Anne Sexton, Earste psalm

Pleatst op 23/04/2023 troch Klaas van der Hoek

 
O jimme tongen
 

Earste psalm

Lit der in God wêze sa grut as in hichtesinne om jimme syn waarmte ta te laitsjen.

Lit der in ierde wêze yn de foarm fan in lispuzzel dy’t foar jimme allegearre lein wurde kin.

Lit der it tsjuster fan in tsjustere keamer út ’e djipte wêze. In wjirmekeamer.

Lit der in God wêze dy’t oan de ein fan in lange tinne piip ljocht sjocht en dat binnenlit.

Lit God harren in twaen diele.

Lit God syn Hoodsie diele.

Lit de wetters harren skiede opdat God syn antlit wasket yn it dageljocht.

Lit der prikgatsjes yn de himel wêze dêr’t God syn pink yn stekt.

Lit de stjerren in himel fol sjeleiflutterkes en laitsjende babys wêze.

Lit it ljocht Dei hite, dan kinne minsken mais ferbouwe of de bus nimme.

Lit der op de twadde dei drûch lân wêze, dan kinne alle minsken harren teannen drûgje mei Cannon-handoeken.

Lit God dat ierde neame en fiele hoe’t it gers as ingelehier opkomt.

Lit der bananen, komkommers, prommen, mango’s, beannen, rys en soerstokken wêze.

Lit se siedzje en opnij siedzje.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat wy de boustyl fan it ferwulft mei earnen, finken, spjochten, kobben leare.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat wy tolve jassen oanlûke en snie romje of ússels útstrûpe en baaie yn de Kariben.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat de himelhûnen yn desimber oer de sinne springe.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat de iel út har griene hoal komt.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat de waskbear syn bloedspegel ferheget.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat de wyn opstekt foar in sinesappelblêd.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat de rein in protte skippen bedobbet.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat wûnders ús drinkglêzen folje mei floeiber goud.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat ús tongen yn oerfloed asperzjes en limoenen hawwe.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat net ús fjoeren ús ferlitte en yn metaal feroarje.

Lit der seizoenen wêze opdat in man mei syn hân in frouljusboarst omklammet en in swiete spien, in stjerrebei bewurket.

Lit der in himel wêze opdat de minske syn gers oerlibbet.

 

O Ye Tongues
 

First Psalm

Let there be a God as large as a sunlamp to laugh his heat at you.

Let there be an earth with a form like a jigsaw and let it fit for all of ye.

Let there be the darkness of a darkroom out of the deep. A worm room.

Let there be a God who sees light at the end of a long thin pipe and lets it in.

Let God divide them in half.

Let God share his Hoodsie.

Let the waters divide so that God may wash his face in first light.

Let there be pin holes in the sky in which God puts his little finger.

Let the stars be a heaven of jelly rolls and babies laughing.

Let the light be called Day so that men may grow corn or take busses.

Let there be on the second day dry land so that all men may dry their toes with Cannon towels.

Let God call this earth and feel the grasses rise up like angel hair.

Let there be bananas, cucumbers, prunes, mangoes, beans, rice and candy canes.

Let them seed and reseed.

Let there be seasons so that we may learn the architecture of the sky with eagles, finches, flickers, seagulls.

Let there be seasons so that we may put on twelve coats and shovel snow or take off our skins and bathe in the Carribean.

Let there be seasons so the sky dogs will jump across the sun in December.

Let there be seasons so that the eel may come out of her green cave.

Let there be seasons so that the raccoon may raise his blood level.

Let there be seasons so that the wind may be hoisted for an orange leaf.

Let there be seasons so that the rain will bury many ships.

Let there be seasons so that the miracles will fill our drinking glass with runny gold.

Let there be seasons so that our tongues will be rich in asparagus and limes.

Let there be seasons so that our fires will not forsake us and turn to metal.

Let there be seasons so that a man may close his palm on a woman’s breast and bring forth a sweet nipple, a starberry.

Let there be a heaven so that man may outlive his grasses.

 

O Ye Tongues [I], út The Death Notebooks, 1974

Anne Sexton (1928–1974) wurdt rekkene ta de confessional poets; har wurk is sterk autobiografysk. O Ye Tongues, besteande út tsien Psalms, befettet ferwizings nei de Bibel, mar ek nei de Amerikaanske werklikheid om 1970 hinne en nei har persoanlike libben. Boppedat brûkt Sexton sa no en dan slang en dûbelsinnige wurden en útdrukkings. Ien en oar freget soms om taljochting, reden wêrom’t ik in pear annotaasjes tafoegje. Dy binne nammers net bedoeld as ynterpretaasje of analyse, en ferwizings nei de Bibel wurde net annotearre. Sjoch foar de achtergrûn fan O Ye Tongues benammen Diane Wood Middlebrook, Anne Sexton. A biography, Boston 1991, s. 353–355.

Hoodsie – Merknamme fan in bakje iis mei in houten leppeltsje, produsearre troch de suvelfirma H.P. Hood yn Lynnfield by Boston. Ek slang, brûkt yn Boston en omkriten, as oantsjutting foar in puberfamke dat mei âldere jonges omslacht.
jelly roll – Oprôle cake mei jam. Ek slang foar ûnder mear in frijpartij.
Cannon towels – Handoeken makke troch de firma Cannon, yn 1887 oprjochte yn Kannapolis, North Carolina.

SoundCloud: Tina Antolini, Leila Day en Avery Trufelman drage Psalm 1 fan O Ye Tongues foar.

Pleatst yn Anne Sexton | Tagged , , , | Reaksjes út op Anne Sexton, Earste psalm

Anne Sexton, Twadde psalm

Pleatst op 16/04/2023 troch Klaas van der Hoek

 
Twadde psalm

Want ik bid dat der in Almachtige is om it swarte ikehout dat my omjout te seingjen.

Want ik bid dat der in Almachtige is om de dalmaasjers te seingjen dy’t springe as sinneflekken.

Want ik bid dat Emily King, dy’t ik inkeld ken om’t wy goemoarn sizze, myn skonken en kont goedwillich besjocht.

Want ik bid dat John F. Kennedy my it stellen fan syn dokuminteslúf, fergees fan de Senaat, ferjout.

