Marjoleine de Vos 'Aanzie de vogels' - 'Consider the birds'

consider the birds

The tit on my fat-ball fancies itself

well preserved yet does not know the word

which says that to be sorrow-free, like it,

seeing your Father always will provide,

is most desired by all that lives.

It never springs to mind it should adore me

who give it seeds and peanuts.

But, little tit of mine, you live on tick.

Soon I will fly to Africa and you

will rue your puny mystical ideal:

such gratuitous absorption in the present

and sole fixation: now, now, now.

Bloem: 'De Gelatene' - 'The Stoic'

THE STOIC

The window open, I grant autumn passage -

The inexpressible, that as of old

And still the same. My one desire, all told,

Is this: to always love its message.

This life held little to be won in store.

It does not matter now. Defence is vain

If one considers all the world-old pain

Of countless billions who have gone before.

Youth is all restlessness and a bemused

Great yearning to have loved ones time can’t best –

And loneliness a source of loss, a curse.

All that is past, and life is almost used.

In solitude the heart can now find rest.

And then: one’s life could well have been much worse.

A Høeck poem from 'Blackberry Winter' (1987)

tusind morgenfruer

den ene ved

siden af den anden

smukkere endnu for hver

gang gentagelsen finder sted

lige dejlig hver eneste gang

du får øje på dens glorie

har du set een morgenfrue

har du set dem alle

har du set alle morgenfruer

har du dog kun set een

a thousand marigolds

the one standing

next to the other

more beautiful every time

the repetition takes place

as lovely every single time

you catch a glimpse of its halo

if you have seen one marigold

you have seen them all

if you have seen all marigolds

you’ve only seen the one

A Kingo hymn for Easter Sunday

Like the sun in golden splendour

Like the sun in golden splendour

Breaks through clouds as black as night,

Forcing dark and gloom’s surrender

With its radiant shafts of light,

So did Jesus from his grave

And death’s sea’s abysmal cave

Rise in glory, death now scorning

At first blush of Easter morning.

Thanks to thee, from death arisen

And that thou its hold couldst quell

Since it thee could not imprison,

In its tent pitch-black as hell.

Thanks to thee, victorious lord,

Heaven’s hero, much adored.

Proper joy one can but stutter,

For no tongue full praise can utter.

Deep within my heart is something,

Solace which the soul can find,

Which can soothe the pain forthcoming

When thy grave just fills my mind,

And reflect on where thou layst

In death’s endless empty space,

And rose up in power and splendour,

What can greater joy engender?

Should I lie in sin’s foul fetters,

Should I lie by sickness spent,

Should I lie midst worldly debtors

Should I lie by sorrows pent,

Should I lie despised, distressed,

By the world so sore oppressed,

In the grave I’ll make my dwelling,

There’s still hope beyond all telling.

For man’s sin thou paidst most dearly,

Death for me thou hast endured;

I, once wretched, poor and weary,

Also sick, by thee am cured.

I through thee from death’s dark vale

Shall be raised up, whole and hale,

Hold my head erect, unfearing,

All distress see disappearing.

Sin and death and every arrow

Which foul Satan can let fly

Since death’s dark land thee would harrow

Broken and defeated lie!

Thou didst bury them, and give

Me a staff to surely live

So when thou shalt come in glory

I’ll wave victor’s palms fronds for thee.

As God’s Son I now do own thee,

Thy omnipotence perceive,

Your defeat of death has shown me

What I know and I believe,

Blessedness and hope for me,

My baptism’s certainty,

In thy death are like an image
And thy resurrection’s message.

Thou one day to life willst raise me

By thy resurrective power

Let the earth conceal, erase me,

Worms my very juice devour,

Fire and water me consume!

I lie trusting in my tomb

That to life I shall be taken,

In death’s realm not lie forsaken.

Jesus, thy sweet mercy show me,

By thy holy spirit bred,

So my life’s course I can show thee,

When it by thy hand is led,

So I shall not fall again

Into death’s abyss of pain,

Out of which you once retrieved me,

Where you death suppressed completely.

For the joy thy birth’s professing

For your Godhead’s healing word,

For baptism’s holy blessing,

For communion’s joy conferred,

For the quelling of death’s dread,

For thy rising from the dead,

Lord, I thank thee unconfinedly

That in heaven I shall find thee.

A poem by Jacob Daniël du Toit

the guinea fowl

The barrow with its groaning wheel

gives out its mournful squeal

while dusk lets fall its sudden cowl:

the guinea fowl.

It’s seeking – though the hour is late –

another fowl as mate

to pass night’s loneliness maybe

up in a tree.

They’ll share a dogwood’s leafy gleam,

half sleep, half wake, half dream,

and when their ending then draws nigh

alone not die.

*

I’ve taken aim, and at the sound

one’s fallen to the ground;

the other with wild strength takes flight

into the night!

To see the original poem, go to here