Poem
Hans Faverey
Where the apricot tree
Where the apricot treestood still then
I stand still now.
Between the gladioli
I know the spot
where she stood then:
she threw me the apricot −
then. Now,
as memory does with itself
what it will, we begin
biting once more, almost
in unison, between
the maize plants: she her
apricot, I my apricot;
while the little foxes still prowl
through the vineyard, and the sea,
whispering: she is not with me;
no, you will not find it here;
she is not in me.
© Translation: 1994, Francis R. Jones
From: Against the Forgetting
Publisher: New Directions, New York, 2004
From: Against the Forgetting
Publisher: New Directions, New York, 2004
Waar stil toen
Waar stil toen
de abrikozeboom stond,
sta nu ik stil.
Tussen de gladiolen
weet ik de plek waar
zij toen stond: zij
wierp mij de abrikoos
toe − toen. Nu,
terwijl herinnering met zich
doet wat zij wil, beginnen
wij opnieuw met bijten,
haast tegelijk, tussen
de maïsplanten: zij in haar
abrikoos, ik in mijn abrikoos;
terwijl de kleine vossen nog door
de wijngaard sluipen, en de zee,
fluisterend: bij mij is zij niet;
nee, hier vind je het niet;
in mij is zij niet.
de abrikozeboom stond,
sta nu ik stil.
Tussen de gladiolen
weet ik de plek waar
zij toen stond: zij
wierp mij de abrikoos
toe − toen. Nu,
terwijl herinnering met zich
doet wat zij wil, beginnen
wij opnieuw met bijten,
haast tegelijk, tussen
de maïsplanten: zij in haar
abrikoos, ik in mijn abrikoos;
terwijl de kleine vossen nog door
de wijngaard sluipen, en de zee,
fluisterend: bij mij is zij niet;
nee, hier vind je het niet;
in mij is zij niet.
© 2010, Erven Hans Faverey
From: Gedichten 1962-1990
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
From: Gedichten 1962-1990
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Hans Faverey
Close
Where the apricot tree
Where the apricot treestood still then
I stand still now.
Between the gladioli
I know the spot
where she stood then:
she threw me the apricot −
then. Now,
as memory does with itself
what it will, we begin
biting once more, almost
in unison, between
the maize plants: she her
apricot, I my apricot;
while the little foxes still prowl
through the vineyard, and the sea,
whispering: she is not with me;
no, you will not find it here;
she is not in me.
© 1994, Francis R. Jones
From: Against the Forgetting
Publisher: 2004, New Directions, New York
From: Against the Forgetting
Publisher: 2004, New Directions, New York
Where the apricot tree
Where the apricot treestood still then
I stand still now.
Between the gladioli
I know the spot
where she stood then:
she threw me the apricot −
then. Now,
as memory does with itself
what it will, we begin
biting once more, almost
in unison, between
the maize plants: she her
apricot, I my apricot;
while the little foxes still prowl
through the vineyard, and the sea,
whispering: she is not with me;
no, you will not find it here;
she is not in me.
© 1994, Francis R. Jones
From: Against the Forgetting
Publisher: 2004, New Directions, New York
From: Against the Forgetting
Publisher: 2004, New Directions, New York
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