When I write in this way,
i am talking about the void.
i fill it with thoughts on paper
waiting for fulfilment
In the imposed afternoon silence,
like yesterday
it feels plainly poor in the growing chill
It enters as you take in my words
you hear them in the sound that spreads.
Does it close the gap? Or do I take you deeper?
are you tempted from the present?
I say this because it comes
so from the rigidity of the moment
rich in feeling,
yet difficult to express
This poet is not always able
to realise his task
sitting behind a frosted window
This little death I never get used to
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Ik ben , en gebruik soms ook wel de schuilnaam Julius V.E. Dreyfsandt zu Schlamm.
