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| Johannes Franciscus Hoppenbrouwers |
The Ice Wager
Snowscape. Shod in tailor’s irons,
Red-hot, with my poundage of weights,
I test the ice of our latest year.
Half the world is out on skates
Red-hot, with my poundage of weights,
I test the ice of our latest year.
Half the world is out on skates
And the other half watches. Avercamp
Or Brueghel bring the wild duck
Out of the skies, and crowd the river
With yellow leggings, anoraks,
Or Brueghel bring the wild duck
Out of the skies, and crowd the river
With yellow leggings, anoraks,
Tobogganing children, and those dogs
More loved around here than people—
The blind or the lonely. Winter trees
Turn gelid in the freezing fog,
More loved around here than people—
The blind or the lonely. Winter trees
Turn gelid in the freezing fog,
The roads are churned to slushy meal
By the horses. Zigzags, figures of eight
Complete the picture. But it is real,
Our wager, so place your bet
By the horses. Zigzags, figures of eight
Complete the picture. But it is real,
Our wager, so place your bet
With the notary on the bank,
Impartial witness. Hollow rumblings
Out on the ice—the iron quoits,
The games in progress. Will it crumble,
Impartial witness. Hollow rumblings
Out on the ice—the iron quoits,
The games in progress. Will it crumble,
Our little world, or will it hold?
Upriver from the Netherlands’
Oceangoing space, a man skates in,
A traveller, his clasped hands
Upriver from the Netherlands’
Oceangoing space, a man skates in,
A traveller, his clasped hands
Behind his back, his earflaps
Dangling. Has it fallen through,
Our worldview? But he brings no news.
Our mulled wine, our potato schnapps
Dangling. Has it fallen through,
Our worldview? But he brings no news.
Our mulled wine, our potato schnapps
Are all that concern him. Hurdy-gurdies,
Monkey dances. The Good, the True
Are beyond him, where he is travelling to.
It is down, again, to me and you,
Monkey dances. The Good, the True
Are beyond him, where he is travelling to.
It is down, again, to me and you,
Tonight, when I come off the ice
Which, needless to say, has never cracked
In centuries of changing skies,
To carry out the mandatory acts,
Which, needless to say, has never cracked
In centuries of changing skies,
To carry out the mandatory acts,
Traditional, for the time of year—
Banquets where the loser pays,
White tablecloths for the ice-floes
Junketing on, in hope and fear.
Banquets where the loser pays,
White tablecloths for the ice-floes
Junketing on, in hope and fear.
Has the ice cracked?
Has our worldview collapsed?
Will our little world crumble?
I love the questions. Are we ready to make a wager on our answers?
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