Poem
Hugues C. Pernath
The Ten Poems of Solitude VI
Perhaps my choice, my eternityThat lasts no longer than recommencing,
Than banishing, petrifying of the roots.
Sometimes I look at you, sometimes at you.
Sometimes you fields are full, sometimes wrinkled,
And while this year evaporates, I forfeit
The five bloody circles and elsewhere my love.
Like a vista I forget the thumb-marked wall
Behind which so many peepers glowed.
You defy the drumming days, the new night,
Created but tarnished by your chilly dress.
Your skin becomes a clattering gown, a sojourn
Amid the scents of grassy grounds.
Your eyes shiver and shine, discolour my pity
To a shadow that fades what has gone.
That sinks and gives birth. And freezes.
But huntable, the hunt begins for you too
Expressing seeing and hearing, inhabiting
The evil fog, time desperate and precise
In which flight becomes bold and superfluous
The digging, the stiffening and the peaceful bobbing
After the estrangement, the cleansing of the needle.
No organ will play, no bow will protect you
When the seedless abyss of pain
Covers you beauty with splendour.
© Translation: 2007, Paul Vincent
De tien gedichten van de eenzaamheid VI
De tien gedichten van de eenzaamheid VI
Misschien mijn keuze, mijn eeuwigheidDie niet langer duurt dan het herbeginnen,
Dan het verbannen, het verstijven van de wortels.
Soms kijk ik naar jou, soms naar jou.
Soms zijn jouw velden volgroeid, soms gerimpeld,
En terwijl dit jaar verdampt, verbeur ik
De vijf bloedige cirkels en elders mijn liefde.
En als een vergezicht vergeet ik de beduimelde wand
Waarachter zovele gluurders gloeiden.
Jij tart de roffelende dagen, de nieuwe nacht,
Ontstaan maar ontluisterd door jouw kille dracht.
Jouw huid wordt een klaterend kleed, een oponthoud
Temidden de geuren van grassige gronden.
Jouw blik huivert en glanst, en verkleurt mijn deernis
Tot een schaduw die vervaagt wat voorbij is.
Die daalt en baart. En bevriest.
Maar jaagbaar, begint ook voor jou de jacht
Het verwoorden van zien en horen, het bewonen
Van de kwade mist, van de tijd wanhopig en nauwgezet
Waarin het vluchten vermetel wordt en overbodig
Het spitten, het verstarren en het vredige deinen
Na het vervreemden, na het zuiveren van de naald.
Geen orgel zal spelen, geen boog jou beschermen
Wanneer de zaadloze afgrond van de pijn
Jouw schoonheid bedekt met de pracht.
© 2004, The Hugues C. Pernath Foundation
From: Gedichten
Publisher: Lannoo/Atlas, Amsterdam
From: Gedichten
Publisher: Lannoo/Atlas, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Hugues C. Pernath
Close
The Ten Poems of Solitude VI
Perhaps my choice, my eternityThat lasts no longer than recommencing,
Than banishing, petrifying of the roots.
Sometimes I look at you, sometimes at you.
Sometimes you fields are full, sometimes wrinkled,
And while this year evaporates, I forfeit
The five bloody circles and elsewhere my love.
Like a vista I forget the thumb-marked wall
Behind which so many peepers glowed.
You defy the drumming days, the new night,
Created but tarnished by your chilly dress.
Your skin becomes a clattering gown, a sojourn
Amid the scents of grassy grounds.
Your eyes shiver and shine, discolour my pity
To a shadow that fades what has gone.
That sinks and gives birth. And freezes.
But huntable, the hunt begins for you too
Expressing seeing and hearing, inhabiting
The evil fog, time desperate and precise
In which flight becomes bold and superfluous
The digging, the stiffening and the peaceful bobbing
After the estrangement, the cleansing of the needle.
No organ will play, no bow will protect you
When the seedless abyss of pain
Covers you beauty with splendour.
© 2007, Paul Vincent
From: Gedichten
From: Gedichten
The Ten Poems of Solitude VI
Perhaps my choice, my eternityThat lasts no longer than recommencing,
Than banishing, petrifying of the roots.
Sometimes I look at you, sometimes at you.
Sometimes you fields are full, sometimes wrinkled,
And while this year evaporates, I forfeit
The five bloody circles and elsewhere my love.
Like a vista I forget the thumb-marked wall
Behind which so many peepers glowed.
You defy the drumming days, the new night,
Created but tarnished by your chilly dress.
Your skin becomes a clattering gown, a sojourn
Amid the scents of grassy grounds.
Your eyes shiver and shine, discolour my pity
To a shadow that fades what has gone.
That sinks and gives birth. And freezes.
But huntable, the hunt begins for you too
Expressing seeing and hearing, inhabiting
The evil fog, time desperate and precise
In which flight becomes bold and superfluous
The digging, the stiffening and the peaceful bobbing
After the estrangement, the cleansing of the needle.
No organ will play, no bow will protect you
When the seedless abyss of pain
Covers you beauty with splendour.
© 2007, Paul Vincent
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