Foarsjen yn in bestean
Jona foarseach yn syn bestean
binnenyn de búk.
Mines komt fan krekt itselde plak.
Jona iepene de doar fan syn kajút
en sei ‘Hjir bin ik!’, wat de walfisk oanstie,
dat hy woe him wol ynnimme.
By de bek âle Jona it út.
By de mage wie er lytsman.
Hy bonke net op de muorren.
Tomkesobje die er likemin.
Hy heve de holle oandachtich op
as in fertochte by syn eigen proses.
Jona helle de beurs fan syn heit tefoarskyn
en besocht it jild te tellen
mar alles wie weispield.
Jona helle de foto fan syn mem tefoarskyn
en besocht de eagen te tútsjen
mar alles wie weispield.
Jona ûntdie him fan syn jas en syn broek,
syn strik, horloazjeketting, mansjetknopen
en joech se oer.
Hy siet der by as in âldmoadrige baaigast
yn himd en ûnderbroek.
Dit is myn dea,
sei Jona lûdop,
en it begripe komt my te’n goede.
Elke bysûnderheid printsje ik my yn.
Lytse fiskjes swommen lâns syn noas,
hy printe him dat yn en rekke harren slym oan.
Der kaam plankton, hy hold it yn ’e hânpalm
as God syn lytste gloeilampen.
Syn hiele ferline wie dêrsa by him
en hy iet it.
Op dat stuit koarre de walfisk
him wer út yn de see.
De skokkend blauwe loft.
De skokkend wite boaten.
De sinne as in krakelearre eachbol.
Doe fertelde er de nijsmedia
de nuvere bysûnderheden fan syn dea
en se kloppen him op yn de kommersje
en ferkochten, ferkochten, ferkochten him.
Myn dea krekt sa.
Making a Living
Jonah made his living
inside the belly.
Mine comes from the exact same place.
Jonah opened the door of his stateroom
and said, “Here I am!” and the whale liked this
and thought to take him in.
At the mouth Jonah cried out.
At the stomach he was humbled.
He did not beat on the walls.
Nor did he suck his thumb.
He cocked his head attentively
like a defendant at his own trial.
Jonah took out the wallet of his father
and tried to count the money
and it was all washed away.
Jonah took out the picture of his mother
and tried to kiss the eyes
and it was all washed away.
Jonah took off his coat and his trousers,
his tie, his watch fob, his cuff links
and gave them up.
He sat like an old-fashioned bather
in his undershirt and drawers.
This is my death,
Jonah said out loud,
and it will profit me to understand it.
I will make a mental note of each detail.
Little fish swam by his nose
and he noted them and touched their slime.
Plankton came and he held them in his palm
like God’s littlest light bulbs.
His whole past was there with him
and he ate that.
At this point the whale
vomited him back out into the sea.
The shocking blue sky.
The shocking white boats.
The sun like a crazed eyeball.
Then he told the news media
the strange details of his death
and they hammered him up in the marketplace
and sold him and sold him and sold him.
My death the same.
Ut The Death Notebooks, 1974. YouTube: Anne Sexton Reads Her Poetry: ‘Making a Living’.
De bondel The Death Notebooks krige as motto in sitaat mei út de postúm ferskynde memoires A Moveable Feast (1964) fan Ernest Hemingway: ‘Look, you con man, make a living out of your death.’
