Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Jan Wagner

ESSAY ON SOAP

one piece was always nearby,
followed its own phases,
diminishing like almost everything does;
then stood again full
and luminously white in its bowl.

weighed like a stone in the fist,
in a froth, it became softer:
one washed oneself from cain into abel.

once it was forgotten, it weathered
into a fissured, asteroid-splinter,
but rests now moist and shiny
like something from the bottom of the lake
that’s been quarried, precious for those seconds,

and we have gathered at the table:
moonless evening, fragrant hands.

VERSUCH ÜBER SEIFE

VERSUCH ÜBER SEIFE

ein stück war immer in der nähe,
folgte seinen eigenen phasen,
wurde weniger wie fast alles,
stand dann wieder voll
und leuchtend weiß in seiner schale.

wog wie ein stein in der faust,
schäumte auf, wurde weicher:
man wusch sich von kain zu abel.

einmal vergessen, verwitterte sie
zum rissigen asteroidensplitter,
doch ruht jetzt feucht und glänzend
wie etwas, das vom grund des sees
heraufgetaucht wird, sekundenlang kostbar,

und alle sitzen wir am tisch:
mondloser abend, duftende hände.
Close

ESSAY ON SOAP

one piece was always nearby,
followed its own phases,
diminishing like almost everything does;
then stood again full
and luminously white in its bowl.

weighed like a stone in the fist,
in a froth, it became softer:
one washed oneself from cain into abel.

once it was forgotten, it weathered
into a fissured, asteroid-splinter,
but rests now moist and shiny
like something from the bottom of the lake
that’s been quarried, precious for those seconds,

and we have gathered at the table:
moonless evening, fragrant hands.

ESSAY ON SOAP

one piece was always nearby,
followed its own phases,
diminishing like almost everything does;
then stood again full
and luminously white in its bowl.

weighed like a stone in the fist,
in a froth, it became softer:
one washed oneself from cain into abel.

once it was forgotten, it weathered
into a fissured, asteroid-splinter,
but rests now moist and shiny
like something from the bottom of the lake
that’s been quarried, precious for those seconds,

and we have gathered at the table:
moonless evening, fragrant hands.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère