Prose and poetry by Leen Raats
I used that strange period between the holidays to give my poetry collection "Driftwood – Drijfhout" the finishing touch. In this bilingual collection, every poem is in both English and Dutch. I did all the translations myself, but I did pay a professional, native-speaking translator to proofread the English versions.
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The earth is now too hard to bury corpses. Water cracks
in the pond, birds peck thirstily at the ice. A wafer-thin
layer of city dirt falls like snow from a red sky.
The deceptive beauty of the apocalypse.
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I remember how we used to count paving stones
between home and school. Straps of backpacks
leaving marks on bare legs.
Your arm through mine, an anchor.
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The unfulfilled expectations of the people
who still tolerate my presence or are willing
to pretend for the sake of mutual friends or family.
Losing battles. Bottomless glasses and nights.
Rampant prejudices that feed on nitrogen
and generalization. The inflation of compassion.
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What do tangerines and windmills have in common? I wrote about them in two poems that got published in DarkWinter Literary Magazine, a Canadian magazine. My virtual world tour is really coming together. 😉
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In the American anthology Darkness Most Fowl, writers from around the world will scare you to death with dark stories about birds. I am one of those writers. The book was officially published on October 31, not coincidentally Halloween. I've had the book on my nightstand for a while now, and I can tell you that it contains some truly gruesome gems!
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What an evening! Yesterday, I had the privilege of reading during a magical event, organized by local nature organization Natuurpunt at Kiewit (Hasselt, Belgium). Surrounded by ancient creatures unfurling their almost bare crowns above me. The rain provided a fitting background concert.
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Whether it's something or someone
I'm waiting for you ask
with a lip that trembles
for reasons I don’t know.
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“What a better way to understand one another in this world but by the glimmering sparkle that unites us in this lighthouse?”
These are beautiful words from the editors of the Poetry Lighthouse. My poem Asphalt found a wonderful home at this creative writing community.
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I followed the factory spills, the fumes
of Diesel cars banned from the city center
that gathered in carpool parking lots
like civil servants at a fire drill.
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Leen writes 