Robert Frost, Woastenijen

 
Woastenijen

Yn in fjild dat ik seach, besiden myn doel,
Dêr’t snie foel en hurd-hurd de nacht oer foel,
Waard de grûn in hast glêde tekken fan snie,
Mei wat lêste rûchte en raaieboel.

It is fan de wâlden hjirre – harres is ’t.
Yn syn leger bedobbe leit elk bist.
Neat dat ik, geastlik te fier fuort, noch tel,
Troch iensumens ynsletten ear’t ik it wist.

’t Is iensum fan it soarte ferlittenheid
Dat mear, ear’t it minderet, iensumens foarseit –
In blanker wytheid fan benachte snie
Dy’t sprakeleas, neatsizzend om my leit.

Bang kinne my net dy lege romten krije,
Dêr op en tusken stjerren – sielleaze kontreien.
’t Sit yn my en jei safolle tichter by hûs
Mysels skrik oan mei myn eigen woastenijen.

 

Desert Places

Snow falling and night falling fast, oh, fast
In a field I looked into going past,
And the ground almost covered smooth in snow,
But a few weeds and stubble showing last.

The woods around it have it—it is theirs.
All animals are smothered in their lairs.
I am too absent-spirited to count;
The loneliness includes me unawares.

And lonely as it is, that loneliness
Will be more lonely ere it will be less—
A blanker whiteness of benighted snow
With no expression, nothing to express.

They cannot scare me with their empty spaces
Between stars—on stars where no human race is.
I have it in me so much nearer home
To scare myself with my own desert places.

 

Ut A Further Range, 1936

This entry was posted in Robert Frost and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.