In spegel de see – Improvisaties op Wind, Water en Wad – The sea a mirror

‘In spegel de see’, Improvisaties op Wind, Water en Wad, Museum Belvédère, It Hearrenfean, juny 2015, p. 92.

omslach

gedicht In spegel de see
It gedicht ‘De spegel, de see’ is ûnderdiel fan it fideopoëzyprojekt It fûnis / it font, ien fan de acht troch it Nederlands Letterenfonds útferkarde digitaal literêre projekten. It fûnis / it font (wurktitel) is in mienskiplik ûndernimmen fan fideokeunstner Lotte Middendorp en skriuwer-dichter Eeltsje Hettinga.

 

IN SPEGEL DE SEE

In spegel de see, mar noait net stil
it wetter, it sprekt, skept en
makket libben, libben yn ’t skimer-

tsjuster oer de lege kust, it Klif
dat noch sliept, stil as de wyn yn
al syn streken. St… hear it skolperjen

en lústerjen by in bline
fan wjokken slaande himel oer haven
en hang, in stienȃld begjinnen,

iepenspringend yn in floed oan ljocht
……………………….en
……………………………….fjoer
…………………………………………en
……………………………………………….ljocht

en it liket as komt tiid net mear
te ferstriken, mar do, wit do, wit,
alle No is ivich tekoart,

sa’t der neat is dat duorret, útsein
it kearen en kanteljen, aanst
bywannear’t de sinne as in deade

skylfiskekop oan ’e klink fan
de hoksdoar hinget, tewyl
by ’t spoekjen fan in opstutsen wyn

wetter syn swarte blommen opbringt.
O fûnis, o font,
…………….it wetter dat leavet,
……………………………it wetter dat deadet.

.

De eksposysje Improvisaties op Wind, Water, Wad yn Museum Belvédère rint fan 29 maaie oant en mei 13 septimber.

 

THE SEA A MIRROR

The sea a mirror but never still
the water that talks, creates
and makes new life, life in the shadowy

dark over the empty coast, the Cliff
asleep as yet, as still as the wind in all
its quarters. St… hear it muttering

and whispering in the blind
fluttering sky over the harbour
and shed, an ancient birth,

bursting open in a flood of light

and

fire

and

light

and it’s like time has stopped
forever, but you, you know, you do,
that every Now is always too short,

just as nothing ever lasts, besides
the turning and tilting, later
when the sun is hanging from the handle

of the shed door like the head
of a dead cod and haunted by
a rising wind the waves

are gathering their black flowers.
A sentence, a font,
………….the water that gives us its love,
………………… the water that drags us under.

Translation: David Colmer