Want ik bid dat myn Tufts-earedoktoraat John Holmes der net ta bringt en stek út syn brakke grêf yn Medford wei syn tonge út.

Want ik bid dat J. Brussel, dy’t skriuwt dat er de tachtich foarby is, profyt hat fan syn moarnsereksje.

Want ik bid dat Joy har stive rêch wat loskomt en dat de slangen har wervels ferwaarmje.

Want ik bid dat Mama Brundig, de goede dokter, nachts rêst fynt nei’t ik har namme rop op ’e hoeke fan Beacon en Dartmouth.

Want ik bid dat dit reade wollen pak, dat jokket, út kin foar in nylon nachtjapon.

Want ik bid dat de man, troch de aaklike mist, myn dochter fynt, grutsk, al is it yn Hawaï.

Want ik bid dat myn dochters de gesichten fan harren dochters mei kninefacht oanreitsje sille.

Want ik bid dat myn typmasine trou as altyd net stikken giet, ek al smiet ik him seis jier lyn troch de sikehûsseal.

Want ik bid dat Kayo, glimkjend út syn túnstoel yn Bermuda wei op in foto boppe my, ek glimket om syn namme mids tongen.

Want ik bid dat de houten keamer dêr’t ik yn wenje trouhertich mear boeken befettet mei it ferstriken fan de jierren.

Want ik bid dat myn klean, myn sokken en myn jassen net langer krimpe.

Want ik bid dat myn beide katten mei harren eagen yn lytse blikken sânamerkes de himel yngean.

Want ik bid dat myn wyn frucht draacht.

Want sy bidt dat har oanreitsjen molke wêze mei.

Want sy bidt dat har nacht in smel ôfsletten paad wêze mei.

Want ik bid dat ik trochgean kin mei myn mûle fol te tropjen mei tsiisjirpels.

Want ik bid dat Jack Daniels like maklik yn my delgiet as in tút.

Want sy bidt dat sy net tebekskrillet by de iensumens fan de ballingskip yn Hamilton.

Want sy bidt dat sy net tebekskrillet by it deademansgat.

Want ik bid dat God my fertart.

 

Second Psalm

For I pray there is an Almighty to bless the Piss Oak that surrounds me.

For I pray that there is an Almighty to bless the Dalmations that jump like sun spots.

For I pray that Emily King, whom I do not know except to say good morning, will observe my legs and fanny with good will.

For I pray that John F. Kennedy will forgive me for stealing his free-from-the-Senate Manila envelope.

For I pray that my honorary degree from Tufts is not making John Holmes stick out his tongue from the brackish grave in Medford.

For I pray that J. Brussel who writes that he is four score and more will prosper over his morning cock.

For I pray that Joy will unbend from her stone back and that the snakes will heat up her vertebrae.

For I pray that Mama Brundig, good doctor, will find rest at night after my yelling her name on the corner of Beacon and Dartmouth.

For I pray that this red wool suit that itches will come off for a nylon nighty.

For I pray that man, through the awful fog, will find my daughter proud although in Hawaii.

For I pray that my daughters will touch the faces of their daughters with bunny fur.

For I pray that my typewriter, ever faithful, will not break even though I threw it across the hospital room six years ago.

For I pray that Kayo who smiles from the photo above me from his lawn chair in Bermuda will smile at his name among tongues.

For I pray that the wooden room I live in will faithfully hold more books as the years pass.

For I pray that my apparel, my socks and my coats will not shrink any longer.

For I pray my two cats will enter heaven carrying their eyes in little tin sand pails.

For I pray that my wine will fatten.

For she prays that her touch will be milk.

For she prays that her night will be a small closed path.

For I pray that I may continue to stuff cheese potatoes in my mouth.

For I pray that Jack Daniels will go down as easily as a kiss.

For she prays that she will not cringe at the loneliness of the exile in Hamilton.

For she prays that she will not cringe at the death hole.

For I pray that God will digest me.

 

O Ye Tongues [II], út The Death Notebooks, 1974

Piss Oak – Quercus velutina, ornaris oantsjut as black oak of yellow oak. As it hout fan dizze Amerikaanske beamsoart drûge of ferbrând wurdt, jout it in ammoniaklucht ôf, dêrfandinne de bynamme piss oak.
Tufts – Yn 1970 krige Anne Sexton in earedoktoraat fan Tufts University, Greater Boston.
John Holmes – De Amerikaanske dichter John Holmes (1904–1962) wie heechlearaar Ingelsk oan Tufts University en hold workshops poëzy dêr’t Sexton fan 1957 ôf oan meidie. Holmes rette har yn in brief út 1959 ôf har gedichten te publisearjen, om’t se inkeld oer harsels gongen en de lêzer neat te bieden hienen (Diane Wood Middlebrook, Anne Sexton. A biography, Boston 1991, s. 98, 100; Gail Crowther, Three-martini afternoons at the Ritz. The rebellion of Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton, New York 2021, s. 15). Sexton reagearre mei it gedicht ‘For John, Who Begs Me Not to Enquire Further’ en naam dat op yn har debútbondel To bedlam and part way back (1960). Holmes leit begroeven op Medford’s Oak Grove Cemetery.
J. Brussel – Wierskynlik Jacob R. Brussel (1899–1979), in New Yorkse antikwaar en útjouwer, dy’t benammen eroatyske en pornografyske boeken útjoech, mar ek wurkjes as One hundred years of American humor (1945), troch himsels gearstald ûnder de namme J. Brussel.
Mama Brundig – Martha Brunner-Orne (1895–1982), Anne Sexton har earste psychiater en de mem fan har twadde psychiater, Martin Theodore Orne. Martha Brunner wie berne yn Wenen, Eastenryk. ‘Mama Brundig’ komt ek foar yn it gedicht ‘The Frog Prince’.
Kayo – Ropnamme fan Anne har echtgenoat Alfred Muller Sexton II (1928–2012).
Jack Daniels – Whiskey makke troch de Jack Daniel Distillery yn Lynchburg, Tennessee, oprjochte yn 1875 troch Jasper Newton Daniel.
Hamilton – Nei harren houlik yn 1948 fûnen Anne en Kayo ûnderdak yn it molkfeebedriuw fan Reg Scott yn it stedsje Hamilton, New York, yn de buert fan Syracuse. Kayo folge dêr in foaroplieding medisinen oan de Colgate University. ‘We lived with Reg and I did the laundry, washing the sour milk overalls’, skreau Anne dêr letter oer yn in brief (Diane Wood Middlebrook, Anne Sexton. A biography, Boston 1991, s. 23).

