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Thread: Poems by J.C.Bloem

  1. #1

    Post Poems by J.C.Bloem

    Bleak Summer

    Without a pause the days so ravage,
    No sun has shone, the world of gray,
    And with their winds so harsh and savage
    They rain the last hope out of life away.

    No longer incensed on the way to the grave,
    With peace one waits for fate's last breath
    And thinks about what comes beyond the wave:
    Autumn and old age, winter and death.


    After Liberation

    I

    Beautiful and radiant, just like then, is the spring,
    Cold of morning, but as the days open up
    Further, the eternal light is a miracle
    For those who have been saved.
    In the transparent haze upon the fallow
    Land plow once again the slow workhorses
    As always, even as the near-by distances
    Rumble with war.
    To have experienced this, to say this
    with body still whole, every time awakening again
    To know: it is over, and now forever, the almost
    Unbearable servitude—
    Worth it it was, to have languished five years,
    Now rising up, then giving in again, and not
    One of the unborn shall ever fully grasp
    Freedom in this way.e


    II

    Regular measure of the returning seasons!
    What is the heart that has ever feared,
    Knowing spring would come to liberate it,
    Radiant as it has ever been.
    Ever in the present, indestructible
    Life that flowers out above death,
    And the smallest of complaints seems barely audible
    Where the rye about the ruins grows.


    Homeward Traveler


    In the train. Time passes with dream.
    Upon the panes sways the sunset hour.
    Once I have arrived at your door,
    Shall I once again be closer to my death.

    But there I shall have sat myself down
    in satiety and in the lamp's soft glow.
    Everything I shall have forgotten
    But this one thing: to be with you.

    This love knows neither turn nor going,
    Knows not distance and fleeting hour;
    The one forced by its desire
    In its hunger for eternity.

    O I cannot make my heart believe
    --Heart, grown used to every absence--
    That a moment can extinguish
    That for which a life is not too long.


    The Cottage in the Dunes


    Wallflowers blossomed in front of the low window.
    The late afternoon sunlight was warm and bronze,
    and the undisturbed silence sounded like a hum
    of many small wings beating together.

    And behind the small, protected house
    rose up the bleached-white sanddunes:
    a clear sky stood above their crowns;
    almost inaudible was the surf of the sea.

    Here, the power of misfortune seemed to fade,
    for a moment. Here, happiness seemed obtainable,
    the heavy pressures of daily life avoidable
    within the borders of a limited existence.

    What is this obsession so ingrained for people
    that it will not allow for the fulfillment of desire,
    that they are by their weak hearts refused
    that for which they chased after, all their lives?


    The Dapperstreet

    Nature is for the self-satisfied or vain.
    And yet: what is left of nature in this land?
    A bit of forest the size of a paper,
    A hill with a few estates on its side.

    Give me the gray of big city boulevards,
    The riveted embankments of water's edge,
    The clouds, never as beautiful as when, framed
    In attic windows, they float by in the sky.

    Everything is much for one who expects little.
    Life holds its wonders deeply hidden
    Until, all at once, it reveals them at their best.

    All of this I've thought over to myself,
    Wet with rain, on a drizzly dull morning,
    Witlessly happy, on the Dapperstreet.


    Rondel

    The short of love and the long of suffering,
    It becomes a thing that one forgets.
    Remembered again, then one says: I know,
    It was at the time not to be avoided.

    Does one the confinement sometimes envy
    Compared to this absence of pain?
    And yet, short love and longer suffering,
    It becomes a thing that one forgets.

    Life's erstwhile hot and colds
    One begins to see as time goes on
    As the slipping away of but an hour.
    O youth, was this why one cried out?
    One becomes a thing and one forgets.


    Snow

    It 's snowing. To the swarming silence the winds give up their wings.
    The unbaised heavens are not to be mollified like existence.
    —The righteous snows fall upon those scorned and those loved.
    The snow falls on the stones under which the dead decay.


    Epitaph

    Nameless among the nameless that are legion,
    to general sameness seemingly subdued;
    to no high seat o'er some unthreatened region
    exalted - to no radiant altitude -

    The safely sheltered ever and anon
    bore with him, or forgot him, but none saw
    the shadow of two wings that drove him on,
    and in his bent neck the relentless claw.

    And now, after desire, tired and outworn,
    and lifelong patience under restless strain,
    a tombstone, cracked by weeds, and weatherworn
    letters and figures filled by the slow rain.

  2. #2
    "Du bist das Bild, das ich in mir barg..."
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    Homeward Traveler
    J.C. Bloem


    In the train. Time passes with dream.
    Upon the panes sways the sunset hour.
    Once I have arrived at your door,
    Shall I once again be closer to my death.

    But there I shall have sat myself down
    in satiety and in the lamp's soft glow.
    Everything I shall have forgotten
    But this one thing: to be with you.

    This love knows neither turn nor going,
    Knows not distance and fleeting hour;
    The one forced by its desire
    In its hunger for eternity.

    O I cannot make my heart believe
    --Heart, grown used to every absence--
    That a moment can extinguish
    That for which a life is not too long.


    Translated by Cliff Crego

    Huiswaarts Reizende
    J.C. Bloem


    In de trein. De tijd vergaat met dromen.
    Op de ruitjes wiegelt avondrood.
    Als ik bij U ben gekomen,
    Ben ik weer wat nader bij mijn dood.

    Maar daar zal ik neder zijn gezeten
    In verzadigdheid en lampenschijn.
    Alles zal ik zijn vergeten
    Dan dit enige: bij U te zijn.

    Deze liefde kent geen gaan en keren,
    Kent geen afstand en gewiekten tijd;
    De ene drang van haar begeren
    In haar hongeren naar eeuwigheid.

    O ik kan mijn hart niet doen geloven
    --Hart, dat zich gewende aan elk gemis--
    Dat een ogenblik kan doven
    Waar een leven niet te lang voor is.


    Spring
    J.C. Bloem


    The sun broke through the stern spring air.
    Suddenly the flight of a bird turned.
    Upon the earth the thinly sown snow melts.
    Heart, you are free, waiting for nothing afraid.


    Translated by Cliff Crego

    Voorjaar
    J.C. Bloem


    De zon brak door de barre voorjaarslucht.
    Plotseling kantelde er een vogelvlucht.
    Op de aarde smolt de dungezaaide sneeuw.
    Hart, gij zijt vrij; gij waart om niets beducht.
    Last edited by Moody; Wednesday, January 31st, 2007 at 02:44 PM. Reason: merged consecutive posts

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