Wallace Stevens, Boeket roazen yn sinneljocht

 
Boeket roazen yn sinneljocht

Neam it in rûch effekt, swarte readen,
Rôze gielen, oranje witen, te bot as sy binne
En wês yn it sinneljocht fan de keamer wat oars,

Te bot as sy binne en feroarje troch metaforyk,
Te hjir en hjoed, dingen dy’t troch echt te wêzen
Alle ferbyldings dêrfan ta minder dingen meitsje.

En dochs is dat effekt in gefolch fan hoe’t
Wy fiele, en dêrom is it net echt, útsein
Yn ús besef derfan, ús besef fan it rypste read,

Fan giel as de earste kleur en fan wyt
Dêr’t it besef yn stilleit, sa’t in minske leit,
Massyf, yn in foltôgjen fan syn wierheid.

Us besef fan dy dingen feroaret en sy feroarje,
Net as yn metaforyk, mar yn hoe’t wy
Se beseffe. Besef oertreft dus alle metaforyk.

It oertreft de foarse feroarings fan it ljocht.
It is as in stream fan betsjuttings sûnder spraak
En fan likefolle betsjuttings as fan minsken.

Wy binne twa dy’t dy roazen brûke as wy binne,
Troch se te sjen. Krekt dêrtroch lykje sy sa fier
Bûten it berik fan de retoarikus syn taast.

 

Bouquet of Roses in Sunlight

Say that it is a crude effect, black reds,
Pink yellows, orange whites, too much as they are
To be anything else in the sunlight of the room,

Too much as they are to be changed by metaphor,
Too actual, things that in being real
Make any imaginings of them lesser things.

And yet this effect is a consequence of the way
We feel and, therefore, is not real, except
In our sense of it, our sense of the fertilest red,

Of yellow as first color and of white,
In which the sense lies still, as a man lies,
Enormous, in a completing of his truth.

Our sense of these things changes and they change,
Not as in metaphor, but in our sense
Of them. So sense exceeds all metaphor.

It exceeds the heavy changes of the light.
It is like a flow of meanings with no speech
And of as many meanings as of men.

We are two that use these roses as we are,
In seeing them. This is what makes them seem
So far beyond the rhetorician’s touch.

 

Ut The Auroras of Autumn, 1950

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