Jenny Dejager has received higher education and worked as an offical. She has been on various courses of writing. She has published eight collections of poetry and also two novels. She is a painter of portraits. She is at present working on a novel and a collection of poetry. She is a board member of De Verfpot for then years. For more information, visit her
As you surrender to the world, you seem painted by me
with my eyes closed.
It is earthy-green under your tawny skin.
Your earth is my earth – your story is my story.
You hang in my studio, high and dry in a corner
where every spider feels comfortable.
As you stay out of sight, I watch from the sidelines
how you go into the night, the stars count and give me sleepless nights
that I receive with grace, that’s how you close your eyes to reminisce
who helped you in this green dress.
My eyes are currently resting to discover later
that stairs still have steps in reflecting light,
in the shade like the dark accent of brown umber.
And what about yellow ocher and white?
Then I will open my eyes and go unobtrusively into the night
In prussian blue.
Maybe we know
We’re too different from each other.
We’re bleeding in ignorance.
We’re sitting on a sandbank
that disappears a little bit more
every day and maybe
we know that.
Because I feel tenderness
for what happens to him,
I won’t fly to the end of the world.
My life doesn’t stop
even though the world around me is sick
and even though I end up in the infirmary
to take care of the sun driver
because his venture remains too big.
With my arms full of flowers, I’m going to stay
with a smile that he loves for all time.
The earth is a woman
She won’t stop by the loss she suffers.
She just walks down the road in a different dress,
she sees a by open, slides inside
and feasts until a hole in the night.
She laughs, she skips, she dances.
She looks aside for a moment,
a star falls from the sky.
Nobody cares about her.
From the lap of the mountain,
the river of the future twists almost silently.
The dreading man looks aside.
I ask distance: stay with me.
Everything that used to be is good for memories.
Wherever you want to go,
let me know if your luggage is too heavy to get up.
I like you. You’re my guide, my companion.
I’m not asking anyone to understand, you know:
the battle between the white sheet and the white field
but I thank distance with white wild roses for the freedom
to walk into a newly born world.