-clothed Pol, waving a spear, with a bone in his nose, and dirt 'tween his toes? Is there a chance for a resurrection of the Christ-Lady? Could Hillary arise from the dead, her stigmata hidden with Cover Girl, shake her post-menopausal hot-flashes, and emerge from the Dem's convention as the Real Contender, the new, panty-clad President-To-Be?
    Stay tuned, and see.

  2. Why is it that poetic people of letters are usually inspired by such mundane, matters-of-little-moment?
    Why is no current poet rhapsodizing over the social revolutions in Abu Dhabi and Dubai?
    Many ex-unemployed US citizens have found happiness in new careers in the Arab nations, as camel-poop scoopers, at salaries of up to 1 Million US$/year.
    Of course, 1 Million US$/year places them far below the poverty level, but the social welfare programs make it possible for them to survive. Below-poverty-level workers in either Abu Dhabi or Dubai are eligible for full health care, including pedicures, shampoos, and complete grooming for their pets; total maintenance, including heavily subsidized fuel, for their Rolls Royces, Bentleys, and yachts (over 100 feet); weekly washes and waxings for their helicopters; and racing driving instruction for Ferrari owners.
    Why doesn't some enterprising poet discourse about that, rather than burning up pixels about some wailing kid on a train in Old Europe?