Hello there!

Welcome to my blog, brought into existence because I believe in the power of stories. I hope you'll find a few things you like here. Let me know what you think and leave me any verdict, suggestion, challenge or request you want.

Contact: stories@hotmail.be
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Stories-Inc/177071399037533

Happy readings!

Monday, 28 February 2011

'The Gift's Curse', a typographic poem from my early days

As far as I know, this is my oldest poem in English. It's from all the way back when I was fourteen. As you may be able to tell from the ordering, I was heavily into experimenting with form and typography, as is even more apparent from my Dutch poetry at the time, which according to my teachers shared resemblance to that of the famous Flemish expressionist poet Paul van Ostaijen, who I had never even heard of at the time. Without further ado...

The Gift’s Curse
                                                on the inside
                                                     the inside of me
crawling up,
                                                   back down again
                                                                                   filling with fire and flame
searching, striving
                                                                for a way out
                                                                               out of the cage of my body
                                                                                         the gate of my lips
                                                                                                           my hands
                                                                                          it stirs in my mind
                                                                                            flows out of my pen
out, out!
                                                somewhere, somehow
                                                                                   it shall not be stopped
                                                                                   for it does not obey,
                                                                                             does not hold back
                                                                                       … never gives up
                                   no rest,
                                               no sleep,
                                                              no more sanity
                                   the Muse’s fire and flame
                                                      their painful caress
                                   pushing, forcing…
                                                                 to their will
                                                                                   I must comply
no choice,
                                                    no power,
                                                                     it is a part of me,
                                                                                              O rebellious flames
                                                                                                 giving, taking
                                                                                                 offered to a price
                                                                     the fire in me,
        steering me.
                                                                     I am the fire!

1 comment:

  1. Ok, for some reason, I can't get it to go right. It looks okay in edit, but once posted, the poem just starts jumping all over the place. Any tips?


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...