It sljochte begryp fan de dingen
No’t de blêden fallen binne, keare wy werom
Nei in sljocht begryp fan de dingen. It is as
Hienen wy de ein berikt fan de ferbylding,
Ynspiraasjeleas yn in ynert savoir.
It is sels dreech en kies it adjektyf
Foar dizze effen kjeld, dit tryste sûnder reden.
It grutte bouwurk is in behindich hûs wurden.
Der rint gjin tulbân oer de ôftakke flierren.
De túnkas hie nea earder sa bot ferve nedich.
De skoarstien is fyftich jier âld en stiet skeef.
In bjuster stribjen is mislearre, in werhelling
Yn in hieltyd werheljen fan minsken en miggen.
Lykwols, de ôfwêzigens fan de ferbylding
Moast sels ferbylde wurde. De grutte fiver,
It sljochte begryp derfan, sûnder spegeling, blêden,
Slyk, wetter as smoarch glês, it drukt ien of oare
Stilte út, de stilte fan in rôt dy’t ynienen omgnúft,
De grutte fiver mei syn ôffal fan leeljes, dit alles
Moast ferbylde wurde as in ûnûntwynber witten,
Fereaske, sa’t in needsaak it fereasket.
The Plain Sense of Things
After the leaves have fallen, we return
To a plain sense of things. It is as if
We had come to an end of the imagination,
Inanimate in an inert savoir.
It is difficult even to choose the adjective
For this blank cold, this sadness without cause.
The great structure has become a minor house.
No turban walks across the lessened floors.
The greenhouse never so badly needed paint.
The chimney is fifty years old and slants to one side.
A fantastic effort has failed, a repetition
In a repetitiousness of men and flies.
Yet the absence of the imagination had
Itself to be imagined. The great pond,
The plain sense of it, without reflections, leaves,
Mud, water like dirty glass, expressing silence
Of a sort, silence of a rat come out to see,
The great pond and its waste of the lilies, all this
Had to be imagined as an inevitable knowledge,
Required, as a necessity requires.
Ut The Rock, 1954