Wallace Stevens, Fragen binne opmerkings

 
Fragen binne opmerkings

Yn it simmertúch komt de griene sprút wêrom.
De sinne skroeit en skrynt, giet dan hui hui tebek
Op de kimen mids folwoeksen enfantillages.

It slagget har fjoer net it sjen dat har oanskôget
Troch te prippen, antike oannames te dylgjen,
Utsein dat de pakesizzer har sjocht sa’t sy is,

Peter de voyant, dy’t seit: ‘Mem, wat is dat’ –
It ding dat opgiet mei sa’n protte retoryk,
Mar net foar him. Syn fraach is kompleet.

It is de fraach dêr’t hy ta by steat is. It is
De meast fiergeande fan in ekspert aetat. 2.
Nea sil er it reade hynder beride dat sy beskriuwt.

Syn fraach is kompleet want hy befettet
Syn uterste bewearing. It is syn eigen útris,
Syn eigen parade, prosesje, tableau vivant,

Sa fier as neatigens it talit... Hear him.
Hy seit net: ‘Mem, memkeleaf, wa is mem’,
Sa’t âlde manlju dogge, slûgjend, ynfantyl.

 

Questions Are Remarks

In the weed of summer comes the green sprout why.
The sun aches and ails and then returns halloo
Upon the horizon amid adult enfantillages.

Its fire fails to pierce the vision that beholds it,
Fails to destroy the antique acceptances,
Except that the grandson sees it as it is,

Peter the voyant, who says, “Mother, what is that” –
The object that rises with so much rhetoric,
But not for him. His question is complete.

It is the question of what he is capable.
It is the extreme, the expert aetat. 2.
He will never ride the red horse she describes.

His question is complete because it contains
His utmost statement. It is his own array,
His own pageant and procession and display,

As far as nothingness permits . . . Hear him.
He does not say, “Mother, my mother, who are you,”
The way the drowsy, infant, old men do.

 

Ut The Auroras of Autumn, 1950

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