A translation of 'The Carillon' by the Dutch poet Ida Gerhardt

The carillon

The people in the streets looked stricken,

their ashen faces drawn and tight, –

then something made their features quicken

and, listening, they seemed brushed with light.

For in the clock-tower when, resounding,

the bronze-chimed hour had died away,

the carilloneur began his pounding

and everywhere was heard to play.

Valerius: – a solemn singing

with bass bell’s tolling undertone

and flickerings of lighter ringing:

‘We raise our eyes to Thy high throne.’

As one of all those nameless people

who by the house fronts came to stand,

I listened to the pealing steeple

that sang of my afflicted land.

This speechless gathering, beyond us

the city with Dutch light above –

I’ve never for what’s stolen from us

felt such a bitter, bitter love.

War year 1941