In this category:

Or see the index

All categories

  1. CINEMA, RADIO & TV
  2. DANCE
  3. DICTIONARY OF IDEAS
  4. EXHIBITION – art, art history, photos, paintings, drawings, sculpture, ready-mades, video, performing arts, collages, gallery, etc.
  5. FICTION & NON-FICTION – books, booklovers, lit. history, biography, essays, translations, short stories, columns, literature: celtic, beat, travesty, war, dada & de stijl, drugs, dead poets
  6. FLEURSDUMAL POETRY LIBRARY – classic, modern, experimental & visual & sound poetry, poetry in translation, city poets, poetry archive, pre-raphaelites, editor's choice, etc.
  7. LITERARY NEWS & EVENTS – art & literature news, in memoriam, festivals, city-poets, writers in Residence
  8. MONTAIGNE
  9. MUSEUM OF LOST CONCEPTS – invisible poetry, conceptual writing, spurensicherung
  10. MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY – department of ravens & crows, birds of prey, riding a zebra
  11. MUSEUM OF PUBLIC PROTEST- photos, texts, videos, street poetry
  12. MUSIC
  13. PRESS & PUBLISHING
  14. REPRESSION OF WRITERS, JOURNALISTS & ARTISTS
  15. STORY ARCHIVE – olv van de veestraat, reading room, tales for fellow citizens
  16. STREET POETRY
  17. THEATRE
  18. TOMBEAU DE LA JEUNESSE – early death: writers, poets & artists who died young
  19. ULTIMATE LIBRARY – danse macabre, ex libris, grimm and others, fairy tales, the art of reading, tales of mystery & imagination, sherlock holmes theatre, erotic poetry, the ideal woman
  20. ·




  1. Subscribe to new material:
    RSS     ATOM

Hardy, Thomas

· Thomas Hardy: Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave? · Thomas Hardy: “Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?” vertaald door Cornelis W. Schoneveld · Thomas Hardy: Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave? · Thomas Hardy: Neutral Tones (vertaling Cornelis W. Schoneveld)

Thomas Hardy: Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?

POEARCHFDM02

Thomas Hardy
(1840-1928)

Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?

“Ah, are you digging on my grave
My loved one? — planting rue?”
— “No, yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
‘It cannot hurt her now,’ he said,
‘That I should not be true.'”

“Then who is digging on my grave?
My nearest dearest kin?”
— “Ah, no; they sit and think, ‘What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death’s gin.’ “

“But some one digs upon my grave?
My enemy? — prodding sly?”
— “Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.”

“Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say — since I have not guessed!”
— “O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog, who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?”

“Ah yes! You dig upon my grave . . .
Why flashed it not on me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog’s fidelity!”

“Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting-place.”

Thomas Hardy poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive G-H, Hardy, Thomas


Thomas Hardy: “Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?” vertaald door Cornelis W. Schoneveld

schoneveld-hardy02

Thomas Hardy

“Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?”

 

“Ah, are you digging on my grave        

            My loved one? — planting rue?”         

– “No, yesterday he went to wed                    

One of the brightest wealth has bred.

‘It cannot hurt her now,’ he said,                    

            ‘That I should not be true.’”                

 

“Then who is digging on my grave?

            My nearest dearest kin?”

– “Ah, no; they sit and think, ‘What use!

What good will planting flowers produce?

No tendance of her mound can loose

            Her spirit from Death’s gin.’ “

 

“But some one digs upon my grave?

            My enemy?—prodding sly?”

– “Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate

That shuts on all flesh soon or late,

She thought you no more worth her hate,

            And cares not where you lie.”

 

“Then, who is digging on my grave?

            Say—since I have not guessed!”

– “O it is I, my mistress dear,

Your little dog, who still lives near,

And much I hope my movements here

            Have not disturbed your rest?”

 

“Ah yes! You dig upon my grave . . .

            Why flashed it not on me

That one true heart was left behind!

What feeling do we ever find

To equal among human kind

            A dog’s fidelity!”         

 

“Mistress, I dug upon your grave

            To bury a bone, in case

I should be hungry near this spot

When passing on my daily trot.

I am sorry, but I quite forgot

            It was your resting-place.”

 

“O joh, graaf jij hier aan mijn graf”

 

“O joh, graaf jij hier aan mijn graf

Voor tijm-aanplant, mijn schat?”

– “Nee, gisteren is hij gehuwd

Met ‘n ster door weelde opgestuwd.

‘Haar pijn,’ zei hij, ‘is nu geluwd,

Al had ik schuld gehad.’ “

 

“Maar wie graaft hier dan aan mijn graf?

Mijn liefste broer of zus?”

– “O nee, zij denken maar, ‘Welk nut

Wordt hier uit bloemenkweek geput?

Geen Dood wordt van haar geest geschud

Door terp- of grondwerkklus.’ “

 

“Maar iemand graaft toch aan mijn graf?

