Poem
Jen Hadfield
THE MOULT
DE RUI
Blijf uit de zon:we kunnen je allemaal zien. Zoek geen ruzie
met wie overwicht heeft. We hebben zo’n hoge
gouden kom met hei en mos
gezelschap van wulpen en kreten en
gemompel in de wind; de lange
zucht van eilanden
en verblindende zee.
Verberg je in de tover en pluk
je vacht – fijne spiering gevangen in hei
en glanzend riet –
terwijl het me zo spijt, van die waaiende,
glanzende vlaszijde, weggerukt
en verstrooid door de wind.
Verstijf als het zonlicht je raakt
je bent niet onzichtbaar. Krab je
droommantel van zilvergeld af.
Rust voor de wind in de zon. Vlucht
met dubbele gewrichten als het dal schemert.
THE MOULT
Stay out of the sun:we can all see you. Stop picking fights
above your weight. We’ve this high
golden bowl of heather and moss
company of whaups and cries and
mutters in the wind; the long
draught of islands
and blinding sea.
Shelter in the hoodoos and pluck
your fur – fine smelt caught on heather
and shining reeds –
ruing it as I do, this flying
gleaming floss snatched back
and spent by the wind.
Freeze when the sunlight hits you
you’re not invisible. Scratch off
your dreamcoat of silver money.
Rest downwind in the sun. Run
double-jointed when the valley dims.
From: Byssus
Publisher: Picador, London
Publisher: Picador, London
Jen Hadfield
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1978)
Nothing is permanent in the poetry of Jen Hadfield (‘I don’t know what it is / about this place that things / metaflower so readily / into their present selves’). With a meticulous, sober gaze, she watches how everything around her sprouts and grows, buds and creeps into everything else. Her poems might be about the rugged nature in northern Shetland where she lives (‘the scrambling twig / hern...
Poems
Poems of Jen Hadfield
Close
THE MOULT
Stay out of the sun:we can all see you. Stop picking fights
above your weight. We’ve this high
golden bowl of heather and moss
company of whaups and cries and
mutters in the wind; the long
draught of islands
and blinding sea.
Shelter in the hoodoos and pluck
your fur – fine smelt caught on heather
and shining reeds –
ruing it as I do, this flying
gleaming floss snatched back
and spent by the wind.
Freeze when the sunlight hits you
you’re not invisible. Scratch off
your dreamcoat of silver money.
Rest downwind in the sun. Run
double-jointed when the valley dims.
From: Byssus
THE MOULT
Sponsors
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère