Poem
Stefan Hertmans
GOLDBERG VARIATIONS
That we possessed the lightnessto fold our hands round music –
deliberation issuing from a fugue
protecting us because we’ve something we protect.
There are things you cannot learn.
They follow us like faithful dogs,
the gentle ankle biters of
tempers and humour.
That isn’t why we do it,
we know it, we stay silent
exulting in the variations
over the passing years.
How often does one see what lasts,
this fraction of imagination?
And yet – a glimpse of a piano
at evening through an open window,
fragments of voices in the mist,
and all is open once again.
© Translation: 2017, Donald Gardner
GOLDBERGVARIATIES
GOLDBERGVARIATIES
Dat we de lichtheid haddenom handen rond muziek te vouwen –
bedachtzaamheid die uit een fuga straalt
en ons beschermt omdat we iets beschermen.
Er zijn dingen die je niet kunt leren.
Ze volgen ons als trouwe honden,
de zachte enkelbijters van
stemming en humeur.
Daar doen we het niet om,
we weten het, we zwijgen
en de variaties jubelen
de jaren door.
Hoe vaak beseft een mens wat blijvend is,
die fractie van verbeelding?
En toch – een glimp van een klavier
bij avond door een open raam,
een flard van stemmen in de mist,
en alles is weer open.
From: De val van vrije dagen
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Stefan Hertmans
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GOLDBERG VARIATIONS
That we possessed the lightnessto fold our hands round music –
deliberation issuing from a fugue
protecting us because we’ve something we protect.
There are things you cannot learn.
They follow us like faithful dogs,
the gentle ankle biters of
tempers and humour.
That isn’t why we do it,
we know it, we stay silent
exulting in the variations
over the passing years.
How often does one see what lasts,
this fraction of imagination?
And yet – a glimpse of a piano
at evening through an open window,
fragments of voices in the mist,
and all is open once again.
© 2017, Donald Gardner
From: De val van vrije dagen
From: De val van vrije dagen
GOLDBERG VARIATIONS
That we possessed the lightnessto fold our hands round music –
deliberation issuing from a fugue
protecting us because we’ve something we protect.
There are things you cannot learn.
They follow us like faithful dogs,
the gentle ankle biters of
tempers and humour.
That isn’t why we do it,
we know it, we stay silent
exulting in the variations
over the passing years.
How often does one see what lasts,
this fraction of imagination?
And yet – a glimpse of a piano
at evening through an open window,
fragments of voices in the mist,
and all is open once again.
© 2017, Donald Gardner
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