DIY Obituary by Lubbert Jan De Vries

DIY Obituary

Above my head a suffering stone
With no mother mountain on this earth to speak of
Yet a grave to mark with it

I advertise my death today

I lost grip
On the outside thing
On that of my own doing and undoing
On what others did to me

So time for my demise
It is not into void or nothingness
It is just into a thing there calm assured & small
So not big no objections and no associates

(one of the last things I registered was the compact love of a girl for her rabbit albeit incarcerated Versus the statement of a serial killer when he wonders how the people can & want to live amongst one another with The Knowledge)

I depart and lighthearted I take to the open road hear voices of others also departed … them speak
Clear & near … no delusions no madness
Talk about the weather … God forbid!
A book, a joke & looking good … true!
See? No
Hear? Yes
Dead to the dead small talk
That we used to know where everybody was going
                            The laborer on his way
                            The washerwoman on the riverbank
                            The child in the town square
                            The grocery boy on his way to the madamme
                            The coachpilot in the harbor
And the small talk from the reverend to the dying

Death is a she and she wants no revolt
She want to live quiet & in peace
Smile to lighten up others
Make believe that dying is a new clad
Like when the snake sheds his skin
                         and the warm body slides through the hands of the gypsy foretelling
                         While I write this

LubbertJan DeVries. Spawned in 1963 (Quatrebras, Friesland, Holland) but no ‘ flowerchild’. More punkrockmetal. So intense that music is the source Tony Moffeit points out as necessary to become an outlaw poet. A source next to Whitman, Ginsberg and Micheline. And the devil. Writes not academic, not learned and not conform about what is going on and going down. About the next layer. Sometimes to frighten. Sometimes full of it. Who cares. To conclude a snippet about language. With a ‘frisian’ mother tongue (a minority language from the North of the Netherlands) writing is done first in the ‘frisian’ language and (sometimes) published via a frisian literary magazine; and then translated into english. At the same time deconstructed and reconstructed the poem shoots off into a new dimension i.e. new universe as Moffeit calls it. Right….so long you bums !

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