This poem is accompanied by Bach's Inventio, with which it runs in synchrony
I
that is where there stood an apple tree that we felled later, it had an ailment and that yellow thing there
on that branch that was
a swing thing
excuse me?
a plastic swing thing
a toddler swing impossible to fall out of, plastic pants a kind of God's hand but then for kiddies.
not that the grownup Martin ever became really tall, perhaps twice as tall as he is here,
don't you think so Herman?
me neither
excuse me?
I think as little as you
do be quiet! do be quiet! we're entertaining, our friends are round why don't you look for
that Network video that one they'll want to watch too.
Herman is over six feet tall he does not get it, no, men over six feet tall never get the
notion to go hang themselves
they do not get the point of height
Minolta Minolta
Herman with the super-eight filming bends at the knees looking down on Alice directing the picture
with her hand around Martin's tummy readjusting the white nappy. shows the child out of
the ship with flowers shows the child against the sun in which his father is busy super-eighting
that his shadow is out of view because shadows would spoil the film
Alice sees the toddler finger Herman is looking for the video upstairs, not a quiet walker,
joy gushes out of the film-child like a tap… who closes it, who opens it? it is a strange
afternoon and the guests think: time to go?
II
along the beachfronts in all the popular resorts in Spain, trendy Dutch young people are on the look-out for
well-to-do tourists
they share a drink, share travel tips,
act naturally but all the while are checking out if these could be potential customers for
a time-share contract
Network was in Alicante disguised as an unsuspecting couple and filmed from a bag how a
young man enticed them along to this show home
look: Martin!
there he is
that's the last time that I saw him
both of us saw him not a clue what he'd been up to these last few years
the garage doors are on this excellent remote control, look, there you can see the front of your own
hacienda, plastered yellow, yes indeed, a colourful sight, you can imagine just how spectacular
the view is, we'll see that soon, we'll see that soon, the view we will admire in a moment but first - [they
go inside]
and now we've lost him later get another glimpse though of that I'm not too sure Herman thinks
it's not yet then I do, but well, but well….
[commentator's voice]: ‘Where others take over and increasingly put on the pressure of now
or never.' ‘But I can always change my mind?' ‘You can always change your mind for up to
a week. Still if you don't sign now, then this place will be someone else's tonight.'
rewind the tape Herman, rewind that tape again sometimes I want to see him all day long
and then never again then all the time
Network was in Alicante disguised as an unsuspecting couple and filmed from a bag
and his curls
are lighter
that is the sun
just go for it, you go for it! if it feels so completely right to you then you've got to, no
ifs and buts, just do it now.
even as a small child he heard voices that told him what to do
III
defecation and urine passed no pulse and no breath but according to the hospital consultant
the neck's not broken asphyxiation but not broken
down in the throat is a small box with inside the jewel force of life you can open it by pulling
hard on the tongue
pull on the tongue! pull on the tongue! pull on the tongue, release the second soul in the same body
by keeping on pulling on the red human tongue and with that breath returns the ship with flowers
hello dad. hello mum. to your health. a brand new deal. the old time-share is null
and void you've returned to us safe and sound now you're watching with us always.
those old films, the video, the apple tree in which God's hand that yellow swing thing hung,
the balcony of the show home where you
I have to see him, I have to see him
sometimes I want to see him all day long and then never
because one day he'll try again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem