Poem
Hugo Claus
THE MOTHER
I am not, I am only in your earth.When you screamed and your skin quivered
My bones caught fire.
(My mother, caught in her skin,
Changes with the measure of the years.
Her eye is bright, escaped from the urge
Of the years through looking at me and
Calling me her happy son.
She was no stony bed, no animal fever,
Her joints were young cats,
But my skin remains unforgivable to her
And the crickets in my voice are motionless.
‘You have outgrown me,’ she says dully
Washing my father’s feet, and she is silent
Like a woman without a mouth.)
When your skin screamed my bones caught fire.
You put me down, I can never rebear this picture,
I was the invited but deadly guest.
And now, later, I in my manhood am strange to you.
You see me approach you, you think: ‘He is
The summer, he makes my flesh and keeps
The dogs in me alive.’
While you must die every day, not together
With me, I am not, I am not except in your earth.
In me your life perishes in rotation, you do not
Return to me, from you I do not recover.
© Translation: 2005, John Irons
DE MOEDER
DE MOEDER
Ik ben niet, ik ben niet dan in uw aarde.Toen gij schreeuwde en uw vel beefde
Vatten mijn beenderen vuur.
(Mijn moeder, gevangen in haar vel,
Verandert naar de maat der jaren.
Haar oog is licht, ontsnapt aan de drift
Der jaren door mij aan te zien en mij
Haar blijde zoon te noemen.
Zij was geen stenen bed, geen dierenkoorts,
Haar gewrichten waren jonge katten,
Maar onvergeeflijk blijft mijn huid voor haar
En onbeweeglijk zijn de krekels in mijn stem.
‘Je bent mij ontgroeid,’ zegt zij traag mijn
Vaders voeten wassend, en zij zwijgt
als een vrouw zonder mond.)
Toen uw vel schreeuwde vatten mijn beenderen vuur.
Gij legde mij neder, nooit kan ik dit beeld herdragen,
Ik was de genode maar de dodende gast.
En nu, later, mannelijk word ik u vreemd.
Gij ziet mij naar u komen, gij denkt: ‘Hij is
De zomer, hij maakt mijn vlees en houdt
De honden in mij wakker.’
Terwijl gij elke dag te sterven staat, niet met mij
Samen, ben ik niet, ben ik niet dan in uw aarde.
In mij vergaat uw leven wentelend, gij keert
Niet naar mij terug. van u herstel ik niet.
© 1955, Hugo Claus
From: Gedichten
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
From: Gedichten
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
Poems
Poems of Hugo Claus
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THE MOTHER
I am not, I am only in your earth.When you screamed and your skin quivered
My bones caught fire.
(My mother, caught in her skin,
Changes with the measure of the years.
Her eye is bright, escaped from the urge
Of the years through looking at me and
Calling me her happy son.
She was no stony bed, no animal fever,
Her joints were young cats,
But my skin remains unforgivable to her
And the crickets in my voice are motionless.
‘You have outgrown me,’ she says dully
Washing my father’s feet, and she is silent
Like a woman without a mouth.)
When your skin screamed my bones caught fire.
You put me down, I can never rebear this picture,
I was the invited but deadly guest.
And now, later, I in my manhood am strange to you.
You see me approach you, you think: ‘He is
The summer, he makes my flesh and keeps
The dogs in me alive.’
While you must die every day, not together
With me, I am not, I am not except in your earth.
In me your life perishes in rotation, you do not
Return to me, from you I do not recover.
© 2005, John Irons
From: Gedichten
From: Gedichten
THE MOTHER
I am not, I am only in your earth.When you screamed and your skin quivered
My bones caught fire.
(My mother, caught in her skin,
Changes with the measure of the years.
Her eye is bright, escaped from the urge
Of the years through looking at me and
Calling me her happy son.
She was no stony bed, no animal fever,
Her joints were young cats,
But my skin remains unforgivable to her
And the crickets in my voice are motionless.
‘You have outgrown me,’ she says dully
Washing my father’s feet, and she is silent
Like a woman without a mouth.)
When your skin screamed my bones caught fire.
You put me down, I can never rebear this picture,
I was the invited but deadly guest.
And now, later, I in my manhood am strange to you.
You see me approach you, you think: ‘He is
The summer, he makes my flesh and keeps
The dogs in me alive.’
While you must die every day, not together
With me, I am not, I am not except in your earth.
In me your life perishes in rotation, you do not
Return to me, from you I do not recover.
© 2005, John Irons
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