A.L.Snijders: 'De Vogelaar' in English translation

To hear him read the text, go to here.

Marjoleine de Vos: 'Wer jetzt kein Haus hat' in English translation

WER JETZT KEIN HAUS HAT

Begraven worden ergens, nu vooruit

ik weet wel waar het fluitekruid met luchtig kant

het voorjaar vult. Maar hoe te sterven eerst

hoe weten waar het oog graag rust

waar alles zo dat je besluiten kunt

om weg te gaan.

Is dat je leven fout geleefd werd

af te zien aan geen vertrouwde plaats

die voorbestemd lijkt voor vaarwel?

Als je een huis gebouwd had, dan wist je 't wel.

WER JETZT KEIN HAUS HAT

To be buried somewhere, well okay

I know well where cow parsley with its slender stem

now fills the spring. But how to die means you first

need to know where the eye would rest

where all is right for you to then decide

to take your leave.

Is that your life’s been wrongly lived

seen from the lack of a familiar place

that seems predestined for farewell?

Had you but built a house, you would know full well.

REVISED VERSION

The title comes from a Rilke poem. To see it in German and English, go to here

Inger Hagerup: 'Vi holder livet' in English translation

VI HOLDER LIVET

Vi holder livet i en knyttet hånd.

Vårt hjerte må bestandig ha det sånn.

Det tåler gjerne spott og overlast

når bare det får holde noe fast.

En mann, et barn, en drøm skal være vår

og evigheten måles ut i år.

For i vår gåtefulle, blinde angst

blir alle ting erobring eller fangst.

Vi bærer skrekken med oss natt og dag,

den bleke skrekk for hjertets nederlag.

LIFE WITH A CLENCHED FIST 

Life with a clenched fist we hold onto tight.

For every heart this is a constant plight.

It copes with mockery and overload

as long as it has something firm to hold.

For husband, child or dream we persevere –

eternity’s but measured year by year.

For out of our quite blind and baffling fear

all’s viewed as catch and conquest crystal clear.

Our dread we bear within us night and day

the pale dread of our heart as helpless prey.

M. Nijhoff: 'Con sordino' in English translation

Con sordino

She said to me: ‘You are a prince in bed.’

Upon the frozen pane ice flowers were sprayed.

Nestling between cools sheets as if unmade,

Our body by fatigue now lay outspread.

After this snow the whole world’s born anew

And this night over I’m once more a child.

Be kind to my simplicity whose mild

Voice speaks like medieval paintings do.

See behind pines the castle turrets stand,

And like a slanting beam on the horizon

The sunlight breaking over pious land!

A knight through meadows canters with his love:

He whistles to his dogs, she sees the falcon

Now risen from her gauntlet soar above.

To see the original poem, go to here

M. Nijhoff: 'Impasse' in English translation

Impasse

Wij stonden in de keuken, zij en ik.

Ik dacht al dagen lang: vraag het vandaag.

Maar omdat ik mij schaamde voor mijn vraag

wachtte ik het onbewaakte ogenblik.

Maar nu, haar bezig ziend in haar bedrijf,

en de kans hebbend die ik hebben wou

dat zij onvoorbereid antwoorden zou,

vroeg ik: waarover wil je dat ik schrijf?

Juist vangt de fluitketel te fluiten aan,

haar hullend in een wolk die opwaarts schiet

naar de glycine door het tuimelraam.

Dan antwoordt zij, terwijl zij langzaamaan

druppelend water op de koffie giet

en zich de geur verbreidt: ik weet het niet.

Impasse

We stood there in the kitchen, she and I.

I’d had the thought for days: ask her today.

Ashamed to ask, I waited for the stray

unguarded moment, though, to make my try.

But seeing her now busy at her tasks

and realising that I had the chance

she’d answer without thinking in advance,

What would you have me write about? I asked.

Just then the whistling kettle starts to blow,

concealing her in rushing steam that soars

through slanting window up to purple rain.

