Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

C.O. Jellema

As a garden

Outside all you touch, it had to be,
took hold of you, a long expected guest:
you’ve loosened earth to plant in presently,
in soft, prepared earth you lay yourself to rest;

or else you feel the unsupported weight
of fruit upon a branch, as if possessed
through your concern of thoughts of future date,
the tree bears all within its breast:

time became permanence, not flight,
what grows and flowers imagined and dreamt you,
who died on you now mattered not a hoot:

the lawn became your green, the goat your white,
a voice from home: wash hands, come quickly, do,
the blue bowl on the table holds fresh fruit.

Als tuin

Als tuin

’t Moest zijn dat buiten wat je hand aanraakt
van jou bezit nam als de reeds verwachte:
je hebt grond om te planten los gemaakt,
je legt jezelf weg plantend in de zachte

gerede aarde; of je voelt hoe zwaar
vruchten een ongestutte tak bevrachten
en om jouw zorg wordt de boom eigenaar
en drager van toekomstige gedachten:

de tijd ging over in bestendigheid,
wat groeit en bloeit bedacht en droomde jou,
en wie jou overleed maakte niet uit:

het grasveld werd je groen, en wit de geit,
werd stem uit huis: kom handen wassen gauw,
op tafel in de blauwe schaal vers fruit.
Close

As a garden

Outside all you touch, it had to be,
took hold of you, a long expected guest:
you’ve loosened earth to plant in presently,
in soft, prepared earth you lay yourself to rest;

or else you feel the unsupported weight
of fruit upon a branch, as if possessed
through your concern of thoughts of future date,
the tree bears all within its breast:

time became permanence, not flight,
what grows and flowers imagined and dreamt you,
who died on you now mattered not a hoot:

the lawn became your green, the goat your white,
a voice from home: wash hands, come quickly, do,
the blue bowl on the table holds fresh fruit.

As a garden

Outside all you touch, it had to be,
took hold of you, a long expected guest:
you’ve loosened earth to plant in presently,
in soft, prepared earth you lay yourself to rest;

or else you feel the unsupported weight
of fruit upon a branch, as if possessed
through your concern of thoughts of future date,
the tree bears all within its breast:

time became permanence, not flight,
what grows and flowers imagined and dreamt you,
who died on you now mattered not a hoot:

the lawn became your green, the goat your white,
a voice from home: wash hands, come quickly, do,
the blue bowl on the table holds fresh fruit.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère