Said: “Only death is naked
Behind my black shoulders even the Crucified One
That holy colossus nailed because of love
Wears a cloth round his loins,
So shameful was his crotch!
Concerning this nakedness, Claus, defendant,
I don’t wish to see death, just shame.”
He scooped some muck from the scales of justice
And stuffed his nostrils full of salvation.
I screamed: “Your Honor, pardon me, but
Your Cross is not my Cross!”
Whereupon Christ fell from his pin of shame
And naked as a flour sack and with with a likewise thud
Broke the judge’s neck as well as the scales.
His loincloth blew out of the window, farewell,
And floated through the streets.
Quickly the people of Bruges caught the sacred fabric,
Quickly tore it to strips (which multiplied!)
And quicker still al wealthy Belgians blindfolded one another.
Fable (For Dr. John Bultinck, my defense) - Hugo Claus [translated by Paul Brown and Peter Nijmeijer]
uit: Living space : poems of the Dutch “Fiftiers” - Peter Glassgold (ed.)
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