August Strindberg: 'Taga rävar.'

      Taking foxes

The taking of foxes is quite an art

though hardly a gentle pursuit. 

Hunting with hounds across fields isn’t smart

for a poor man to try for the brute,

since that calls for a lot of expensive gear

apart from the fact the fox has the habit

of not crossing fields in the open, hides near

to thick bushes to ambush a rabbit.

Instead, one takes carrion – some dead bod

that’s lain for a while and stinks highly –

sufficiency rotten to tempt a tod,

who, though he is cunning and wily,

finds quite irresistible such a strong taste.

The carrion though with strychnine’s been laced,

a poison that pharmacists sell in the main,

one that medicines often contain.

Hannie Rouweler: 'Vosje'

FOX

In the wedding photo mother stands

with that fox round her shoulders

her fur coat

and her showpiece

I look in the mirror

see myself in her

the same eyes, the same hair.

In the middle of summer

I am wearing a dead fox

dark beady eyes

stare unchanged at me:

call it love

but the clasp is missing.

And on to a famous 17th century fable by La Fontaine: 'Le Corbeau et le Renard'

le corbeau et le renard

Maître Corbeau, sur un arbre perché,

     Tenait en son bec un fromage.

Maître Renard, par l'odeur alléché,

     Lui tint à peu près ce langage :

Et bonjour, Monsieur du Corbeau,

     Que vous êtes joli ! que vous me semblez beau !

     Sans mentir, si votre ramage

     Se rapporte à votre plumage,

      Vous êtes le Phénix des hôtes de ces bois.

À ces mots le Corbeau ne se sent pas de joie, 

     Et pour montrer sa belle voix,

   Il ouvre un large bec, laisse tomber sa proie.

   Le Renard s'en saisit, et dit : Mon bon Monsieur,

Apprenez que tout flatteur

      Vit aux dépens de celui qui l'écoute.

   Cette leçon vaut bien un fromage sans doute.

     Le Corbeau honteux et confus

   Jura, mais un peu tard, qu'on ne l'y prendrait plus.

the crow and the fox

Master black crow on a branch perched up high

     Held tight in his beak some fine cheese

Master sly fox by its smell tempted nigh

Him tendered these words aimed to please:

Well, good day to you, Mister Crow,

     Oh, how handsome you look! With health you seem to glow!

     I would claim that should your singing

     Match pinions ideal for winging,

     You are the Phoenix of all who here reside.

At these words the black crow almost bursts with pride,

     And so as to let his voice sound

His beak opens wide – his prey falls to the ground.

     The fox grabs it at once and says: Ah, Mister Crow,

Each flatterer, as you should know,

     Depends on the ear of him he seeks to please.

     This lesson I think you must deem worth a cheese.

     The crow, now ashamed and confused

     Although a trifle late, swore no more to be used.

Back to the 13th century beast epic: The opening lines of 'Vanden Vos Reinaerde' in English

Willem, who did Madoc write,

often till very late at night,

was so disgruntled by the thought

that Reynard’s deeds remained unwrought

in our mother tongue to date

(for Aernout found the task too great)

that from French accounts he gleaned

what of Reynard’s life he weened

in our language folk might read.

This mighty task we wish godspeed! [...]

Whitsuntide had clothed in green

both shrub and wood, a perfect scene

for King Nobel’s summoned court

to which all subjects had to report,

it was, he thought, the perfect chance,

throughout his kingdom to enhance 

his glory and his royal fame.

The animals to his court then came

great and small in a single line,

but of Reynard – not a sign.

He’d at court done so much wrong

that he was loath to come along.

He had everything to fear

and his guilt was all too clear,

so he shunned the royal court

where his standing was as nought.

When the assembly was complete

all called Reynard an evil cheat,

except for the badger, and did crave

justice for the red-bearded knave.

Bart FM Droog: 'Het dier vos'

THE ANIMAL FOX

Fables about foxes are out of date

The foxes I have seen in my lifetime

lay by the roadside bitten to death or

were ripped to pieces by hounds

their wiliness I have never been able

to fathom, I’ve never ever

heard a fox sulking

under some grapes

and if foxes fuck

each other

drop cubs

or go on living

I just don’t know

or was I the one

who drove over

the last fox?

Lennart Sjögren: 'En räv med skabb'

En räv med skabb

Du som tror på en lycklig värld

ge dig tid att en stund stanna

hos räven - den skabbitne.

Du skall se hur den ormlikt vrider sig

och biter sitt eget kött

du skall se ett stort sår där förut

var en kropp.

