Poem
Seamus Heaney
ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN
ALLES IS MOGELIJK
Alles is mogelijk. Je weet hoe JupiterVaak wacht tot ’t wolkendek dichttrekt
Voor hij de bliksem afschiet? Wel zo even
Liet hij zijn donderkar en paarden galopperen
Door een helblauwe lucht. ’t Deed de aarde beven
En ’t gestolde onderaardse, de rivier de Styx,
De kronkelende stromen, de Atlantische kust zelf.
Alles is mogelijk, zelfs de hoogste torens
Kunnen omgegooid, die op hoge plekken ontmoedigd,
De genegeerden bekeken. Scherpgebekte Fortuna
Duikt en doet de lucht naar adem snakken,
Scheurt de pluim van de ene af en zet hem bloedend neer op de volgende.
De grond wijkt. ’t Gewicht van de hemel
Stijgt op van Atlas als een keteldop.
Dekstenen schuiven, niets valt op zijn plaats.
Tellurische as en vuursporen koken weg.
© Vertaling: 2006, Peter Nijmeijer
ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN
Anything can happen. You know how JupiterWill mostly wait for clouds to gather head
Before he hurls the lightning? Well, just now
He galloped his thunder cart and his horses
Across a clear blue sky. It shook the earth
And the clogged underearth, the River Styx,
The winding streams, the Atlantic shore itself.
Anything can happen, the tallest towers
Be overturned, those in high places daunted,
Those overlooked regarded. Stropped-beak Fortune
Swoops, making the air gasp, tearing the crest off one,
Setting it down bleeding on the next.
Ground gives. The heaven’s weight
Lifts up off Atlas like a kettle-lid.
Capstones shift, nothing resettles right.
Telluric ash and fire-spores boil away.
© 2006, Seamus Heaney
From: District and Circle
Publisher: Faber & Faber, London
From: District and Circle
Publisher: Faber & Faber, London
Poems
Poems of Seamus Heaney
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ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN
Anything can happen. You know how JupiterWill mostly wait for clouds to gather head
Before he hurls the lightning? Well, just now
He galloped his thunder cart and his horses
Across a clear blue sky. It shook the earth
And the clogged underearth, the River Styx,
The winding streams, the Atlantic shore itself.
Anything can happen, the tallest towers
Be overturned, those in high places daunted,
Those overlooked regarded. Stropped-beak Fortune
Swoops, making the air gasp, tearing the crest off one,
Setting it down bleeding on the next.
Ground gives. The heaven’s weight
Lifts up off Atlas like a kettle-lid.
Capstones shift, nothing resettles right.
Telluric ash and fire-spores boil away.
From: District and Circle
ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN
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