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Poetry

Strawberry moon and all the gardens are leaking

By Dominique De Groen
Translated from Dutch by Michele Hutchison
A poem and its landscape are haunted by a strawberry moon that shows up everywhere.
Listen in original language
 
 
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Strawberry moon and all the gardens are leaking

the grass from the lawns, herbs from the beds
fish, seaweed, the reflections of moon phases from the ponds
bushes from the shape you cut them into.

You dug canals and moats, drained the swamp

you banished it but it continued to haunt you

hung in the air
a fine mist of mould spores

the walls between garden and field and forest and wasteland were always damp
changed shape when you weren’t looking

they dripped with slime

(a stinking dark juice that turned your concept maps, flowcharts, year plans, and evaluation sheets into a fermenting mush)

they shrank to lines, smudges, clouds of corroding dust
a network of plastic fish bones beneath urbanised areas
industrial zones and retail parks

no walls left just rails
to guide your agents

representatives of a sinister revenue model
emeralds for eyes, veins filled with coltan & eternity.

Hundreds of moons came and went
in the night the glow lit up faces you’d never noticed before
and after that glimpse, never saw again
though from then on you looked for them everywhere

hazy, crumbling blotches
on the simulations and models

acid rain stains on the city-marketing posters

you searched outside the condensation-covered windows of trains
in the gap between synthetic curtains

in the crowds that clumped in corridors, waiting rooms, checkpoints, production bottlenecks

in pale clouds of breath around the vending machine
swirling above the mire of the yard

the first resistance
shimmering there before sunrise

From the poem “Strawberry Moon.” Copyright © Dominique de Groen. By arrangement with the author. Translation © 2024 by Michele Hutchison. All rights reserved.

English Dutch (Original)

Strawberry moon and all the gardens are leaking

the grass from the lawns, herbs from the beds
fish, seaweed, the reflections of moon phases from the ponds
bushes from the shape you cut them into.

You dug canals and moats, drained the swamp

you banished it but it continued to haunt you

hung in the air
a fine mist of mould spores

the walls between garden and field and forest and wasteland were always damp
changed shape when you weren’t looking

they dripped with slime

(a stinking dark juice that turned your concept maps, flowcharts, year plans, and evaluation sheets into a fermenting mush)

they shrank to lines, smudges, clouds of corroding dust
a network of plastic fish bones beneath urbanised areas
industrial zones and retail parks

no walls left just rails
to guide your agents

representatives of a sinister revenue model
emeralds for eyes, veins filled with coltan & eternity.

Hundreds of moons came and went
in the night the glow lit up faces you’d never noticed before
and after that glimpse, never saw again
though from then on you looked for them everywhere

hazy, crumbling blotches
on the simulations and models

acid rain stains on the city-marketing posters

you searched outside the condensation-covered windows of trains
in the gap between synthetic curtains

in the crowds that clumped in corridors, waiting rooms, checkpoints, production bottlenecks

in pale clouds of breath around the vending machine
swirling above the mire of the yard

the first resistance
shimmering there before sunrise

Aardbeimaan

3.

Aardbeimaan en alle tuinen lekken

het gras uit de gazons, kruiden en bloemen uit de perken
vissen, wieren, reflecties van schijngestaltes uit de vijvers
struiken uit de vorm waarin je ze sneed.

Je groef kanalen en grachten, draineerde het moeras

je bande het uit maar het bleef spoken

in de lucht hing
een fijne nevel van schimmelsporen

de muren tussen tuin en veld en bos en braak werden altijd vochtig
veranderden als je even niet keek van vorm

ze dropen van slijm

(een stinkend donker sap dat je concept maps, flowcharts, jaarplannen, evaluatiefiches
tot een gistende brij verpulpte)

ze slonken tot lijnen, vegen, wolkjes corroderend stof
een netwerk van plastic visgraten onder verstedelijkt gebied
onder industriezones en retailparken

geen muren meer maar rails
om je agenten te geleiden

vertegenwoordigers van een sinister verdienmodel
smaragden als ogen, aders vol coltan & eternity.

Honderden manen kwamen en gingen
de schijn lichtte gezichten uit de nacht die je nooit eerder had opgemerkt
en na die glimp nooit meer terugzag
hoewel je ze vanaf dan overal zocht

wazige, brokkelige vlekken
op de simulaties en modellen

plekken zure regen op de stadsmarketingposters

je zocht achter aangedampte ruiten van treinen
in spleten tussen synthetische gordijnen

in de massa’s die klonterden in gangen, wachtruimtes, controleposten, productionele bottlenecks

in bleke wolkjes adem rond de automaat
kringelend boven het slijk van de werf

daarin glinstert voor zonsopgang
het eerste verzet

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