Pleatst yn Anne Sexton | Tagged , , , , , , | Reaksjes út op Anne Sexton, Twadde psalm

Anne Sexton, Tredde psalm

Pleatst op 09/04/2023 troch Klaas van der Hoek

 
Tredde psalm

Lit Noach in arke bouwe út de âlde dame har skoech en dy folje mei de skepsels fan de Heare.

Lit de arke fan heil in protte finsters hawwe opdat de skepsels fan de Heare mûlfollen soerstof ynnimme.

Lit de arke fan heil eare bewize oan de Heare en kear op kear kredyt op syn konto byskriuwe.

Lit Anne en Christopher knibbelje mei in mûzebiter dy’t har mei syn bek in tean ôfbyt opdat sy dy offerje kin.

Lit Anne en Christopher ferskine mei twa readboarstkes mei wjirms dy’t swiet binne en rôze as lippestift.

Lit harren in bij presintearje, harren hannen deromhinne, dy’t de elektrisiteit fan de Heare ta lytse giele z’en gûnzet.

Lit harren lof jaan mei in bolle waans hoarnen giel fan skiednis binne.

De Heare loovje mei in okse dy’t yn de himel leaf wurdt en de hierlinten fan lytse famkes strikt.

Harren ferdeemoedigje mei de mich dy’t bromt as de mem fan de motor.

Tsjinje mei de aap dy’t de Empire State Building delhelle en de faam wûn.

In mier wije dy’t as it printsel op dizze bledside nei de Heare krûpe sil.

Seingje mei in sabel dy’t inket bliedt oer de jurken fan hofdames.

Seingje mei in knyn dy’t mei in hiele sekfol sperma komt.

Seingje mei de sprinkhoanne dy’t in foarhing foar de himel dûnset en it fjild ferblinet.

Seingje mei de keningsmakriel dy’t dûbeltsjes omsmelt yn tin sulver nêst Frisco.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de deileelje want dy is berne om in dei by de brievebus te libjen en de dyk te ferhearlikjen.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de oliif want dy jout betroubere oalje op en ytst him allinne, dan makket er de mûle fet en bedobbet er de tosken.

Harren ferbliidzje mei in Frânske keizersfisk dy’t foarbyglydt as in juwiel, glânzgjend as in blauwe iisberch yn de Kariben.

Harren ferbliidzje mei in katoenstrûk dy’t stjerren en siedden opjout om de mannichten fan Amearika te klaaien.

Harren ferbliidzje mei it seehynderke dat yn amusemintsparken en gedichten libbet.

Lit Anne en Christopher harren ferbliidzje mei de wjirm dy’t nei it ljocht ta beweecht as de pimel fan in pop.

 

Third Psalm

Let Noah build an ark out of the old lady’s shoe and fill it with the creatures of the Lord.

Let the ark of salvation have many windows so the creatures of the Lord will marry mouthfuls of oxygen.

Let the ark of salvation do homage to the Lord and notch his belt repeatedly.

Let Anne and Christopher kneel with a buzzard whose mouth will bite her toe so that she may offer it up.

Let Anne and Christopher appear with two robins whose worms are sweet and pink as lipstick.

Let them present a bee, cupped in their palms, zinging the electricity of the Lord out into little yellow Z’s.

Let them give praise with a bull whose horns are yellow with history.

Praise the Lord with an ox who grows sweet in heaven and ties the hair ribbons of little girls.

Humble themselves with the fly buzzing like the mother of the engine.

Serve with the ape who tore down the Empire State Building and won the maid.

Dedicate an ant who will crawl toward the Lord like the print of this page.

Bless with a sable who bleeds ink across the dresses of ladies of the court.

Bless with a rabbit who comes with a whole sackful of sperm.

Bless with the locust who dances a curtain over the sky and makes the field blind.

Bless with the kingfish who melts down dimes into slim silver beside Frisco.

Rejoice with the day lily for it is born for a day to live by the mailbox and glorify the roadside.

Rejoice with the olive for it gives forth a faithful oil and eaten alone it will grease the mouth and bury the teeth.

Rejoice with a French angelfish which floats by like a jewel glowing like a blue iceberg in the Carribean.

Rejoice with a cottonbush which grows stars and seeds to clothe the multitudes of America.

Rejoice with the sea horse who lives in amusement parks and poems.

Let Anne and Christopher rejoice with the worm who moves into the light like a doll’s penis.

 

O Ye Tongues [III], út The Death Notebooks, 1974

Christopher – In tinkbyldich twillingbroerke. De ‘imazjinêre freon’ is in bekend psychologysk ferskynsel, benammen by bern. ‘Christopher’ ferwiist tagelyk nei de Ingelske dichter Christopher Smart (1722–1771), waans gedicht Jubilate Agno in wichtige ynspiraasjeboarne wie foar O Ye Tongues. Pas yn 1939 waard Jubilate Agno foar it earst publisearre, ûnder de titel Rejoice in the Lamb. A song from bedlam.
the ape who tore down the Empire State Building and won the maid – Yn de film King Kong (1933) ûntdekt in filmploech op in ûnbekend eilân in reusachtige gorilla, King Kong, dy’t yn finzenskip meinommen wurdt nei New York. Mar King Kong ûntsnapt en ûntfiert de faam dêr’t er fereale op is, Ann Darrow. Hy flechtet mei Ann de Empire State Building op en wurdt deasketten.
Frisco – Wierskynlik San Francisco. Mooglik ek in allúsje op de ‘Frisco Seal’ yn ‘Daddy’, ien fan de bekendste gedichten fan Sylvia Plath, foar it earst publisearre yn de bondel Ariel (1965).

Pleatst yn Anne Sexton | Tagged , , | Reaksjes út op Anne Sexton, Tredde psalm

Anne Sexton, Fjirde psalm

Pleatst op 02/04/2023 troch Klaas van der Hoek

 
Fjirde psalm

Want ik bin in wees mei twa deademaskers op de skoarstienmantel en kaam út it grêf fan myn mem har búk wei yn it beweech fan Boston.

