Yesterday there was an opening of an exhibition De Tuin van Marcel in Gent, Belgium. Marcel van Maele was an experimental, free spirit and great poet:
A translation auhtorised by Marcel:
And when he spoke
And when he spoke
it was time and he thought
I’ll celebrate the years with water and fire
stalk heaven and earth.
A handful of sounds,
muffled cries, mumbles
of Tartarians and barbarians,
comments of prophets.
Moldered gestures and ten fingers
to see.
Rumble of clouded tongues of fire and we
hardly awaiting our survival
hopefully sit on a dry limb while
the omnipotent magic man dances for rain.
With the crack of thunder all is stilled
a petrified salute
a frozen spring breeze.
The poplars standing there, stare
at the full moon, a green longing
covered with a sheen of seemingness.
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