Poem By Roland Jooris

Bluntly looking
for a form, almost,
for what
fades into
an aloof timelessness

immune to words
reality plays itself out
as if to one side
in the unbending
image of a boulder

without coincidence
nothing is self-evident

in the poet's kitchen
the window
keeping its shutters shut
jumps to mind
between the lines

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Other poems of JOORIS


Mist. Say
nothing now.
Much is withheld.
Little is much.

In memoriam André du Bouchet

The sheet of paper
the plane from its
window, the sky chalks white,


is becoming that
gets stuck in the
rough, cracked


Can one draw a scratch of thought into the shaft
of a line that after long perusal suddenly head-on
finds its own depth?


What resides
intact in him
is no purity


a village is a circle
drawn by hand
around a church;