Want der seagen mar twa finsters út op ’e stêd en de gebouwen ieten my op.

Want ik wie ynbakere yn fetwol fan myn heit syn bedriuw en koe my net bewege of de tiid freegje.

Want Anne en Christopher waarden berne yn myn holle doe’t ik gûlde by it grêf fan de roazen, de fjouwerennjoggentich roazige weeshuzen yn myn sliepkeamer.

Want Christopher, myn ynbylde broer, myn twilling, hold syn babypimel fêst as in foarntsje.

Want ik waard in wy en dat ynbylde wy waard tagedien selskip as de grutte ballonnen harren net oer ús bûgden.

Want ik koe net lêze of prate en yn de lange nachten koe ik net de moanne útsette of de autoljochten lâns it plafond telle.

Want ik lei dêr sa bleek as moal en dronk moannesop út in rubberen dop.

Want ik pisse yn ’e broek en Christopher die it kloklêzen, de klok tikke as in krikel yn july en beweegde swijend syn leppels.

Want ik poepte en Christopher glimke en sei, lit de lucht swiet wêze fan dyn dong.

Want ik lústere nei Christopher, mar net as de ballon kaam om myn ferbân te ferskjinjen.

Want myn krús jokke en der wienen hannen dy’t der oalje op smarden.

Want ik lei dea-allinne. Christopher lei nêst my. Hy libbe.

Want ik lei as papieren roazen sa stram en Christopher pakte in tinnen waskbekken en wosk my.

Want ik prate net mar de gûchelder liet my trúks mei bloed sjen.

Want ik hearde oars net as de gûchelder dy’t nêst my lei en as in radio spile.

Want ik skriemde doe en myn doaske wiggele mankelyk.

Want ik wie yn in beheining fan wol en ferve planken. Wêr binne wy Christopher? It kasjot, sei hy.

Want de keamer sels wie in doaze. Fjouwer dikke muorren fan roazen. In plafond dat Christopher leech en bedriigjend fûn.

Want ik glimke en der wie net ien om it te sjen. Christopher sliepte. Hy makke in seelûd.

Want ik liet myn fingers wiggelje mar se bleaunen net te plak. Ik krige se net te plak. Se ûntsnapten oan myn mûle.

Want ik poarke mysels út ’e sliep, út de griene keamer. De sliep fan de wanhopigen dy’t tebek it tsjuster yn reizgje.

Want berte wie in sykte en Christopher en ik betochten de remeedzje.

Want wy slokke gûchelderij op en sette Anne op ’e wrâld.

 

Fourth Psalm

For I am an orphan with two death masks on the mantel and came from the grave of my mama’s belly into the commerce of Boston.

For there were only two windows on the city and the buildings ate me.

For I was swaddled in grease wool from my father’s company and could not move or ask the time.

For Anne and Christopher were born in my head as I howled at the grave of the roses, the ninety-four rose crèches of my bedroom.

For Christopher, my imaginary brother, my twin holding his baby cock like a minnow.

For I became a we and this imaginary we became a kind company when the big balloons did not bend over us.

For I could not read or speak and on the long nights I could not turn the moon off or count the lights of cars across the ceiling.

For I lay as pale as flour and drank moon juice from a rubber tip.

For I wet my pants and Christopher told the clock and it ticked like a July cricket and silently moved its spoons.

For I shat and Christopher smiled and said let the air be sweet with your soil.

For I listened to Christopher unless the balloon came and changed my bandage.

For my crotch itched and hands oiled it.

For I lay as single as death. Christopher lay beside me. He was living.

For I lay as stiff as paper roses and Christopher took a tin basin and bathed me.

For I spoke not but the magician played me tricks of the blood.

For I heard not but for the magician lying beside me playing like a radio.

For I cried then and my little box wiggled with melancholy.

For I was in a boundary of wool and painted boards. Where are we Christopher? Jail, he said.

For the room itself was a box. Four thick walls of roses. A ceiling Christopher found low and menacing.

For I smiled and there was no one to notice. Christopher was asleep. He was making a sea sound.

For I wiggled my fingers but they would not stay. I could not put them in place. They broke out of my mouth.

For I was prodding myself out of my sleep, out of the green room. The sleep of the desperate who travel backwards into darkness.

For birth was a disease and Christopher and I invented the cure.

For we swallow magic and we deliver Anne.

 

O Ye Tongues [IV], út The Death Notebooks, 1974

Boston – Anne Sexton waard berne as Anne Gray Harvey op 9 novimber 1928 yn Newton, Massachusetts, 12 kilometer westlik fan Boston.
grease wool from my father’s company – Sexton har heit, Ralph Churchill Harvey (1900–1959), hie in hannelsfirma yn wol.

Pleatst yn Anne Sexton | Tagged , | Reaksjes út op Anne Sexton, Fjirde psalm

Anne Sexton, Fyfde psalm

Pleatst op 26/03/2023 troch Klaas van der Hoek

 
Fyfde psalm

Lit Christopher en Anne te foarskyn komme mei in baarch sa grau as in helpprofessor. Wa’t fuortkomt út dong en de metro makket gif swiet.

Lit harren te foarskyn komme mei in mol dy’t út in stoma wei foar it ljocht kommen is om de sinne op te slokken.

Te foarskyn mei in koweblomke dat as in hân iepengiet en teld wurde wol oant hy hâldt fan my.

Te foarskyn mei in sinesappel dy’t syn bûslampe oandwaan sil en yn it tsjuster skine sil as wat hillichs.

Te foarskyn mei in slak dy’t syn brein bynt en ûntbynt binnen in hurde plasse. Nimmen stjoert in brief nei de slak.

Lit Christopher en Anne te foarskyn komme mei in inketfisk dy’t syn gif meibringt om oer de Heare te spielen as raand drop.

Te foarskyn mei in blomkoal dy’t harsels nêst Him delsette sil en noedzje sil as in wyt brein.

Te foarskyn mei in roas dy’t as fenuslippen iepenteart en in loai fernoegen is.

Te foarskyn mei in narsis dy’t útdost is as in ballerina en bûten it oerâlde foarjier yn dûnset.

