Lies Van Gasse

Wenteling XXI

Language: dutch

Translations: german (Verwirbelung XXI), english (Revolution XXI), french (Révolution XXI)

Wenteling XXI

Deze ochtend, toen ik na jaren boven kwam,
waren mijn haren nat,
groeiden er schubben onder mijn oksels.

Hitte rustte op de huid
als een vals akkoord.
De poppen lagen bloot.

Maden vraten aan mijn vingers
en het groeien kostte tijd.

Toen ook mijn ogen open gingen,
kwam de zon op. Padden zwegen plots.

Ik had bijna spijt.

Er was een gordijn dat mij het zicht benam
en mijn vinnen zogen aan.

Ik had niets geleerd, maar deze lente
gaf mij dode takken en een zacht moeras.
Meer had ik niet nodig.

Ik bedacht dat zelfs de grootste vissen
pijn zuigen, dat het zachtste land bevaarbaar is.

Ik bedacht dat waar de eindes elkaar raken,
niets nog wat wil zeggen.

Er zitten vreemde stromingen in ons,
die ons in hoogtes en dieptes trekken,

maar na jaren van traagheid lopen we snel over.

Wij varen naar het einde.
Honger trekt.

Ik ben een mast die woorden vangt,
de touwen hard, maar strak.

Translations:

Language: german

Verwirbelung XXI

An diesem Morgen, als ich nach Jahren nach oben kam,
waren meine Haare nass,
wuchsen Schuppen unter meinen Achseln.

Hitze brannte auf der Haut
wie ein falscher Akkord.
Die Puppen lagen nackt.

Maden fraßen an meinen Fingern,
und das Wachsen kostete Zeit.

Als sich meine Augen öffneten,
stieg die Sonne auf. Kröten schwiegen urplötzlich.

Beinah tat es mir leid.

Ein Vorhang nahm mir die Sicht,
meine Flossen saugten sich fest.

Ich hatte nichts gelernt, doch dieser Frühling
gab mir tote Zweige und ein weiches Moor.
Mehr brauchte ich nicht.

Ich überlegte, dass selbst die größten Fische
Schmerz saugen, dass das weicheste Land schiffbar ist.

Ich überlegte, dass, wo die Enden sich berühren,
nichts noch etwas bedeutet.

Merkwürdige Strömungen fließen durch uns,
ziehen uns in Höhen und Tiefen,

aber nach Jahren der Trägheit laufen wir schnell über.

Wir fahren ans Ende.
Der Hunger treibt.

Ich bin ein Mast, der Wörter fängt,
die Taue hart, aber fest.

Language: english

Revolution XXI

This morning when, after years, I emerged,
my hair was wet,
scales grew beneath my arms.

Heat lingered on the skin
like a false note.
The chrysalids lay exposed.

Maggots nibbled at my fingers
and growing took time.

When my eyes also opened,
up came the sun. Toads were suddenly silent.

I felt almost sorry.

There was a curtain blocking my view
and my fins stuck.

I had learned nothing, but this spring
gave me dead branches and a soft marsh.
This was all I needed.

I thought that even the biggest fish
suck pain, that the softest land is sailable.

I thought that where the ends meet
nothing means a thing anymore.

There are strange currents in us,
that drag us into peaks and troughs,

but after years of sluggishness we swiftly overflow.

We sail towards the end.
Hunger pulls.

I am a mast that picks up words,
the ropes hard, but tight.

Language: french

Révolution XXI

Ce matin, en refaisant surface après des années,

mes cheveux étaient mouillés,

des écailles poussaient sous mes aisselles.

La chaleur reposait sur la peau

comme un faux accord.

Les pupes étaient à découvert.

Des asticots rongeaient mes doigts

et la croissance prenait du temps.

Lorsque mes yeux s’ouvrirent aussi,

le soleil se leva. Des crapauds se turent soudain.

Je faillis regretter.

Il y avait un rideau qui me coupait la vue

et mes nageoires aspiraient.

Je n‘avais rien appris, mais ce printemps

me donna des branches mortes et un doux marécage.

Cela me suffit.

Je me disais que même les plus gros poissons

aspirent la douleur, que la terre la plus douce est navigable.

Je me disais que là où les fins se touchent

plus rien ne veut dire quoi que ce soit.

Il y a de drôles de courants en nous,

qui nous tirent vers les hauteurs et les profondeurs,

mais après des années de lenteur nous débordons vite.

Nous voguons vers la fin.

La faim tiraille.

Je suis un mât qui capte des mots,

les cordes dures, mais tendues.

Lies Van Gasse

* 07.10.1983, Sint-Niklaas, Belgium
lives in: Borgerhout, Belgium

Lies Van Gasse made her debut in 2008 with the collection Hetzelfde gedicht steeds weer (The Same Poem Over and Over Again), which immediately captured the attention of readers and critics. Trained as an artist, Van Gasse often collaborates on art and poetry projects, such as Waterdicht(Waterproof), in which she illustrates a text written by poet Peter Theunynck. She also creates her own combinations of text and image, in what she calls “graphic poems;” in Sylvia, she disperses her verses with, over and in between drawings made with thick, black ink.

With Annemarie Estor, Van Gasse developed a project based on the story of Kaspar Hauser, which they worked on between 2009-2013 and spun with new twists and a new format, enriched with colorful illustrations. As part of their collaborative procedure, each week Estor and Van Gasse wrote a postcard to each other on which they wrote a new stanza. They also invited other writers to contribute to the ever-evolving story. The project has been collected and published as The Book of Hauser.

Van Gasse’s most recent poetry collection is Wenteling(Revolution). In Dutch, “wenteling” has a whole set of connotations, from “a turning motion,” via “revolution,” to “surrender,” “enjoy” and “revel in.” The volume describes one day that is perceived differently in the minds of various speakers. The speakers find themselves locked in double binds and paralyzing impasses: when they move forward, they stumble upon walls; when they want to move backward, they realize that it is impossible.

The circle, then, is one of the dominant, most frequently repeated images in this collection, which is evident even on a formal level. The poem cycle, and the collection-as-whole, is one of the primary structuring principles underlying Van Gasse’s writing. Rather than composing separate, individual poems, Van Gasse often combines poems into systems held together by repeated themes and rhythmic musical language. She has characterized Wenteling as a “a piece of music in which themes are built into a composition, with nice improvisations or variations here and there.”

Struggle is the main subject of most poems in Wenteling, whether it is the struggle between two people in a relationship; the struggle of an individual to establish a self in relation to idealized images, dreams and desires of others; or the struggle of the poet with the pen and blank paper. A sense of loss, difficult to heal, looms in every poem, although sometimes irony and humor soften this melancholic tone. Theunynck, author of Waterdicht, observes, “Wenteling is an oppressing, cleverly formulated collection that leaves a lot of questions to the reader. It intrigues from the first until last stanza and forces readers to read over and over again.”

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