{"id":12980,"date":"2019-10-28T02:00:01","date_gmt":"2019-10-28T01:00:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.konsenylje.nl\/?p=12980"},"modified":"2022-07-08T11:48:01","modified_gmt":"2022-07-08T09:48:01","slug":"elizabeth-bishop-grilk","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.konsenylje.nl\/?p=12980","title":{"rendered":"Elizabeth Bishop, Grilk<\/em>"},"content":{"rendered":"

 
\nGrilk<\/em><\/big><\/p>\n

It bolderjen besiden nimt er foar leaf,
\nek dat de wr\u00e2ld fan en ta skodzje moat. Hy rint,
\nrint op s\u00fad oan, keken, knoffelich, yn in steat
\nfan behearske panyk, in Blake-studint.<\/p>\n

It str\u00e2n systeret as fet. In laachje wetter links
\nfan him komt en giet, fersteurt en leit glazuer
\noer syn donkere, broazele poatsjes. Hy rint,
\nrint der dwers troch wylst er nei syn teannen kuert.<\/p>\n

\u2013 Of nee, de s\u00e2nige romten dertusken kuert er nei,
\nd\u00ear\u2019t (gjin detail te lyts) de Atlantyske Oseaan
\nfluch tebek en nei \u00fbnderen l\u00fbkt. Rinnendewei
\nstoareaget er nei de sljurkjende kerlen s\u00e2n.<\/p>\n

De wr\u00e2ld is in dize. En dan wer is de wr\u00e2ld
\neksakt, oergrut en helder. Hy kin net
\nfertelle wat tij it is. \u2019t Is eb. Of floed.
\nMei de snaffel yn oanslach is er drok beset<\/p>\n

mei sykjen, ja nei wat, nei wat, nei wat.
\nHy is obsedearre, it earme bist!
\nDe miljoenen kerlen binne b\u00eazje, griis, wyt en swart,
\nbemongen mei kerlen r\u00f4ze kwarts en ametist.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sandpiper<\/big><\/em><\/p>\n

The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
\nand that every so often the world is bound to shake.
\nHe runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
\nin a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.<\/p>\n

The beach hisses like fat. On his left, a sheet
\nof interrupting water comes and goes
\nand glazes over his dark and brittle feet.
\nHe runs, he runs straight through it, watching his toes.<\/p>\n

\u2014Watching, rather, the spaces of sand between them,
\nwhere (no detail too small) the Atlantic drains
\nrapidly backwards and downwards. As he runs,
\nhe stares at the dragging grains.<\/p>\n

The world is a mist. And then the world is
\nminute and vast and clear. The tide
\nis higher or lower. He couldn\u2019t tell you which.
\nHis beak is focussed; he is preoccupied,<\/p>\n

looking for something, something, something.
\nPoor bird, he is obsessed!
\nThe millions of grains are black, white, tan, and gray,
\nmixed with quartz grains, rose and amethyst.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ut Questions of Travel<\/em>, 1965. William Blake begjint syn gedicht \u2018Auguries of Innocence\u2019 mei de rigels: \u2018To see a World in a Grain of Sand \/ And a Heaven in a Wild Flower\u2019.<\/p>\n

YouTube: John Plant, Sandpiper<\/em>, songen troch Suzie LeBlanc, 2013 [earder: John D. Scott, Sandpiper<\/em>, foardroegen troch Geneva Moreland, 2011; net near beskikber, 08-07-2022].<\/p>\n