The Poetic
Most of my works are paired with a collection of words.
Here are some of these tandems.
Where my mother marked me, so did the devil
By mere stains I was conditioned at birth
As an aberration
Gifted skin of my mother
Specks and freckles
Clear signs of treaties
Of a pact with evil
Touched by the devil
And so persecuted
Overwhelmed with violence
Forced to burn and drown
And other times we honoured them as exceptions
Painted, smeared, and drawn
Inviting a change of faith
Still ruled by exclusivity
But crowned with diamonds and glamour
And now I beg for permanence
Inked my skin for closeness
For more me and less her
30 years of a potentially cancerous presence
A time of slow change
Slow growth and death
Let us dress with chains of glass
For additions that tell of dichotomies
In search of a lightweight Oyster
(2023)
I started off by turning on my lover
And repeating this sentence
Over and over again
The curvature of sleep;
maybe a soul being pushed closer to the water
in order to get by
to cross things off a list
to name a son
Kunterbunte Segel und ein schüchternes Winken
Eine Mutter die alleine lässt
Keine festhalte Möglichkeiten
The need to move along with
hold with
Eine halse
Erdmännchen in Akt
doch nicht so einzigartig
A pool of liquid blue
with creatures like malnourished palm trees
scattered in this fluid desert
The more you know of jellyfish bellies
Unstoppable clovers of goo,
with a skin like a barrier that is none
just a greeting
A never-ending awkward handshake
Where water meets air
and vice versa
Here gunk turns to life
The first of fourteen
however watched or unseen
maybe watched yet unseen
This must be a sign of farming
We are not here to complete a spelling bee
Pass a wall
and ease into it
Like a lifeboat I had to include, begged to never be in need of
We are not the only ones
These wounds are deep
Nothing more violent
than the sound of cracking shells
For places where the wind throws shadows
this heaven makes me greedy
But then again there was a time
when nothingness was giving, nurturing
Now we need to try hard to not destroy
Make our footsteps lighter
for the love of a puddle
the dark and its calm
It feels like the wind and sun have made a pact
A treaty of direction
Would it be wrong to say
that I hope it stays this way?
Everything is just a little too wet to enjoy
Man-made glory
and a bounty of jellyfish
The Vrijbuiter
like teeth in a mangrove forest
In the morning all islands switch sides
Het Moet Publishing.
As an ode to the Dutch Poet J. Slauerhoff, fourteen artists and writers were individually shipped off to an uninhabited island for 24 hours only accompanied by the wind, ocean and a selected poem. We were meant to be inspired by this environment and the poet's words to create a new work wich was then published together in a book. My contribution resulted in a set of poems and collages.
Link to purchase book HERE.
As an ode to the Dutch Poet J. Slauerhoff, fourteen artists and writers were individually shipped off to an uninhabited island for 24 hours only accompanied by the wind, ocean and a selected poem. We were meant to be inspired by this environment and the poet's words to create a new work wich was then published together in a book. My contribution resulted in a set of poems and collages.
Link to purchase book HERE.
Das Tischdecken
(2022)
I’m glad to address you
Address you first in my most universal of tongues
To begin a conversation with our walls
For I first knew of you while watching others dance
I wondered why I stood alone moulding your soft body
Never ceasing to change
Holding on to itself
forever losing its past
I can cut you up, Paste you back together Shape you to loops and slopes
Indent you
Press you
Pull you
And yet you never lose your whole
Maybe it’s me trying to learn from you
Your grip less grip
Your shapeless shape
And how you always dry to a promise Antes de sentar me
No puedo pretender de no saber porque me dirijo a ti
Una vez más en esta lengua de mi infancia
Por ser honesta en disfrace
Por ser mentirosa de pequeña
Por haber convivido contigo
Tierra antigua
Tierra rica y tierna
La encarnada provechosa
So terrified to do your form injustice
I can hear the begs of color
The praise from fellows and the sound of high-pitched doubts
But then I already see you placed on a table Made the guest of honour
Guten Appetit
Wir haben uns alle lieb
jetzt erst haben wir uns alle lieb
als wäre es immer nur die Gelegenheit der Tischsache
die Gegebenheit des Zusammensetzens Steingut zu decken und Gabeln zu richten was haben uns unsere Hände hier her- beigeschworen?
