Here the first poem of Sequenza
If you want to hear the Dutch read by Marleen de Crée you'll have to be there tonight.
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I tell you,
Plinius, it is September
poets turn
in the tide.
fruit
ripens on warm walls,
don’t
forget: these are the last hours
of summer.
warmth, nothing can happen still.
it are the
quiet days of the year,
because
more patiently all is carried
in multiples
of the last gestation.
September
knows what fondness means
and love
draws shadows of wax.
I say: once
prudence was calculated
by the
outline of a water glass.
the grapes,
Plinius, the last trestles
of what a
poet’s summer was.
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