Maurice Gilliams
AUTUMN CONVERSATION
Risen from the ground of weeping
we see this land, like our reflections.
– “Gathered in brown farms amid blue pastures
along with their cattle people sleep.”
We walk through the night, shrouded in mist,
and we turn with the moon invisibly gray.
– “The water is trembling from trains far away,
the grass smells colder of trodden-down thistles.”
We grow old and then all will be tacit
that isn’t retainable with the gaze of a child.
– “Like the roses the cockscombs are blighted,
the gardens won’t keep their scents forever.”
From: The Bottle at Sea: Complete poems and Journal Fragments
Publisher: Green Integer, Los Angeles, 2006
TWEESPRAAK IN DE HERFST
TWEESPRAAK IN DE HERFST
Omhooggerezen uit de grond der tranen
zien wij dit land, gelijk ons eigen peinzen.
– “In bruine hoeven midden blauwe weiden
slapen mensen met hun vee vergaderd.”
Wij schrijden door de nacht, gehuld in nevels,
om met de maan onzichtbaar te vergrijzen.
– “Het water rilt van ver-gehoorde treinen,
het gras geurt killer van vertreden netels.”
Wij worden oud en zo gaat alles zwijgen
wat niet onthoudbaar blijft met kinderogen.
– “De kam der hanen hangt gelijk de rozen,
de hoven gaan niet altijd geuren blijven.”
From: Verzamelde gedichten
Publisher: Meulenhoff, Amsterdam
AUTUMN CONVERSATION
Risen from the ground of weeping
we see this land, like our reflections.
– “Gathered in brown farms amid blue pastures
along with their cattle people sleep.”
We walk through the night, shrouded in mist,
and we turn with the moon invisibly gray.
– “The water is trembling from trains far away,
the grass smells colder of trodden-down thistles.”
We grow old and then all will be tacit
that isn’t retainable with the gaze of a child.
– “Like the roses the cockscombs are blighted,
the gardens won’t keep their scents forever.”
From: The Bottle at Sea: Complete poems and Journal Fragments
Publisher: 2006, Green Integer, Los Angeles
AUTUMN CONVERSATION
Risen from the ground of weeping
we see this land, like our reflections.
– “Gathered in brown farms amid blue pastures
along with their cattle people sleep.”
We walk through the night, shrouded in mist,
and we turn with the moon invisibly gray.
– “The water is trembling from trains far away,
the grass smells colder of trodden-down thistles.”
We grow old and then all will be tacit
that isn’t retainable with the gaze of a child.
– “Like the roses the cockscombs are blighted,
the gardens won’t keep their scents forever.”
From: The Bottle at Sea: Complete poems and Journal Fragments
Publisher: 2006, Green Integer, Los Angeles
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