Gedicht
Tsead Bruinja
GRASS THAT’S ALREADY LAUGHING
each word I lay down before youon the ground and at your feet
is a word too many
the cold grass beneath
fresh mown just wet
by the moon
it lies a day
now waiting for the sun
a hand covering its mouth
a hand hiding the joke
waiting for how
fresh mown grass
laughs
looks at me
sits up
laughs laughs laughs
each word
true word laughs
laughs
in delight
like a bed you have to
make
laughs
fresh
mown and smooth
fresh mown and glad
the grass laughs with a hand
over its mouth
and each word I later apparently gently
lay down before you on the new grass at your precious feet
is a word too many that laughs and will laugh
© Translation: 2004, David Colmer
Translated from the poet’s Dutch translation
GERS DAT ALFÊST LAKET
GERS DAT ALFÊST LAKET
elk wurd dat ik by dy dellisoan `e grûn en foar dyn fuotten
is in wurd tefolle
it kâlde gers derûnder
krekt meand krekt wiet
fan de moanne
it leit in dei
no wachtsje op de sinne
en hân foar de mûle
en hân foar de grap
wachtsje op hoe’t
krekt meand gers
laket
sjocht my oan
kom oerein
laket laket laket
elk wurd
wier wurd laket
laket
bliid
as in bêd dat noch net op
makke is
laket
krekt
meand en glêd
krekt meand en bliid
laket it gers mei de hân
op de mûle
en elk wurd dat ik skylk skynber sêft
by dy dellis op it nije gers en foar dyn djoere fuotten
is in wurd tefolle dat laket en laitsje sil
© 2004, Tsead Bruinja
Previously published on www.farsk.nl
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GERS DAT ALFÊST LAKET
elk wurd dat ik by dy dellisoan `e grûn en foar dyn fuotten
is in wurd tefolle
it kâlde gers derûnder
krekt meand krekt wiet
fan de moanne
it leit in dei
no wachtsje op de sinne
en hân foar de mûle
en hân foar de grap
wachtsje op hoe’t
krekt meand gers
laket
sjocht my oan
kom oerein
laket laket laket
elk wurd
wier wurd laket
laket
bliid
as in bêd dat noch net op
makke is
laket
krekt
meand en glêd
krekt meand en bliid
laket it gers mei de hân
op de mûle
en elk wurd dat ik skylk skynber sêft
by dy dellis op it nije gers en foar dyn djoere fuotten
is in wurd tefolle dat laket en laitsje sil
GRASS THAT’S ALREADY LAUGHING
each word I lay down before youon the ground and at your feet
is a word too many
the cold grass beneath
fresh mown just wet
by the moon
it lies a day
now waiting for the sun
a hand covering its mouth
a hand hiding the joke
waiting for how
fresh mown grass
laughs
looks at me
sits up
laughs laughs laughs
each word
true word laughs
laughs
in delight
like a bed you have to
make
laughs
fresh
mown and smooth
fresh mown and glad
the grass laughs with a hand
over its mouth
and each word I later apparently gently
lay down before you on the new grass at your precious feet
is a word too many that laughs and will laugh
© 2004, David Colmer
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