Boy floated on a raft down
sluggish thought; a wise frog in slime
was his guide.
Along the banks stood moulded monuments
to matter.
In the wide summer sky laughed dead the shrinking sun
and mole-blind ideas, the silver insects
that sought out his brown head, to
pollute the empty space.
The frog stranded and withered on a wish of stone
and the stream turned into a stagnant pool because
there was no fall between him and a future.
Translation: Ko Kooman
Gjin hichteferskil
Jonge dreau op in flot it sleauwe
tinken bedel; in wize frosk yn slym
wie syn paadwizer.
Op ‘e wâl stiene grien útsleine monuminten
foar de matearje.
Yn ’e romme simmerloft laken dea de krimpende sinne
en steksjogge ideeën, de sulveren neven
dy’t om syn brune holle sochten, de lege
romte fersmoargje soene.
De frosk rûn fêst en fertoarre op in stiennen winsk
en de stream waard in stille poel want der wie
gjin hichteferskil tusken him en in takomst.
© Cornelis van der Wal
In nêst jonge magneten (Koperative Utjouwerij, 1991)