Oantekening oer moanneljocht
As in sljochte dichter dy’t syn geast gean lit
Oer de gelikens fan syn ferskate hielal, sa skynt,
Yn de monogrome nacht, dit iene moanneljocht
Op de bare foarwerplikens fan de dingen.
It is as makket observearre wurde it wêzen út,
As is, mids de mooglike bedoelings
Fan wat men sjocht, de bedoeling dy’t earst komt,
It oerflak, de bedoeling dy’t sjoen wurde moat,
De eigenskip fan de moanne, wat it opropt.
It is de essinsjele tsjintwurdigens ûntslute
Fan, sis, in berch, minder in foarwerp
Mar hast ta in betsjutting útdijd en ferheft;
Of oars yn de figuer dy’t op de dyk wachtet
Mear in foarwerp ûntslute, in ûnbepaalde foarm
Tusken de kromme stalten fan in skutter en in frijer yn,
In gebeart yn it tsjuster, in eangst dy’t field wurdt
Yn de nachtlike fiergesichten, dan dy foarm oannimt,
Yn de hortus dy’t as fan stjer Saturnus is.
Sa is dan dizze waarme, wide, waarleaze rêst
Wurksum mei in krêft, in ynherint libben,
Nettsjinsteande de bare foarwerplikens fan de dingen,
As in wolkich plakje yn de hoeke fan in spegel,
In ferkleuring yn de sljochte dichter syn geast,
Nacht en stilte fersteurd troch in ynderlik lûd,
Dit iene moanneljocht, it ferskate hielal, sa bot bedoeld
Om mar sjoen te wurden – in bedoeling, leech
Faaks, absurd faaks, mar teminsten in bedoeling,
Wis en aloan wer nij. Ach! Wis, welseker…
Note on Moonlight
The one moonlight, in the simple-colored night,
Like a plain poet revolving in his mind
The sameness of his various universe,
Shines on the mere objectiveness of things.
It is as if being was to be observed,
As if, among the possible purposes
Of what one sees, the purpose that comes first,
The surface, is the purpose to be seen,
The property of the moon, what it evokes.
It is to disclose the essential presence, say,
Of a mountain, expanded and elevated almost
Into a sense, an object the less; or else
To disclose in the figure waiting on the road
An object the more, an undetermined form
Between the slouchings of a gunman and a lover,
A gesture in the dark, a fear one feels
In the great vistas of night air, that takes this form,
In the arbors that are as if of Saturn-star.
So, then, this warm, wide, weatherless quietude
Is active with a power, an inherent life,
In spite of the mere objectiveness of things,
Like a cloud-cap in the corner of a looking-glass,
A change of color in the plain poet’s mind,
Night and silence disturbed by an interior sound,
The one moonlight, the various universe, intended
So much just to be seen – a purpose, empty
Perhaps, absurd perhaps, but at least a purpose,
Certain and ever more fresh. Ah! Certain, for sure . . .
Ut The Rock, 1954