Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Hubert van Herreweghen

Migrating Birds

The summer that has cheated us;
the gloomy lesson autumn brings.
Beneath the slow, high cumulus,
I see a black bird fly across,
heading south with beating wings.

The magical flight of the wild geese
and cranes with their clamouring cries
over the land like a golden fleece.
Winter brings shadows, dark without cease,
until a new journey fills up the skies.

Vulnerable heart and senses in pain,
There is no home, in east or west,
where, landed, you’re not restless again.
You must learn to love life, that’s plain,
Or, anyway, to love the rest.

Trekvogels

Trekvogels

De zomer die ons heeft bedrogen;
o weemoed die de herfst ons leert.
Onder de wolken, trage en hoge,
een zwarte vogel voor mijn ogen
die naar het zuiden keert.

Magische vlucht der wilde ganzen
en kraanvogels met luid gekrijs
over het land vol gouden glansen.
Dan valt de schaduw die de ganse
winter verduistert tot de nieuwe reis.

Ontvankelijk hart, kwetsbare zinnen,
er is geen honk in oost of west
of gij zijt rusteloos, er binnen.
Leert toch het leven te beminnen
of wat er van het leven rest.
Close

Migrating Birds

The summer that has cheated us;
the gloomy lesson autumn brings.
Beneath the slow, high cumulus,
I see a black bird fly across,
heading south with beating wings.

The magical flight of the wild geese
and cranes with their clamouring cries
over the land like a golden fleece.
Winter brings shadows, dark without cease,
until a new journey fills up the skies.

Vulnerable heart and senses in pain,
There is no home, in east or west,
where, landed, you’re not restless again.
You must learn to love life, that’s plain,
Or, anyway, to love the rest.

Migrating Birds

The summer that has cheated us;
the gloomy lesson autumn brings.
Beneath the slow, high cumulus,
I see a black bird fly across,
heading south with beating wings.

The magical flight of the wild geese
and cranes with their clamouring cries
over the land like a golden fleece.
Winter brings shadows, dark without cease,
until a new journey fills up the skies.

Vulnerable heart and senses in pain,
There is no home, in east or west,
where, landed, you’re not restless again.
You must learn to love life, that’s plain,
Or, anyway, to love the rest.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère