Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Cees Nooteboom

Bashõ IV

The poet is a mill that turns the landscape to words.
Yet he thinks like you and his eyes see the same.
The sun that crashes in the mouth of the horse.
The outer temple of Ise the beach of Narumi.
He sails in the canvas of mourning he sets course for his mission.
His jaws grind the blossoms down to the meter of poems.
The account of the cosmos as it presents itself daily.
In the North he knows himself a bundle of old clothes.
When he is where he never can be you still read his poems.
He peeled cucumbers and apples he painted his life
I too am tempted by the wind that allows the clouds to drift.

Bashõ IV

Bashõ IV

De dichter is een gemaal door hem wordt het landschap van woorden.
Toch denkt hij net als jij en zien zijn ogen hetzelfde.
De zon die verongelukt in de bek van het paard.
De buitenste tempel van Ise het strand van Narumi.
Hij vaart in het zeil van de rouw hij koerst naar zijn opdracht.
Zijn kaken malen de bloemen tot de voeten van verzen.
De boekhouding van het heelal zoals het zich dagelijks voordoet.
In het Noorden kent hij zichzelf een hoop oude kleren.
Als hij is waar hij nooit meer zal zijn lees jij zijn gedichten:
Hij schilde komkommers en appels hij schildert zijn leven
Ook ik ben verleid door de wind die de wolken laat drijven.
Close

Bashõ IV

The poet is a mill that turns the landscape to words.
Yet he thinks like you and his eyes see the same.
The sun that crashes in the mouth of the horse.
The outer temple of Ise the beach of Narumi.
He sails in the canvas of mourning he sets course for his mission.
His jaws grind the blossoms down to the meter of poems.
The account of the cosmos as it presents itself daily.
In the North he knows himself a bundle of old clothes.
When he is where he never can be you still read his poems.
He peeled cucumbers and apples he painted his life
I too am tempted by the wind that allows the clouds to drift.

Bashõ IV

The poet is a mill that turns the landscape to words.
Yet he thinks like you and his eyes see the same.
The sun that crashes in the mouth of the horse.
The outer temple of Ise the beach of Narumi.
He sails in the canvas of mourning he sets course for his mission.
His jaws grind the blossoms down to the meter of poems.
The account of the cosmos as it presents itself daily.
In the North he knows himself a bundle of old clothes.
When he is where he never can be you still read his poems.
He peeled cucumbers and apples he painted his life
I too am tempted by the wind that allows the clouds to drift.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
J.E. Jurriaanse
Literature Translation Institute of Korea
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère