Poem
James Fenton
YELLOW TULIPS
GELE TULPEN
Kijkend in de vaas, de kelk, de waterdruppel,Kijkend in de bloemenkeel, bij het stuifmeelspoor,
Zie ik hoe ooit liefde onverwacht ontsprong in ’t zomerwoud,
En hoe terloops alles ligt tot het bij elkaar hoort.
Ik zie de lippen, open in verbazing, open in verlangen,
Glimlachen nu de stilte valt op ’t geelbespikkeld spoor,
Want elk denkt dat de ander elke wegebbende gedachte
Op elk wegebbend tij wel hoort.
Zo uit het bos gekomen omzomen ze de velden
Tussen het hoge tarwe en de heg, op het ongeploegde stuk,
En ze denken dat ieder die hen ziet,
’t Geheim van hun takjes en hun lippen plukt
Net sprookjeswezens, uit nevel voortgekomen,
Terug in hun geboortestreek, zo stonden ze in ’t rond,
En bij de keel, zag je, droegen ze een zeker teken
Als hun betekenisvolle verbond
_____
Gewone bloemen uit een winkel, echt, niks bijzonders.
Maar in het warm hotel kwamen ze plots tot leven.
Verbazing werd gejuich, en het meisje zei: ‘zal ik ze weggooien
Of nog een dagje geven? Ze zijn niet lang goed gebleven.’
‘Oh, geef ze nog een dag. Ze zijn best goed gebleven,
Kijk naar het teken bij hun keel,
Ze bleven zoals liefde bleef, en langer dan de meesten
Kijk op het tafelkleed – kijk naar die vlek stuifmeel.’
© Vertaling: 2008, Rob Schouten
YELLOW TULIPS
Looking into the vase, into the calyx, into the water drop,Looking into the throat of the flower, at the pollen stain,
I can see the ambush love sprung once in the summery wood.
I can see the casualties where they lay, till they set forth again.
I can see the lips, parted first in surprise, parted in desire,
Smile now as a silence falls on the yellow-dappled ride
For each thinks the other can hear each receding thought
On each receding tide.
They have come out of the wood now. They are skirting the fields
Between the tall wheat and the hedge, on the unploughed strips,
And they believe anyone who saw them would know
Every secret of their limbs and of their lips,
As if, like creatures of legend, they had come down out of the mist
Back to their native city, and stood in the square,
And they were seen to be marked at the throat with a certain sign
Whose meaning all could share.
_____
These flowers came from a shop. Really they looked nothing much
Till they opened as if in surprise at the heat of this hotel
Then the surprise turned to a shout, and the girl said,
‘Shall I chuck them now
Or give them one more day? They’ve not lasted so well.’
‘Oh give them one more day. They’ve lasted well enough.
They’ve lasted as love lasts, which is longer than most maintain.
Look at the sign it has left here at the throat of the flower
And on your tablecloth – look at the pollen stain.’
© 2006, James Fenton
From: Selected Poems
Publisher: Penguin, London
From: Selected Poems
Publisher: Penguin, London
James Fenton
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1949)
James Fenton is a poet for whom ivory towers have long ceased to exist. His work is enacted in the midst of our world and is full of political and social charges. Already in his earliest poems, ‘Our Western Furniture’ for example, which is about the clash between American and Japanese culture, he displays his engagement. The Far East in particular, where he travelled a great deal as a journalis...
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YELLOW TULIPS
Looking into the vase, into the calyx, into the water drop,Looking into the throat of the flower, at the pollen stain,
I can see the ambush love sprung once in the summery wood.
I can see the casualties where they lay, till they set forth again.
I can see the lips, parted first in surprise, parted in desire,
Smile now as a silence falls on the yellow-dappled ride
For each thinks the other can hear each receding thought
On each receding tide.
They have come out of the wood now. They are skirting the fields
Between the tall wheat and the hedge, on the unploughed strips,
And they believe anyone who saw them would know
Every secret of their limbs and of their lips,
As if, like creatures of legend, they had come down out of the mist
Back to their native city, and stood in the square,
And they were seen to be marked at the throat with a certain sign
Whose meaning all could share.
_____
These flowers came from a shop. Really they looked nothing much
Till they opened as if in surprise at the heat of this hotel
Then the surprise turned to a shout, and the girl said,
‘Shall I chuck them now
Or give them one more day? They’ve not lasted so well.’
‘Oh give them one more day. They’ve lasted well enough.
They’ve lasted as love lasts, which is longer than most maintain.
Look at the sign it has left here at the throat of the flower
And on your tablecloth – look at the pollen stain.’
From: Selected Poems
YELLOW TULIPS
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