Wallace Stevens, In knyn as kening fan de skimen

 
In knyn as kening fan de skimen

De dregens en tink nei oan de ein fan de dei,
As it foarmleaze skaad de sinne oerdekt
En der oars neat bleaun is as ljocht op dyn facht –

Der wie de kat dy’t de hiele dei syn molke motte,
Kat grou, tonge read, geast grien, molke wyt,
En augustus de meast fredefolle moanne.

Te wêzen, yn it gers, yn de fredefolste tiid,
Sûnder dat monumint fan in kat,
De kat fergetten yn de moanne;

En te fielen dat it ljocht in knineljocht is,
Wêryn’t alles bedoeld is foar dy
En neat útlis nedich hat;

Dan is der neat om te oertinken. It komt út himsels;
En east stoot nei west en west stoot nei ûnderen,
Let neat. It gers is fol

En fol fan dysels. It beamte rûnom is foar dy,
De nachtlike wrydskens is hielendal foar dy,
In sels dat alle rânen rekket,

Do wurdst in sels dat de nachtwynstreken follet.
De reade kat krûpt ferside yn it fachtljocht
En dan wurdsto heech hyst, ophyst,

Heger en heger wurdst hyst, swart as stien –
Do sitst mei dyn kop as fykwurk yn it hielal
En de lytse griene kat is in krobbe yn it gers.

 

A Rabbit as King of the Ghosts

The difficulty to think at the end of day,
When the shapeless shadow covers the sun
And nothing is left except light on your fur –

There was the cat slopping its milk all day,
Fat cat, red tongue, green mind, white milk
And August the most peaceful month.

To be, in the grass, in the peacefullest time,
Without that monument of cat,
The cat forgotten in the moon;

And to feel that the light is a rabbit-light,
In which everything is meant for you
And nothing need be explained;

Then there is nothing to think of. It comes of itself;
And east rushes west and west rushes down,
No matter. The grass is full

And full of yourself. The trees around are for you,
The whole of the wideness of night is for you,
A self that touches all edges,

You become a self that fills the four corners of night.
The red cat hides away in the fur-light
And there you are humped high, humped up,

You are humped higher and higher, black as stone –
You sit with your head like a carving in space
And the little green cat is a bug in the grass.

 

Ut Parts of a World, 1942

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