Eén gedicht van Mary Oliver, in het Engels (oorspronkelijke taal) en in het Nederlands, om op deze regenachtige dag de zon te herinneren.
The Summer Day
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
De Zomerdag
Wie heeft de wereld gemaakt?
Wie heeft de zwanen gemaakt en de zwarte beer?
Wie heeft de sprinkhaan gemaakt?
Deze sprinkhaan, bedoel ik -
die uit het gras omhoog kwam gesprongen
die suiker eet uit mijn hand.
die haar kaken heen en weer beweegt in plaats van op en neer
die rond kijkt met haar enorme facetogen.
Nu licht ze haar bleke onderarmpjes op en wast grondig haar gezicht.
Nu klapt ze haar vleugels open en zweeft weg.
Ik weet niet precies wat een gebed is.
Ik weet wel hoe je aandacht geeft, hoe je in het gras
valt, hoe je in het gras knielt.
Hoe gelukzalig niets te doen, hoe door de akkers te kuieren
- wat ik allemaal vandaag gedaan heb.
Vertel me, wat had ik anders moeten doen?
Gaat niet alles dood uiteindelijk, en te vroeg?
Vertel me, wat ben je van plan te doen
met je ene geweldige en waardevolle leven?