Te foarskyn mei in hûn dy’t flekt is, glimket en de skriklike stjerren in poat jout.

Te foarskyn mei in kakkerlak dy’t grutternôch is en wês Franz Kafka (mei er, al is er yn syn keamer opsletten, yn frede rêste). Elk dy’t yn in doaze fan hokker ôfmjittings ek opsletten sit, moat wiswier by de hân hâlden wurde. Treinen en fleantugen hearre net op slot. It soe tastien wêze moatte en flean derút en de mûle fan de Heare yn. De Heare is myn hoeder, Hy sil my opslokke. De Heare is myn hoeder, Hy stiet my ta derút te gean.

Lit Christopher en Anne te foarskyn komme mei in karper dy’t twa tredde kear te grut is om wêr dan ek noflik te passen.

Komme mei in panter dy’t as oalje lâns de tûke siperet en katoenen wynsels as poaten hat.

Komme mei de Mediterrannee by sinneskynwaar as de stjerren in tombreed ûnder it oerflak sliepe.

Komme mei in beamkikker dy’t foar it fjild wichtiger is as Big Ben. Hy soe net opsletten wurde moatte.

 

Fifth Psalm

Let Christopher and Anne come forth with a pig as bold as an assistant professor. He who comes forth from soil and the subway makes poison sweet.

Let them come forth with a mole who has come from the artificial anus into the light to swallow the sun.

Come forth with a daisy who opens like a hand and wants to be counted for he loves me.

Come forth with an orange who will turn its flashlight on and glow in the dark like something holy.

Come forth with a snail who ties and unties his brain within a hard skull. No one sends a letter to the snail.

Let Christopher and Anne come forth with a squid who will come bringing his poison to wash over the Lord like melted licorice.

Come forth with a cauliflower who will plunk herself down beside Him and worry like a white brain.

Come forth with a rose who unfolds like nether lips and is a languid delight.

Come forth with a daffodil who is got up as a ballerina and who dances out into the ancient spring.

Come forth with a dog who is spotted and smiling and holds up his paw for the awful stars.

Come forth with a cockroach large enough to be Franz Kafka (may he rest in peace though locked in his room). Surely all who are locked in boxes of different sizes should have their hands held. Trains and planes should not be locked. One should be allowed to fly out of them and into the Lord’s mouth. The Lord is my shepherd, He will swallow me. The Lord is my shepherd, He will allow me back out.

Let Christopher and Anne come forth with a carp who is two-thirds too large to fit anywhere happy.

Come with a leopard who seeps like oil across the branch and has cotton batten for paws.

Come with the Mediterranean on a sunny day where the stars sleep one inch below the surface.

Come with a tree-frog who is more important to the field than Big Ben. He should not be locked in.

 

O Ye Tongues [V], út The Death Notebooks, 1974

a cockroach large enough to be Franz Kafka – Yn Die Verwandlung, in ferhaal út 1915 fan Franz Kafka, feroaret de haadpersoan, Gregor Samsa, yn in grut ynsekt. Syn heit, mem en suster slute him op yn syn keamer. Om harren net langer ta lêst te wêzen, beslút Gregor úteinlik om te stjerren.
Big Ben – Benjamin Franklin (1706–1790), ien fan de founding fathers fan de Feriene Steaten, ûntwerper fan de Amerikaanske Unôfhinklikheidsferklearring en de earste Postmaster General, sis mar minister fan posterijen. Ferlykje de Sande psalm, rigel 2.

Pleatst yn Anne Sexton | Tagged , , | Reaksjes út op Anne Sexton, Fyfde psalm

Anne Sexton, Sechde psalm

Pleatst op 19/03/2023 troch Klaas van der Hoek

 
Sechde psalm

Want Amearika is in dame yn in skommelstoel op in feranda yn in ferveleas hûs oan in ferlitten dyk mar Anne sjocht it net.

Want Amearika is een bibletekaris yn Wichita, dy’t stof ophoastet en toverballen dielt mei de postrinner.

Want Amearika is dr. Abraham, dy’t penisilline en plasebo’s útdielt yn de stêd Woolrich, Pennsylvania.

Want Amearika is in âldman dy’t syn fuotten wasket yn Albion, Michigan. Se mei soarch ôfdrûget en dêrby fuotpoeier fan Dr. Scholl brûkt. Mar Anne sjocht it net. Anne sit opsletten.

Want Amearika is in bekearde ynbrekker dy’t slotmakker wurden is, hy lûkt de rolgerdyntsjes fan syn winkel elke dei om 9 oere op (útsein sneins, dan lit er syn tillefoannûmer achter op de winkeldoar).

Want Amearika is een dikke frou dy’t in fleugel ôfstoft yn English Creek, New Jersey.

Want Amearika is in fabrikant fan suêde wanten dy’t sittend op syn grutte draaistoel de spullen befielt en syn kosten en baten byhâldt.

Want Amearika is in bussjauffeur yn Embarrass, Minnesota, hy klokt de kilometers en sjocht de kartonnen kofferkes foarbygean.

Want Amearika is een lân fan kommunisten en prohibisjonisten mar Anne sjocht it net. Anne is opsletten. De trotskisten sjogge har net. De republikeinen hawwe nea har kin beknypt want sy is der net. Anne ferskûlet har binnen en teart roas nei roas op en út. Sy hat net ien. Sy hat Christopher. Se sitte yn in keamer en knipe yn poppenoazen, pjukke yn poppe-eagen. Ienris joegen se in pop in ritsje yn in pluzige toffel, mar dat gong te fier, wier te fier. Anne doarde net. Sy stoppe de toffel mei de pop deryn as yn in auto fuortdaalk yn de kast en treau de doar ticht.

Want Amearika is de koplampeman in de Ford-fabryk yn Detroit, Michigan, dy fan de triedden, dy fan de wite bol, de hiele dei, de hiele dei, it hiele jier, in jier lang koplampen, santich elke dei, troch automatisearring ferbettere, mar Anne net.

Want Amearika is in kompel yn Ohio, dy’t yn it tsjustere hoal gliidt en elke nacht katte-eagen foar it ljocht hellet.

Want Amearika is inkeld dizze keamer… der is gjin nuttige beuzichheid.

Want foar Amearika binne inkeld dyn poppen plezierich.

