Robert Frost, Sang wie it doel

 
Sang wie it doel

De minske kaam en die ’t him foar;
    Goed blaze wie de wyn nea leard.
By dei en nacht, yn ’t rûchste oard,
    Hie hy op ’t lûdste blaasd en beard.

De minske sei: dochst it ferkeard,
    Moatst blaze fan in gaadlik plak;
It doel is sang – do blaast forseard.
    Hear my – sa joust it syn gerak!

Hy naam in mûlfol, net in boel,
    En hold dat sa lang binnenyn
Dat noard yn súd feroarje koe,
    Blies doe mei mjitte út wat wyn.

Mei mjitte. It wie wurd en toan,
    Wyn sa’t de wyn graach wêze woe –
Lâns kiel en lippen, sunichoan.
    De wyn begriep: sang wie it doel.

 

The Aim Was Song

Before man came to blow it right
    The wind once blew itself untaught,
And did its loudest day and night
    In any rough place where it caught.

Man came to tell it what was wrong:
    It hadn’t found the place to blow;
It blew too hard—the aim was song.
    And listen—how it ought to go!

He took a little in his mouth,
    And held it long enough for north
To be converted into south,
    And then by measure blew it forth.

By measure. It was word and note,
    The wind the wind had meant to be—
A little through the lips and throat.
    The aim was song—the wind could see.

 

Ut New Hampshire, 1923

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