Poem
Hugo Claus
April in Paris
(in 1951,when Charlie Parker was still alive)
The undulating bars of Avenue des Champs
oh high pale fields
there a child dances losing
helplessly all winter notes of sorrow and
death and hunger Goodbye hello grey days
among the plaster notes oh song of the parks
yes we are lost we want
rain and hail
not to return to that slow land
of oxen and potato fields and when I was in the polders
I would set fire to three villages there
and plant a tree there and build a house
and go to live there and blow on a horn
so the crows passed it on
so the ravens on fire flew out of the trees
so the young wood split and the land
trembled in furrows but I am in the light
you see me come and say hello
April day
Élysées and the street ends in a calm river
ends as one: hello Charlie how are you?
as if the summer comes without suspicion without
safe hands
not curbed not prevented by
– I already know I knew it I have
the whole time (time with hips and organs) known it –
the safe hands of knowledge and memory and
premature death and
so I was no more there tomorrow in the summer
yes ends as a: hello Charlie go and lie in the sand
the king drinks oh corals and ores
in me spattered apart
élysées
lower now and tender as the cobweb the slime of the hay-spider
like the coloured spotted pupil of a strong green animal
ah a hundred shrubs
blossoming edge of things
while in
élysées
– hello Charlie blood-stained goshawk high voice
that stalks my passages and causes me to walk with a new face
with an animal look through the summer evening street –
the three women of the morning clamber on each other
and the lanterns go out
while in the golden plain
the grey night-woman flees from the gardens
and the cardinal pees into the hedges
and yes listen
we greet each other
hello king
hello prince
and the conversation of the royalists lights up
our sleeping house and day takes cover
in the stumbling stones
the president will die
so does the very first newspaper vendor call to us
this too then we will survive once more
the night is a woman
oh a hundred thousand lips
and with the morning two identical mournful Chinamen
enter our waking house
and say unheard sentences with their hands
about castles or prisons
(they look through the bars of their fingers)
and we in this white and everyday Paris
we become water and flow open
and all at once have moved houses
and no longer find the morning and think Chinese
and dive under bridges and are the Seine
supposing the morning was Oriental
supposing cheng-wa now was: the sun rises
or was: the sun sets
or was: a large fish or fishfeed
or was: we want bread and have sleep
the hit-sick fingers of the day
stroke the face of the streets open
the day is a second woman
oh a hundred thousand lips.
© Translation: 2005, John Irons
From: Greetings, selected poems
Publisher: Harcourt, New York, 2005
From: Greetings, selected poems
Publisher: Harcourt, New York, 2005
April in Paris
April in Paris
(in 1951,toen Charlie Parker nog leefde)
De golvende tralies der Avenue des Champs
o hoge bleke velden
daar danst een kind en verliest
onmachtig alle wintertonen van verdriet en
dood en honger Vaarwel dag grijze dagen
tussen de pleistertonen o zang der parken
ja wij zijn verloren wij willen
regen en hagel
niet meer wederkeren in dat traag land
van ossen en aardappelvelden en als ik in de polders was
ik stak er drie dorpen in brand
en plantte er een boom en bouwde een huis
en ging er wonen en blies op een horen
zodat de kraaien het overbrachten
zodat de raven doorvlamd uit de bomen vlogen
zodat het jonge hout spleet en het land
in voren beefde maar ik ben in het licht
gij ziet mij komen en spreken dag
April dag
Élysées en de straat eindigt in een kalme rivier
eindigt als een : dag Charlie hoe vaart gij?
zo de zomer komt zonder achterdocht zonder
veilige handen
niet geremd niet gehinderd door
– ik weet het al ik wist het ik heb het
de hele lange tijd (tijd met heupen en organen) geweten –
de veilige vingers van kennis en geheugen en
voortijdig sterven en
zo ik er morgen in de zomer niet meer was
ja eindigt als een: dag Charlie ga liggen in het zand
de koning drinkt o koralen en ertsen
in mij uit mekaar gespat
élysées
lager nu en teder als het rag het slijm der hooispin
als de gekleurde gevlekte pupil van een sterk groen dier
ah honderd heesters in palen in de straat en
ontbloeide rand der dingen
terwijl in
élysées
– dag Charlie bebloede havik hoge stem
die mijn gangen gaat en mij met een nieuw gelaat met
een dierenblik door de zomeravondstraat doet lopen –
de drie vrouwen van de morgen op mekaar klimmen
en de lantaarnen doven
terwijl in de gouden geschramde vlakte
de grauwe nachtvrouw uit de tuinen vlucht
en de kardinaal in de hagen watert
en ja hoor
wij groeten mekaar
dag koning
dag prins
en het gesprek der koningsgezinden verlicht
ons slapend huis en de dag gaat schuilen
in de struikelstenen
de president zal sterven
zo roept ons de allereerste dagbladventer tegen
ook dit zullen wij dus nog eens overleven
de nacht is een vrouw
o honderdduizend lippen
en met de morgen komen twee gelijke treurige Chinezen
in ons wakkerwordend huis
en zeggen ongehoorde zinnen met hun handen
over kastelen of gevangenissen
(zij kijken door de tralies van hun vingers)
en wij in dit wit en dagelijks Parijs
wij worden water en vloeien open
en zijn ineens verhuisd
en vinden de morgen niet meer en denken Chinees
en duiken onder bruggen en zijn de Seine
indien de morgen Oosters was
indien cheng-wa nu was : de zon gaat op
of was : de zon gaat onder
of was : een grote vis of vissenvoedsel
of was : wij willen brood en hebben slaap
de trefzieke vingers van de dag
strelen het gelaat der straten open
de dag is een tweede vrouw
o honderdduizend lippen.