 

Sixth Psalm

For America is a lady rocking on a porch in an unpainted house on an unused road but Anne does not see it.

For America is a librarian in Wichita coughing dust and sharing sourballs with the postman.

For America is Dr. Abraham passing out penicillin and sugar pills to the town of Woolrich, Pennsylvania.

For America is an old man washing his feet in Albion, Michigan. Drying them carefully and applying Dr. Scholl’s foot powder. But Anne does not see it. Anne is locked in.

For America is a reformed burglar turned locksmith who pulls up the shades of his shop at nine a.m. daily (except Sunday when he leaves his phone number on the shop door).

For America is a fat woman dusting a grand piano in English Creek, New Jersey.

For America is a suede glove manufacturer sitting in his large swivel chair feeling the goods and assessing his assets and debits.

For America is a bus driver in Embarrass, Minnesota, clocking the miles and watching the little cardboard suitcases file by.

For America is a land of Commies and Prohibitionists but Anne does not see it. Anne is locked in. The Trotskyites don’t see her. The Republicans have never tweaked her chin for she is not there. Anne hides inside folding and unfolding rose after rose. She has no one. She has Christopher. They sit in their room pinching the dolls’ noses, poking the dolls’ eyes. One time they gave a doll a ride in a fuzzy slipper but that was too far, too far wasn’t it. Anne did not dare. She put the slipper with the doll inside it as in a car right into the closet and pushed the door shut.

For America is the headlight man at the Ford plant in Detroit, Michigan, he of the wires, he of the white globe, all day, all day, all year, all his year’s headlights, seventy a day, improved by automation, but Anne does not.

For America is a miner in Ohio, slipping into the dark hole and bringing forth cat’s eyes each night.

For America is only this room . . . there is no useful activity.

For America only your dolls are cheerful.

 

O Ye Tongues [VI], út The Death Notebooks, 1974

Dr. Abraham – Edward Penley Abraham (1913–1999), in Ingelske biogemikus dy’t in grutte bydrage levere hat oan de ûntwikkeling fan de earste antibioatika: penisilline en sefalosporine.
Dr. Scholl’s – Amerikaanske firma yn skoechsel en fuotfersoargingsprodukten, opset yn 1906 troch William Matthias Scholl.

Pleatst yn Anne Sexton | Tagged , , | Reaksjes út op Anne Sexton, Sechde psalm

Anne Sexton, Sande psalm

Pleatst op 12/03/2023 troch Klaas van der Hoek

 
Sande psalm

Lit alle minsken harren ferbliidzje mei in boa fan seis meter dy’t de beam en de stien losser makket en kringelet as in tou fan rubber.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de Algemiene Postmaster dy’t yn Washington oan syn buro sit en troanjes op de postsegels tekenet.

De gier meibringe dy’t út ’e wolken wei op ies loert.

Lof jaan oan de spin dy’t út har teannen wei in stêd bout.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de Japanske kever, dy’t him te goed docht oan roazebledsjes, dy huningmûltsjes.

Harren ferbliidzje mei Peter Pan, dy’t fleanend goud bringt nei de krokodil.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de see-otter, dy’t op har rêch driuwt en har jong op har búk meidraacht.

Lof jaan mei de kreeft, dy’t de almeugende oppepper is en noch altyd in woldied foar de tonge.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de oester, dy’t feilich yn syn stege skulp leit en libben iten wurde kin.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de pandabear, dy’t himsels in krûpke jout.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de kakkerlak, ferspijd ûnder de skepsels, dy’t dochs syn ûneachlike plak gund wurdt.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de ansjofisk, dy’t yn en út salades flitst.

Lof jaan mei de seepok, dy’t himsels oan de rots fêstkit en him troch de weagen grien guod fiede lit.

Lof jaan mei de walfisk, dy’t in grut waarm thús reemakket foar Jonas en him tastiet syn eigen skilderijen op te hingjen.

Lof jaan mei de drúf, want leavjenden sille se drage op harren teannen.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de jirpel, dy’t in swiete frijer is en makke fan ingelematrassen.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de brokkoly, want it is in rûge reagebol dy’t maklik de mûle yngiet.

Lit Christopher en Anne harren ferbliidzje mei Winston Churchill en syn waarme en kâlde Blitz.

Lit harren ferbliidzje mei de speedboat dy’t foarbysjit en wite strepen achter him lit en sa fan de see even in tennisbaan makket.

 

Seventh Psalm

Let all rejoice with a boa whose twenty feet loosen the tree and the rock and coil like a rubber rope.

Rejoice with the Postmaster General who sits at his desk in Washington and draws faces on the stamps.

Bring forth the vulture who is a meat watcher from the clouds.

Give praise with the spider who builds a city out of her toes.

Rejoice with the Japanese beetle who feasts on rose petals, those mouths of honey.

Rejoice with Peter Pan who flies gold to the crocodile.

Rejoice with the sea otter who floats on her back and carries her young on her tummy.

Give praise with the lobster who is the almighty picker-upper and is still fine to the tongue.

Rejoice with the oyster who lies safely in his hard-nosed shell and who can be eaten alive.

Rejoice with the panda bear who hugs himself.

Rejoice with the roach who is despised among creatures and yet allowed his ugly place.

Rejoice with the anchovy who darts in and out of salads.

Give praise with the barnacle who cements himself to the rock and lets the waves feed him green stuff.

Give praise with the whale who will make a big warm home for Jonah and let him hang his very own pictures up.

Give praise with the grape for lovers will wear them on their toes.

Rejoice with the potato which is a sweet lover and made of angel-mattresses.

Rejoice with broccoli for it is a good bush-of-a-face and goes nicely in the mouth.

Let Christopher and Anne rejoice with Winston Churchill and his hot and cold Blitz.

Let them rejoice with the speedboat that skims by, leaving white lines behind it, making the sea a tennis court for a minute.

 

O Ye Tongues [VII], út The Death Notebooks, 1974

Winston Churchill – Miskien (ek) in ferwizing nei Sexton har heit, Ralph Churchill Harvey (1900–1959).

Pleatst yn Anne Sexton | Tagged , , | Reaksjes út op Anne Sexton, Sande psalm

Anne Sexton, Achtste psalm

Pleatst op 05/03/2023 troch Klaas van der Hoek

 
Achtste psalm

Nee. Nee. De frou is fleurich, sy glimket nei har búk. Sy hat in pûdfol sinesappels opslokt en is hiel foldien.

