by Fjördlý
die nes al rustig op die geut
vergaan tak vir tak in die stilte
van ‘n graf –
stuk vir stuk word die vere rondgevorm in
die been, die vlees, en al die uitgedroogde
afal van die tortelduif se lyk.
vlerke oop asof in vlug.
God, los my nou tog uit.
Siva, vernietig en verlaat my dan.
Vishnu, bewaak en verdrink tog
in jou eindelose see.
Gautama, bly tog stil,
ek wil niks hoor van Samsara.
draad vir draad roes ons yster bome;
steen vir steen verkrummel elke tombe.
dies irae dies illa solvet saeclum in favilla!
daai wederkoms was lankal hier:
die kwaad, die vuur, al ons mag verval na as.
selfs wag ons nog vir Christus
wag ons vir ons ware liefde, eie rykdom,
eie koninkryk in ‘n doeie land.
al jaag ons dan die son en maan,
al die kennis in die sterre;
al sê ons vir onsself: wysheid is virewig
lê al dié wysheid in blaaie wat sal sterf.
pessimis, sinies, hemelvanger,
soeker van die boord;
filosoof, realis, boedis.
die lewe is veraltyd
en die god in die masjien is dood.
Translation:
it's the nest resting quietly on the gutter
which is dismantled branch for branch in the silence
of a grave –
piece by piece the feathers are formed round in
the bone, the flesh, and all the desiccated
remains of the turtle dove's corpse.
wings spread as if in flight.
God, leave me alone.
Shiva, destroy and don't sojourn.
Vishnu, wake and drown
in your endless sea.
Gautama, be silent,
I won't hear anything of Samsara.
our trees of iron rust wire by wire;
and stone by stone each tomb crumbles.
dies irae dies illa solvet sauclum in favilla!
that second coming has already come:
the rage, the blaze, all our might turned into ash.
even if in expectancy of Christ
still we wait for our own true love, our riches,
our own kingdom in a dying land.
even if we chase the sun and moon,
all the knowledge in the stars;
even if we tell ourselves: wisdom is forever
that wisdom lies in mortal pages.
pessimist, cynic, chaser of heaven,
seeker of the garden;
philosopher, realist, Buddhist.
life is eternal,
and the god in the machine is dead.