Emily Dickinson, 308

 
Ik wie yn Sykheljen betûft -
En no, ferwidere fan Lucht -
Doch Ik de Siken sa goed nei -
Dat Wa’t om wissens sjocht -

De Longen lizze stil - dy daalt
Mar mids de tûke sellen ôf -
Betaast de Pantomime - Sels,
Wat fielt de Balge dôf!

 

I breathed enough to take the Trick -
And now, removed from Air -
I simulate the Breath, so well -
That One, to be quite sure -

The Lungs are stirless - must descend
Among the cunning cells -
And touch the Pantomime - Himself,
How numb, the Bellows feels!

 

F308 (J272). In eardere ferzje yn Emily Dickinson, Wetter, wurdt jin leard troch toarst. Twaentweintich fersen oerset troch Klaas van der Hoek, Zoeterwoude 1999, s. 17.

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