Robert Bly

De Amerikaanse dichter en schrijver Robert Bly werd geboren op 23 december 1926 in Madison, Minnesota. Zie ook alle tags voor Robert Bly op dit blog.

 

People Like Us

There are more like us. All over the world
There are confused people, who can’t remember
The name of their dog when they wake up, and
people
Who love God but can’t remember where

He was when they went to sleep. It’s
All right. The world cleanses itself this way.
A wrong number occurs to you in the middle
Of the night, you dial it, it rings just in time

To save the house. And the second-story man
Gets the wrong address, where the insomniac lives,
And he’s lonely , and they talk, and the thief
Goes back to college. Even in graduate school,

You can wander into the wrong classroom,
And hear great poems lovingly spoken
By the wrong professor. And you find your soul
And greatness has a defender, and even in death
you’re safe

 

Shabistari and The Secret Garden

I can’t stop praising Shabistari for bringing
The gnat’s and the elephant’s legs close to each other.
Next I want Sunday to be brought closer to Monday.

Suppose a bit of straw were able to marry the wind.
Haven’t you noticed those good marriages when
The wind and the chaff go down the road together?

When a poem takes me to that place where
No story ever happens twice, all I want
Is a warm room, and a thousand years of thought.

Conrad said the dark swimmer did reach his ship.
If we sink into the suffering that’s right for us,
Our dreams will have all that Adam and Eve wept for.

Amazing things do happen. One morning Kierkegaard
Explains exactly what ressentiment is
And the mouse agrees to marry everyone in the room.

Robert, those high spirits don’t prove you are
A close friend of truth; but you have learned to drive
Your buggy over the prairies of human sorrow.

 

Casida of the Rose

The rose
was not searching for the sunrise:
almost eternal on its branch,
it was searching for something else.

The rose
was not searching for darkness or science:
borderline of flesh and dream,
it was searching for something else.

The rose
was not searching for the rose.
Motionless in the sky
it was searching for something else.

 

Weelderige hemelen willen

Niemand moppert onder de oesterclans,
En kreeften spelen de hele zomer op hun benen gitaren.
Alleen wij, met onze opponeerbare duimen, willen
De hemel om te zijn, en God om weer te komen.
Er komt geen einde aan ons gemopper; wij willen
Comfortabele aarde en weelderige hemel.
Maar de reiger staat op één poot in het moeras
Drinkt de hele dag zijn donkere rum en is tevreden.

 

Vertaald door Frans Roumen

 

Robert Bly (23 december 1926 – 21 november 2021)

 

Zie voor nog meer schrijvers van de 23e december ook mijn blog van 23 december 2018 deel 1 en ook deel 2 en eveneens deel 3.