Want sy hat de reis goed trochstien en yn har keamer binne de lytse minsken.

Want sy hat de ôfspraakjes achteryn de Fords oerlibbe, sy hat de pimels fan har tienerjierren oerlibbe om hjir te kommen, yn de echtlike haven.

Want sy is de ferbeane, dy’t mei har tsien lange fingers seit hoe let it is.

Want sy is de gefaarlike heuvels en hiel wat klimmers reitsje op sa’n trochtocht ferlern.

Want sy is losrekke fan it minskdom; sy breidet in babysjaal fan har eigen hier.

Want sy is troch Christopher yn in kreas pakketsje proppe dat pas nei wiken iepengiet.

Want sy is in mannichte, sy is in protte. Sy is elk fan ús wylst wy ússels mei in handoek ôfdrûgje.

Want sy wurdt fiede troch it tsjuster.

Want sy leit yn de donkere keamer bonken te plak.

Want sy klusteret goud en sulver, mineralen en gemikaliën.

Want sy is in oppotter, sy ferstoppet side en wol, lippen en wite eachjes.

Want sy sjocht no de ein fan har opsluting en as in stien wachtet sy op de wetters.

Want de baby lit syn holtsje sjen en der is minskelemieren yn de wrâld.

Want de baby leit yn syn wetter en bloed en der is in minskeskreau yn de wrâld.

Want de baby drinkt tate en der is in folk makke fan molke dat sy brûke kin. Der binne molkbeammen om har yn te flústerjen. Der binne molkbêden om op te lizzen en te dreamen fan in waarme keamer. Der binne molkfingers om ticht en iepen te tearen. Der binne molkpoepertsjes dy’t wiet binne, streake wurde en in ruft omkrije.

Want der binne in protte molkwrâlden om ûnder de moanne trochhinne te rinnen.

Want de baby groeit en de mem nimt har hummeltsje op ’e knibbel en sjongt in liet oer Christopher en Anne.

Want de mem sjongt lieten oer de baby dy’t der weet fan hie.

Want de mem hat noch weet fan de baby dy’t sy wie en noait slút sy op of knoeit sy of set sy earne fier fuort apart.

Want de baby libbet. De mem sil stjerre en as sy stjert, giet Christopher mei har mei. Christopher dy’t syn tuten trochboarre en jubele om twa út ien te meitsjen.

 

Eighth Psalm

No. No. The woman is cheerful, she smiles at her stomach. She has swallowed a bagful of oranges and is well pleased.

For she has come through the voyage fit and her room carries the little people.

For she has outlived the dates in the back of Fords, she has outlived the penises of her teens to come here, to the married harbor.

For she is the forbidden one, telling time by her ten long fingers.

For she is the dangerous hills and many a climber will be lost on such a passage.

For she is lost from mankind; she is knitting her own hair into a baby shawl.

For she is stuffed by Christopher into a neat package that will not undo until the weeks pass.

For she is a magnitude, she is many. She is each of us patting ourselves dry with a towel.

For she is nourished by darkness.

For she is in the dark room putting bones into place.

For she is clustering the gold and the silver, the minerals and the chemicals.

For she is a hoarder, she puts away silks and wools and lips and small white eyes.

For she is seeing the end of her confinement now and is waiting like a stone for the waters.

For the baby crowns and there is a people-dawn in the world.

For the baby lies in its water and blood and there is a people-cry in the world.

For the baby suckles and there is a people made of milk for her to use. There are milk trees to hiss her on. There are milk beds in which to lie and dream of a warm room. There are milk fingers to fold and unfold. There are milk bottoms that are wet and caressed and put into their cotton.

For there are many worlds of milk to walk through under the moon.

For the baby grows and the mother places her giggle-jog on her knee and sings a song of Christopher and Anne.

For the mother sings songs of the baby that knew.

For the mother remembers the baby she was and never locks or twists or puts lonely into a foreign place.

For the baby lives. The mother will die and when she does Christopher will go with her. Christopher who stabbed his kisses and cried up to make two out of one.

 

O Ye Tongues [VIII], út The Death Notebooks, 1974

Pleatst yn Anne Sexton | Tagged | Reaksjes út op Anne Sexton, Achtste psalm

Anne Sexton, Njoggende psalm

Pleatst op 26/02/2023 troch Klaas van der Hoek

 
Njoggende psalm

Lit de iikhoarnmarmot de Heare loovje as er Jakobs Ljedder ophipt.

Lit it fleantúch de Heare loovje as it mei it keninkryk flirt.

Lit de Goede Fee lof bringe mei har swiere pûdfol dûbeltsjes.

Lit harren lof bringe mei in jiske-amer foar elkien dy’t bûtensletten is.

Lof bringe mei in basketbal as dy Gods mûle binnengiet.

Lof bringe mei in limoeneskyl as dy yn de presidint syn drankje driuwt.

Lof bringe mei in iisblokje want it draacht foar even miniatuer iisbearen.

Tsjinje mei in skiep want it sil it burd fan de Heare frisearje mei in kroltange.

Tsjinje mei in ezel om de noedzjende ingel Jeruzalem yn te dragen.

Harren ferbliidzje mei in Mustang want dy sil op de sneldyk dûnsje sûnder botsingen.

Ferskine mei in bûslampe opdat de stjerren net wurch reitsje.

In tsjil meibringe om de deaden it paradys yn te kroadzjen.

Lof bringe mei in foarke opdat de ingels rieraai ite kinne op sneintejûnen.

In útgongsboerd meibringe opdat elk dy’t binnenkomt wit wêr’t de útgong is.

In húsmosk meibringe opdat sy nederich har swabbers delleit op de fuotten fan God.

In operasjonger meibringe opdat sy by elk konsert de moanne út har mûle komme lit.

Harren ferbliidzje mei de goudfisk want dêr yn syn lytse glêzen kom slokt dy de sinneûndergong op.

Harren ferbliidzje mei in pryster dy’t syn boardsje opslokt as in tongspatel.

Harren ferbliidzje mei in rabby dy’t syn burd kjimt as seegers.