Die feeks?—die roddel jouwt?”

– “Nee: want, nu zij jouw vlees voor goed

De poort door weet, die elk door moet,

Vindt zij dat haat er niet toe doet,

En laat jouw terp haar koud.”

 

“Maar wie graaft hier dan aan mijn graf?

Vertel—daar ik ‘t niet raad!”

– “O, ik ben het, mijn vrouwtje lief,

Je hond, die menig pootje hief

Hier;—hopelijk doet ongerief

Daaruit jouw rust geen kwaad!”

 

“O ja! Jij graaft hier aan mijn graf—

Waarom bleek me al niet gauw

Dat één trouw hart hier steeds nog was?

En welk gevoel in ‘t menselijk ras

Houdt ooit ook maar gelijke pas

Met zulke hondentrouw!”

 

” ‘k Begroef hier, vrouwtje, op je graf

Een kluif, voor op de dag

Dat ik geen voer te vinden weet

Als ik hier in mijn rondje treed.

Spijt heb ik, maar vergat compleet

Dat hier jouw rustplaats lag.”

 

Thomas Hardy:   “Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?”

in een nieuwe vertaling van: Cornelis W. Schoneveld (jan. 2013)

kempis.nl poetry magazine

More in: Archive G-H, Hardy, Thomas, More translations


Thomas Hardy: Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?

hardythomas 01

Thomas Hardy

(1840-1928)

Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?

 

“Ah, are you digging on my grave

My loved one? — planting rue?”

— “No, yesterday he went to wed

One of the brightest wealth has bred.

‘It cannot hurt her now,’ he said,

‘That I should not be true.'”

 

“Then who is digging on my grave?

My nearest dearest kin?”

— “Ah, no; they sit and think, ‘What use!

What good will planting flowers produce?

No tendance of her mound can loose

Her spirit from Death’s gin.’ “

 

“But some one digs upon my grave?

My enemy? — prodding sly?”

— “Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate

That shuts on all flesh soon or late,

She thought you no more worth her hate,

And cares not where you lie.”

 

“Then, who is digging on my grave?

Say — since I have not guessed!”

— “O it is I, my mistress dear,

Your little dog, who still lives near,

And much I hope my movements here

Have not disturbed your rest?”

 

“Ah yes! You dig upon my grave . . .

Why flashed it not on me

That one true heart was left behind!

What feeling do we ever find

To equal among human kind

A dog’s fidelity!”

 

“Mistress, I dug upon your grave

To bury a bone, in case

I should be hungry near this spot

When passing on my daily trot.

I am sorry, but I quite forgot

It was your resting-place.”

 

Thomas Hardy poetry

kempis.nl poetry magazine

More in: Archive G-H, Hardy, Thomas


Thomas Hardy: Neutral Tones (vertaling Cornelis W. Schoneveld)

Thomas Hardy

(1840-1928)

 

Neutral Tones

We stood by a pond that winter day,

And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,

And a few leaves lay on the starving sod;

– They had fallen from an ash, and were gray;

 

Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove

Over tedious riddles of years ago;

And some words played between us to and fro

On which lost the more by our love.

 

The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing

Alive enough to have strength to die;

And a grin of bitterness swept thereby

Like an ominous bird a-wing…

 

Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,

And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me

Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,

And a pond edged with grayish leaves.

1867

 

Thomas Hardy

Neutrale tinten

We stonden bij ‘n plas in winterse kou,

En de zon, zo wit, leek verstoten door God,

En wat blad lag op ‘t gras, halfverrot;

– Het kwam van een es, en was grauw;

 

Jouw blik op mij was als ‘n blik die dwaalt

Over saaie raadsels al jaren voorbij;

En wat taal speelde er tussen jou en mij

Over wíens liefde ‘t meest had gefaald.

 

De lach om je mond was het doodste ding

Nog levend genoeg voor ‘n gang naar ‘t graf;

En een bittere grijns schoot er vanaf,

Alsof ‘n vogel in doemvlucht ging…

 

Sindsdien, biedt ‘t feit dat liefde misleidt,

Verstrikt met kwaad, mij de bittere les

Van je blik, en ‘n Godloze zon, en ‘n es

En ‘n plas, en wat grijs blad verspreid.

 

Vertaling Cornelis W. Schoneveld

Uit: Bestorm mijn hart, de beste Engelse gedichten uit de 16e-19e eeuw gekozen en vertaald door Cornelis W. Schoneveld, tweetalige editie. Rainbow Essentials no. 55, Uitgeverij Maarten Muntinga, Amsterdam, 2008, 296 pp, € 9,95 ISBN: 9789041740588

kempis.nl poetry magazine

More in: Archive G-H, Hardy, Thomas, More translations


Thank you for reading FLEURSDUMAL.NL - magazine for art & literature