Bernard Dewulf Poems

The dead assembled today
They came and moaned up to my head.
My son gave his words to everything,
my wife was lying, sleeping as a grave.
...

She would almost have been old now,
a tangible woman
with worn out fingers.
...

We had drunk. The whole cup at once.
So that in the everyday rush of bodies
our bodies shone. We had
...

It is an afternoon in an ordinary week,
a century is ending outside.
In the ether of the first house
Your sleep is murmuring in an electric ear.
...

Time is through with us.
Not later than tonight it will drive me to the dawn
of another country. The new morning will wake me up
at an incomprehensible window.
...

Drawers full of warm rollnecks
she knits and so tracks people
down who all the year round
brave the winter in her.
...

I love you, though there's no way I can know.
I think of this when you come home from a day
in your life. But it is not a thought.
You stroke my cheek and who knows,
...

Get up quietly in the early hours
just to see first light again.
Wash, put on old clothes. Coffee
and then life before the open window.
...

While we walked in similar ways,
we did still walk apart.

While we, or so we thought, converged,
we didn't cease to be.
...

Grand nu bleu, 1924


This is my wife. She is my thousand-and-one.
Broader men have similar by the thousands,
...