Jezus noch net berne
Hûndert hollen lit de galge
falle op ’e grûn
en yn Judea is Jezus noch net berne.
Maria moat noch swier wurde.
Maria sit yn in boskje olivebeammen
en yn har hals slacht in lichte hertklop.
Slacht it ritme fan trommen.
De boarne dêr’t sy har krûk yn sakje liet
joech har it ynstinkt fan in bist.
No soe se har deljaan wolle
as in kamiel en bêdzje yn de ierde.
Hoewol’t it moment suprême hast oanbrekt,
woe se fan en ta wol slûgje as in hûn.
Se woe wol glêdstrutsen wurde as de see
as dy kalmearret, in fjild fol mollen.
Mar nee, in frjemd wêzen bûcht oer har hinne,
pakt har stevich by it kin en stoarret har oan
mei de eagen fan in boal.
Njoggen klokken springe iepen
en smite harsels tsjin de sinne.
De kalinders fan de wrâld
fleane yn brân ast se oanrekkest.
Dit alles bliuwt yn it ûnthâld.
No sille wy in Kristus hawwe.
Hy bedekt har as in swiere doar
en slút har foar it libben op
yn dizze near útsjende dei.
Jesus Unborn
The gallowstree drops
one hundred heads upon the ground
and in Judea Jesus is unborn.
Mary is not yet with child.
Mary sits in a grove of olive trees
with the small pulse in her neck
beating. Beating the drumbeat.
The well that she dipped her pitcher into
has made her as instinctive as an animal.
Now she would like to lower herself down
like a camel and settle into the soil.
Although she is at the penultimate moment
she would like to doze fitfully like a dog.
She would like to be flattened out like the sea
when it lies down, a field of moles.
Instead a strange being leans over her
and lifts her chin firmly
and gazes at her with executioner’s eyes.
Nine clocks spring open
and smash themselves against the sun.
The calendars of the world
burn if you touch them.
All this will be remembered.
Now we will have a Christ.
He covers her like a heavy door
and shuts her lifetime up
into this dump-faced day.
The Jesus Papers [VIII], út The Book of Folly, 1972