verknetete Erde
verdunstetes Wasser
an else of earth
un otro de tierra
definitivamente un cambio sin fin
Garage Rotterdam (2022) A trilingual performance of setting the table for dinner with a ceramic creation. Performed at Garage cafe in September 2022. Exploring the intimacy of a dinner scene, by examining the role of language and belonging. How we speak to each other and present ourselves depending on the language we are speaking. Do we say the same things? Do we care for each other the same way? Do we create the same things? Do we set the table the same way?
A Vase dor the Dead
(2020)
Where would she have to scratch to eventually bleed in white?
Eggplant white.
Decolorized purple.
Her tears and fears made her lover buy her a garden and with those lines she saw her hands again because she used them.
And there was tribalness between her paths. Tribalness we all bear within us.
The tribe of color and Trinity she had forgotten.
and a desire to become the garden herself flushed her.
“Surely this will soften my bones” she thought
“I will become a disciple of life again”
because most growing takes place underground. and the songs of Alzheimer’s had already played.
But snake tongues held her back
ingested chemicals brewing storms of misperception within her.
we’re not here to give her pity
we may forgive because we claim to understand
but actually, her show is about a desperate urge to listen
to passively decay
to befriend that coral-bleaching Mr. Death
Eggplant white.
Decolorized purple.
Her tears and fears made her lover buy her a garden and with those lines she saw her hands again because she used them.
And there was tribalness between her paths. Tribalness we all bear within us.
The tribe of color and Trinity she had forgotten.
and a desire to become the garden herself flushed her.
“Surely this will soften my bones” she thought
“I will become a disciple of life again”
because most growing takes place underground. and the songs of Alzheimer’s had already played.
But snake tongues held her back
ingested chemicals brewing storms of misperception within her.
we’re not here to give her pity
we may forgive because we claim to understand
but actually, her show is about a desperate urge to listen
to passively decay
to befriend that coral-bleaching Mr. Death
The Calling
(2021)
Her red hood all lost in the forest
Out of his stretched stomach she lives there
Through the metal of her shimmer
No moon goes missing
No sun lets her down
And she feels her roots deep
Like mute snake tongues in her ear
No cell needs to sacrifice its wall
No fungus, rust nor spore
has etched its way into her core
Invited devils dare to dance
Her broken teeth and stained leaves
Twisted ankles and catfish shoulders
Here
Only her own tears flow
How could she defend herself from the call?
Of dark sweet nights
Washing Trapped Air
(2021)
In hopes of no one awakening
may I be of rest to you
Was it the voices of my early days?
The ones that minimized, crushed and stung Those that should not be
*Shaping that what cannot be*
Gaging ghosts, trapping air
Because it hast actually never been a life saver You ought to breath out too
And pass on that intimacy
Away from saturated verbs that merely reduct us burning
Because that’s the fabric lacing up my stay jacket
Binding and bound to collide within itself
But in our walls dreams can desire
Haven’t you heard
Tiptoes for the taking
Free for all
Free for you
Oh dirty spell of monogamy
Our gallop of trophy culture
Grasp and grab it
Build your empty castles
With too much everything
And while you’re at it
tame me blue like your fish food
may I be of rest to you
Was it the voices of my early days?
The ones that minimized, crushed and stung Those that should not be
*Shaping that what cannot be*
Gaging ghosts, trapping air
Because it hast actually never been a life saver You ought to breath out too
And pass on that intimacy
Away from saturated verbs that merely reduct us burning
Because that’s the fabric lacing up my stay jacket
Binding and bound to collide within itself
But in our walls dreams can desire
Haven’t you heard
Tiptoes for the taking
Free for all
Free for you
Oh dirty spell of monogamy
Our gallop of trophy culture
Grasp and grab it
Build your empty castles
With too much everything
And while you’re at it
tame me blue like your fish food
