Persephone Abbott (photo www.vinitasalome.com)

Posts from the “Poetry” Category

Pandemic Post 1

Posted on September 1, 2020

At first, starting back in March, I noted everything I did down meticulously in my large (paper) agenda. The agenda I especially decorated, snappy stickers plus extra paper taped in for me to jot my random observations and scraggly scrawls, bits of poems.   August 31:  I opened my agenda and saw that I had entirely skipped the month, four weeks of blankness greeted me.   I am not one of the people that went crazy during lock down in the Netherlands. I organized shopping, leaving my apartment once a fortnight to gather and forage supplies.  I realized that here was my chance to become my own personal trainer and get to the root of my coordination problems (and by doing so eliminate the possibility that I would drown my overweight self in…

Shlomit’s Mother

Posted on March 4, 2020

This morning the alarm, again How many snooze minutes wuzzit? I’m not good at math when Busy ignoring the dawning of my day. The cat pats my nose with her paw. The ultimate sign, not so hygienic Sleep extensions are officially over. I ask her as she rubs her gums on my person: Bathilde, do you dream of poetry? No, of course not, she’s a pragmatic puss – Her brain catalogues smells in odor emojis. But I, in course of the night, unlike the cat, Dreamt a sequence of poetry exchanges Between myself and Shlomit’s mother. Let me clue you in — As part of Before Feet In Bed preparation, I ate an orange, replacing energy lost at A ridiculously long rehearsal for a…

Bad Bellini

Posted on December 25, 2019

Jules Deelder, the poet, died. It reminds me. I was called up one day, one day back in the day when I lived in Rotterdam. The voice on the phone asked me if I would sing in Amsterdam and represent Rotterdam. As the Rotterdammers say “Amsterdam where is that then?” It nearly rhymes in Dutch too. I was not an obvious representative for Rotterdam. As in I wasn’t born in Rotterdam. Or anywhere near Rotterdam. The voice on the phone told me that I was recommended by the organization of a local opera festival. I felt flattered. It was paid. The voice on the phone wanted to show the people Amsterdam that Rotterdam had real culture by supporting a student of opera to sing…

A Poem

Posted on November 21, 2019

Wet Noodle

We’re playing at wet noodle

My dog and I

Because no one is watching

She threw up

I limped home after physical therapy

We can be nauseous and upset

All we want

Together as overcooked pasta

Her body glued onto mine in this chair

This is a good reality

Much better than pretending we’re fine

Someplace else

Forced to

Accommodate secret blows

Covert bashings

No holding up a false picture of bliss

Around here.