He planted a thorn in her side To enslave her: She draws water from the well Prepares morning coffee Picks his teeth for bits of food And women. ... Clap, clap He claps his hands She becomes a stretch of land And provides him with wheat, barley and oranges ... Clap, clap She rises as a cross in a field A scare-crow To birds, an object of laughter for linguists and looters Then she purifies water from the pond To wash her fingers, which bandits had cut with their swords And spreads his shirt on her chest To let the blood dry ... Clap She turns into a waterwheel Irrigates the soil Draws circles and shades On the water To complete the picture. ... At noon He claps again She becomes a hornbill Digs for worms, takes stains from cotton threads Then turns into a fish Swallows silt And empties her stomach in the Northern rose-field. ... Clap, clap, clap, clap She becomes a filly He mounts To inspect his vast gardens Nietzsche’s whip in his hand: Mayor of the village. ... The old farmer Knowing villagers’ wisdom and customs Trained the woman according to demon law Then took a nap at the side of the ditch Looked in her eyes She became a maiden With whom he slept Making her pregnant of a reddish girl He killed She was pretty Therefore, He disfigured her face on photos With black chalk, Because her beauty Made his friends ugly ... Before sunset His throat went dry She became a piece of gum He chewed Then, Spat out What stretched itself in the sand And transformed to Eve. Attaining womanhood She slept in the hope of resurrection. ... At sunset He removed the thorn And she vaporized. _____________ Translated by Kees Nijland