Grand nu bleu, 1924
This is my wife. She is my thousand-and-one.
Broader men have similar by the thousands,
in her alone I've seen the thousand others.
She was the closest, the furthest among the things.
I did nothing wrong besides approach her.
The paint was as close as I got. The paint
became her flesh. Her flesh was difficult
as is all grass. I wanted it to visibly sing.
Every lament it broke into changed to my colour.
In my thousand colours I looked for the same.
To always look more closely, as myopically as I could
to completely cover the horizon of her skin.

Translation: Willem Groenewegen