Wallace Stevens, De planeet op tafel

 
De planeet op tafel

Ariel wie bliid dat er syn fersen skreaun hie.
Se gongen oer in tebinnenbrochte tiid
Of eat dat er sjoen hie en dat him oanstie.

Oar gemaak fan de sinne
Wie rommel en rotsoai
En de ripe strûk skronfele.

Syn sels en de sinne wienen ien
En syn fersen, hoewol gemaak fan syn sels,
Wienen net minder gemaak fan de sinne.

Oft se oerlibje die der net ta.
It gong der om dat se wat kontoer
Of karakter fertoane soenen,

Wat oerfloed, al wie it mar heal-begrepen,
Yn de skeamelens fan harren wurden,
Fan de planeet dêr’t se part fan wienen.

 

The Planet on the Table

Ariel was glad he had written his poems.
They were of a remembered time
Or of something seen that he liked.

Other makings of the sun
Were waste and welter
And the ripe shrub writhed.

His self and the sun were one
And his poems, although makings of his self,
Were no less makings of the sun.

It was not important that they survive.
What mattered was that they should bear
Some lineament or character,

Some affluence, if only half-perceived,
In the poverty of their words,
Of the planet of which they were part.

 

Ut The Rock, 1954

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