Poem
Anna Enquist
OF WATER
Towering tall and over me, the bridgegrabs into the grass with hard fingers.
Vehicles slide back and forth, a child
with flowers, a roaring fanfare.
I wait. They’ll bow in my direction,
bent with madness and malady, hearing in the waves’ slap
comfort from a hundred mothers. I’m willing;
I take position, surround the new piles.
When this bridge is overgrown and gone
I’ll still be beating stones. O cloudy sky,
see yourself reflected in my flesh. I’ve let myself
be led, be spanned, be beaten.
© Translation: 1998, Lloyd Haft
From: De tweede helft
Publisher: De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam, 2000
From: De tweede helft
Publisher: De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam, 2000
VAN HET WATER
VAN HET WATER
Hij torent hoog boven mij uit, de brug,en grijpt met harde vingers in het gras.
Voertuigen schuiven heen en terug, een kind
brengt bloemen, de fanfare juicht.
Ik wacht. Men zal zich naar mij buigen
krom van waan en klacht en in de golfslag
troost van honderd moeders horen. Ik ga
gewillig rond de nieuwe pijlers staan.
Ik zal nog tegen stenen slaan als deze brug
is overwoekerd en vergaan. 0 wolkenlucht,
spiegel u in mijn huid. Ik heb mij laten
leiden en omspannen en verslaan.
© 1996, Anna Enquist
From: De tweede helft
Publisher: De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam
From: De tweede helft
Publisher: De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Anna Enquist
Close
OF WATER
Towering tall and over me, the bridgegrabs into the grass with hard fingers.
Vehicles slide back and forth, a child
with flowers, a roaring fanfare.
I wait. They’ll bow in my direction,
bent with madness and malady, hearing in the waves’ slap
comfort from a hundred mothers. I’m willing;
I take position, surround the new piles.
When this bridge is overgrown and gone
I’ll still be beating stones. O cloudy sky,
see yourself reflected in my flesh. I’ve let myself
be led, be spanned, be beaten.
© 1998, Lloyd Haft
From: De tweede helft
Publisher: 2000, De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam
From: De tweede helft
Publisher: 2000, De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam
OF WATER
Towering tall and over me, the bridgegrabs into the grass with hard fingers.
Vehicles slide back and forth, a child
with flowers, a roaring fanfare.
I wait. They’ll bow in my direction,
bent with madness and malady, hearing in the waves’ slap
comfort from a hundred mothers. I’m willing;
I take position, surround the new piles.
When this bridge is overgrown and gone
I’ll still be beating stones. O cloudy sky,
see yourself reflected in my flesh. I’ve let myself
be led, be spanned, be beaten.
© 1998, Lloyd Haft
From: De tweede helft
Publisher: 2000, De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam
From: De tweede helft
Publisher: 2000, De Arbeiderspers, Amsterdam
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