And she replies, while drop by drop she pours

the boiling water on the coffee grains

and the aroma spreads out: I don’t know.

Inger Hagerup: 'Rødstrupe' in English translation

Rødstrupe

Ingen har lettere halefjær

og rødere silkeskjorte.

Og ingen kan være så plutselig nær

og bli så plutselig borte.

Hvile seg litt på et lubbent nek

og muntert på vakt med blikket:

Mennesket er et ufarlig krek,

for fly kan det heldigvis ikke!

Robin redbreast

No one has tail-feathers quite as light

and red silk shirt any brighter.

And can quite so suddenly flash into sight,

so suddenly vanish either.

Resting a while on its chubby neck,

its gaze so merry yet wary:

Humans are hopeless, can’t even peck

and since they can’t fly quite unscary!

Inger Hagerup: 'Det bor en gammel baker' in English translation

det bor en gammel baker

Det bor en gammel baker

på en bitte liten øy.

Han er så lei av kaker

og krem og syltetøy.

Men han må sitte likevel

og spise sine kaker selv.

For han bor helt alene

på en bitte liten øy.

Når små og store båter

går dampende forbi,

da sitter han og gråter

i sitt varme bakeri,

og spiser loff og fattigmann,

for ingen kunder går i land.

Og han er helt alene

på en bitte liten øy.

Det var en gammel baker

på en bitte liten øy.

Han åt for mange kaker

med krem og syltetøy.

Forleden dag så satt han død

midt i en haug av wienerbrød.

Og nå bor ingen baker

på en bitte liten øy.

there lives an ancient baker

There lives an old, old baker

on a tiny little isle.

Cake, cream and jam this maker

of fine fare won’t cause to smile.

He has to sit there by his shelf

and eat up all his cakes himself.

For he lives quite alone there

on a tiny little isle.

When all the boats come plying

and past his isle they swarm,

he always sits there crying

in his bakery so warm,

and eats fried twisters and white bread,

since no one lands that would be fed.

And he is quite alone there

on a tiny little isle.

There was an old, old baker

on a tiny little isle.

Cake, cream and jam this maker

of fine cakes did gorge awhile.

The other day he sat there dead

right in a heap of sugarbread,

And now there lives no baker

on a tiny little isle.

Inger Hagerup: 'Jeg er det dikt' in English translation

Jeg er det dikt

Jeg er det dikt som ingen skrev

Jeg er det alltid brente brev.

Jeg er den ubetrådte sti

og tonen uten melodi.

Jeg er den stumme leppes bønn.

Jeg er en ufødt kvinnes sønn,

en streng som ingen hånd har spent,

et bål som aldri er blitt tent.

Vekk meg! Forløs meg! Løft meg opp

av jord og berg, av ånd og kropp!

Men intet svarer når jeg ber.

Jeg er de ting som aldri skjer.

I am the poem

I am the poem never turned

I am the letter always burned.

I am the path that no one treads

I am the notes with no tune’s threads.

I am the prayer mute lips have formed

I am a woman’s son unborn,

a string that no hand has drawn taut,

a bonfire that no fire has caught.

Wake me! Release me! Lift me free

of soul and body, rock and tree!

But nothing answers my lone plea.

I am the things that shall not be.

Inger Hagerup: 'Som løfter' in English translation

Som løfter

Der fins en evighet av fred

bak alle stjernene et sted

Vi skulle kanskje vraket først

vår lille tid av sult og tørst,

vår lille tid av sult og savn

mot ting vi aldri kan gi navn.

Som løfter i en gjerrigs munn

er denne korte, korte stund.

Like promises

Somewhere beyond the stars exists

an endless peace that just persists.

Though maybe we should throw out first

our brief time’s hungering and thirst,

our brief time’s hungering and lack

of things we cannot name or track.

Like promises a miser’s vowed

is this brief, brief life we’re endowed.

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