Och skabbens ägg öppnar sig

och de gläds en stund åt sitt nyvaknande

så som allt levande gör

i det brinnande såret har de sitt goda bo.

Frågan är

hur vi skall orka följa rävens färd

till sin långsamma och sönderrivna död

utan

att få ett ansikte av trä.

Långt före medeltidens spanska stövlar

dog djur så här

och de skall dö så här

och folk skall dö så här

och deras död skall vara mättad av plåga.

Bäst har de småleende och i själen blinda

sämst har räven i sin utdragna död

och allra sämst

har skabben som dör i brist på räv.

A fox with mange

You who believe in a happy world

take time to linger for a while

with the fox – one afflicted by mange.

You will see how it squirms like a snake

biting its own flesh

you will see one large wound where before

there was a body.

And the mange mite’s eggs open

and rejoice for a while in their new awakening

as do all living things 

they have their fine lair in the raging wound.

The question is

how are we ever to follow the fox’s journey

to its slow and ripped-up death

without

our faces turning to wood.

Long before the Spanish boot of medieval times

animals died like this

and they will die like this

and people will die like this

and their death will be saturated in torment.

Best fare the smiling and those blind of soul

worst the fox in its protracted death

and worst of all

the mange that dies for lack of fox.

C. Buddingh’: 'Leeuw en vosje'

LION AND FOX

My father was so wonderful at doing a lion:

He would crouch under the table, suddenly

shoot out with a roar and chase you

round the whole room till he caught you.

When my sons were small, I mostly did

a fox: I would dress up as an old woman

that came begging for a glass of water or

a crust of bread – and then seize them in triumph.

How much time did I spend on this altogether?

Five hours perhaps: a hundredth thousandth part

‘of my allotted span here on this earth’.

I have lived through a world war

and so much that seemed enormously important.

Dead as a door-nail now. But lion and fox live on.

Bert Bevers: 'Afgemat vosje'

EXHAUSTED YOUNG FOX

Hah, how easily he once more shook

the dumb dogs off his heels. His tongue

gleams moistly like this currant bush.

How his weak flank quivers from that brisk

trot, the chill of fear still in his belly. His family

he left quiet in a sleep-filled lair, the cub

softly against his vixen. How the fox longs

for her warm small body. But in the dusk

the distant baying of the hounds holds him in

dense shrub yet awhile. This is my wood, these are

my trees. Just keep off all my lovely sunken paths,

the fox thinks. Yearning for long russet dreams.

Ingmar Heytze: 'Vos onder ijs'

vos onder ijs

Deze winter, bij het schaatsen:

vos onder ijs.

Twee glazen ogen keken op

alsof hij zo omhoog zou springen

met open bek

als het plotseling zomer werd.

Ich vlucht voor honderd boeren.
water breekt.

Ik zwem mij langzaam dood.

Mijn laatste woorden zijn gedacht

ik kan niet meer

en spreken gaat niet hier.

Het is eenzaam. Aan deze kant.

Van het papier.

Het is zo eenzaam hier.

fox under ice

This winter, during skating:

fox under ice.

Two eyes of glass that stared up

as if he were about to leap up

his jaws spread wide

were suddenly summer to come.

I flee a hundred farmers.

Water breaks.

I swim my own slow death.

My final words have all been thought

I can no more

and speaking here’s not on.

It is lonely. Up on this side.

Of the paper.

It is so lonely here.

A.L. Snijders: 'Het vrolijke meisje'

The girl with a cheerful disposition seemed to her horror to have been born into a strict Calvinist environment. Her mother in particular used to threaten her with severe punishments from God if she did not stick to his rules. But the girl was not only cheerful, she was also intelligent. At the age of nine, as a sort of test, she shouted out the worst of oaths in the street – and waited for the reaction. When none came, she informed her mother that she would no longer attend church, now that God didn’t react. At the age of eighteen she left home. She was fluent in three languages and got jobs in lands near and far. In love she was successful, had many friends and after eighteen relationships married her true love in her 25th year. A somewhat older man with the same experiences as her. They had three children, their marriage lasted over fifty years. Fifty years of monogamous love. The strict, unyielding mother, who continued to badger her cheerful daughter with bitter reproaches until her death, was proved wrong. I knew their entire story and have always gloated over erroneous predictions and the surprising twists and turns water takes on its path to the sea.

This ZKV was included in an article by Tommy Wieringa about an interview with A.L. Snijders, 29 April 2019