In do meibringe dy’t pofte mais ite sil of ôfknipte stikjes teanneil.

 

Ninth Psalm

Let the chipmunk praise the Lord as he bounds up Jacob’s Ladder.

Let the airplane praise the Lord as she flirts with the kingdom.

Let the Good Fairy praise with her heavy bagful of dimes.

Let them praise with a garbage can for all who are cast out.

Praise with a basketball as it enters God’s mouth.

Praise with a lemon peel as it floats in the president’s drink.

Praise with an ice cube for it will hold up miniature polar bears for a second.

Serve with a sheep for it will crimp the Lord’s beard with a curling iron.

Serve with a donkey to carry the worrying angel into Jerusalem.

Rejoice with a Mustang for it will dance down the highway and bump no one.

Appear with a flashlight so the stars will not get tired.

Bring forth a wheel to cart the dead into paradise.

Praise with a fork so that the angels may eat scrambled eggs on Sunday nights.

Come forth with an exit sign so that all those entering will know the way out.

Come forth with a homebody so that she may humble her mops on God’s feet.

Come forth with an opera singer so that each concert she may let the moon out of her mouth.

Rejoice with the goldfish for it swallows the sunset from its little glass bowl.

Rejoice with a priest who swallows his collar like a tongue depressor.

Rejoice with a rabbi who combs his beard out like eel grass.

Bring forth a pigeon who will eat popcorn or toenail parings.

 

O Ye Tongues [IX], út The Death Notebooks, 1974

Pleatst yn Anne Sexton | Tagged | Reaksjes út op Anne Sexton, Njoggende psalm

Anne Sexton, Tsiende psalm

Pleatst op 19/02/2023 troch Klaas van der Hoek

 
Tsiende psalm

Want sa’t de baby as in seestjer yn har miljoen ljochtjierren iepenbarst, moat Anne, beseft se, har eigen berch beklimme.

Want sa’t sy wiisheid yt as de helten fan in par, set sy ien foet foar de oare. Sy beklimt de tsjustere flank.

Want sa’t har bern groeit, groeit Anne en der is sâlt, meloen en sjerp foar elk.

Want sa’t Anne rint, rint de muzyk en it gesin jout him yn molke del.

Want ik bin net opsletten.

Want ik set fûst oer fûst op rots en plomp yn de hichte fan wurden. De stilte fan wurden.

Want de echtgenoat ferkeapet syn rein oan God en God is op ’t skik mei Syn gesin.

Want tegearre keare sy harren tsjin hurdens en earne, yn in oare keamer, knipten freonlike fingers it ljocht oan.

Want de dea oerkomt freonen, âlden, susters. De dea komt mei syn sekfol pine en dochs ferflokke sy de kaai dy’t harren yn hannen drukt wie net.

Want sy iepenje elke doar en dat jout harren in nije dei by it giele finster.

Want it bern groeit út ta in frou, har boarsten komme op as de moanne wylst Anne de fredesstien opwriuwt.

Want it bern begjint har eigen berch (net opsletten) en berikt de kustline fan druven.

Want Anne en har dochter betwinge de berch kear op kear. Dan fynt it bern in man dy’t iepengiet as de see.

Want dy dochter moat har eigen stêd bouwe en dy folje mei har eigen sinesappels, wurden fan harsels.

Want Anne rûn omheech en omheech, op ’t lêst jierrenlang, oant sy âld wie as de moanne, en like seurderich.

Want Anne wie oer acht bergen klommen en seach dat de bern de lytse bylden op it plein skjinmakken.

Want Anne siet mei it bloed fan in hammer en makke in grêfstien foar harsels, en Christopher siet nêst har en wie op ’t skik mei harren reade skaad.

Want sy hongen in skilderij fan in rôt op en de rôt glimke en stuts syn hân út.

Want de rôt wie seine op dy berch. Hy wie yn in wyt bad dien.

Want de molke yn de loften sakke op harren del en stoppe harren yn.

Want God ferliet harren net mar liet de bloedingel op harren passe oant it tiid wie dat sy harren stjer yngean soenen.

Want de himelhûnen sprongen te foarskyn en skoden snie op ús en wy leinen yn ús stille bloed.

Want God wie sa grut as in hichtesinne en lake ús syn waarmte ta en dêrom skrillen wy by it deademansgat net tebek.

 

Tenth Psalm

For as the baby springs out like a starfish into her million light years Anne sees that she must climb her own mountain.

For as she eats wisdom like the halves of a pear she puts one foot in front of the other. She climbs the dark wing.

For as her child grows Anne grows and there is salt and cantaloupe and molasses for all.

For as Anne walks, the music walks and the family lies down in milk.

For I am not locked up.

For I am placing fist over fist on rock and plunging into the altitude of words. The silence of words.

For the husband sells his rain to God and God is well pleased with His family.

For they fling together against hardness and somewhere, in another room, a light is clicked on by gentle fingers.

For death comes to friends, to parents, to sisters. Death comes with its bagful of pain yet they do not curse the key they were given to hold.

For they open each door and it gives them a new day at the yellow window.

For the child grows into a woman, her breasts coming up like the moon while Anne rubs the peace stone.

For the child starts up her own mountain (not being locked in) and reaches the coastline of grapes.

For Anne and her daughter master the mountain and again and again. Then the child finds a man who opens like the sea.

For that daughter must build her own city and fill it with her own oranges, her own words.

For Anne walked up and up and finally over the years until she was old as the moon and with its naggy voice.

For Anne had climbed over eight mountains and saw the children washing the tiny statues in the square.

For Anne sat down with the blood of a hammer and built a tombstone for herself and Christopher sat beside her and was well pleased with their red shadow.

For they hung up a picture of a rat and the rat smiled and held out his hand.

For the rat was blessed on that mountain. He was given a white bath.

For the milk in the skies sank down upon them and tucked them in.

For God did not forsake them but put the blood angel to look after them until such a time as they would enter their star.

For the sky dogs jumped out and shoveled snow upon us and we lay in our quiet blood.

For God was as large as a sunlamp and laughed his heat at us and therefore we did not cringe at the death hole.

 

O Ye Tongues [X], út The Death Notebooks, 1974

Pleatst yn Anne Sexton | Tagged | Reaksjes út op Anne Sexton, Tsiende psalm