© 1952, Hugo Claus
From: Gedichten 1948-2004
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
From: Gedichten 1948-2004
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Hugo Claus
Close
April in Paris
(in 1951,when Charlie Parker was still alive)
The undulating bars of Avenue des Champs
oh high pale fields
there a child dances losing
helplessly all winter notes of sorrow and
death and hunger Goodbye hello grey days
among the plaster notes oh song of the parks
yes we are lost we want
rain and hail
not to return to that slow land
of oxen and potato fields and when I was in the polders
I would set fire to three villages there
and plant a tree there and build a house
and go to live there and blow on a horn
so the crows passed it on
so the ravens on fire flew out of the trees
so the young wood split and the land
trembled in furrows but I am in the light
you see me come and say hello
April day
Élysées and the street ends in a calm river
ends as one: hello Charlie how are you?
as if the summer comes without suspicion without
safe hands
not curbed not prevented by
– I already know I knew it I have
the whole time (time with hips and organs) known it –
the safe hands of knowledge and memory and
premature death and
so I was no more there tomorrow in the summer
yes ends as a: hello Charlie go and lie in the sand
the king drinks oh corals and ores
in me spattered apart
élysées
lower now and tender as the cobweb the slime of the hay-spider
like the coloured spotted pupil of a strong green animal
ah a hundred shrubs
blossoming edge of things
while in
élysées
– hello Charlie blood-stained goshawk high voice
that stalks my passages and causes me to walk with a new face
with an animal look through the summer evening street –
the three women of the morning clamber on each other
and the lanterns go out
while in the golden plain
the grey night-woman flees from the gardens
and the cardinal pees into the hedges
and yes listen
we greet each other
hello king
hello prince
and the conversation of the royalists lights up
our sleeping house and day takes cover
in the stumbling stones
the president will die
so does the very first newspaper vendor call to us
this too then we will survive once more
the night is a woman
oh a hundred thousand lips
and with the morning two identical mournful Chinamen
enter our waking house
and say unheard sentences with their hands
about castles or prisons
(they look through the bars of their fingers)
and we in this white and everyday Paris
we become water and flow open
and all at once have moved houses
and no longer find the morning and think Chinese
and dive under bridges and are the Seine
supposing the morning was Oriental
supposing cheng-wa now was: the sun rises
or was: the sun sets
or was: a large fish or fishfeed
or was: we want bread and have sleep
the hit-sick fingers of the day
stroke the face of the streets open
the day is a second woman
oh a hundred thousand lips.
© 2005, John Irons
From: Greetings, selected poems
Publisher: 2005, Harcourt, New York
From: Greetings, selected poems
Publisher: 2005, Harcourt, New York
April in Paris
(in 1951,when Charlie Parker was still alive)
The undulating bars of Avenue des Champs
oh high pale fields
there a child dances losing
helplessly all winter notes of sorrow and
death and hunger Goodbye hello grey days
among the plaster notes oh song of the parks
yes we are lost we want
rain and hail
not to return to that slow land
of oxen and potato fields and when I was in the polders
I would set fire to three villages there
and plant a tree there and build a house
and go to live there and blow on a horn
so the crows passed it on
so the ravens on fire flew out of the trees
so the young wood split and the land
trembled in furrows but I am in the light
you see me come and say hello
April day
Élysées and the street ends in a calm river
ends as one: hello Charlie how are you?
as if the summer comes without suspicion without
safe hands
not curbed not prevented by
– I already know I knew it I have
the whole time (time with hips and organs) known it –
the safe hands of knowledge and memory and
premature death and
so I was no more there tomorrow in the summer
yes ends as a: hello Charlie go and lie in the sand
the king drinks oh corals and ores
in me spattered apart
élysées
lower now and tender as the cobweb the slime of the hay-spider
like the coloured spotted pupil of a strong green animal
ah a hundred shrubs
blossoming edge of things
while in
élysées
– hello Charlie blood-stained goshawk high voice
that stalks my passages and causes me to walk with a new face
with an animal look through the summer evening street –
the three women of the morning clamber on each other
and the lanterns go out
while in the golden plain
the grey night-woman flees from the gardens
and the cardinal pees into the hedges
and yes listen
we greet each other
hello king
hello prince
and the conversation of the royalists lights up
our sleeping house and day takes cover
in the stumbling stones
the president will die
so does the very first newspaper vendor call to us
this too then we will survive once more
the night is a woman
oh a hundred thousand lips
and with the morning two identical mournful Chinamen
enter our waking house
and say unheard sentences with their hands
about castles or prisons
(they look through the bars of their fingers)
and we in this white and everyday Paris
we become water and flow open
and all at once have moved houses
and no longer find the morning and think Chinese
and dive under bridges and are the Seine
supposing the morning was Oriental
supposing cheng-wa now was: the sun rises
or was: the sun sets
or was: a large fish or fishfeed
or was: we want bread and have sleep
the hit-sick fingers of the day
stroke the face of the streets open
the day is a second woman
oh a hundred thousand lips.
© 2005, John Irons
From: Greetings, selected poems
Publisher: 2005, Harcourt, New York
From: Greetings, selected poems
Publisher: 2005, Harcourt, New York
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