w o r d s
When I consider life, 'tis all a cheat.
Yet fool'd with hope, men favor the deciet;
Trust on, and think tomorrow will repay.
Tomorrow's falser than the former day;
Dryden, Aureng-Zebe, IV, 1
And sometimes it happens that you are friends and then
You are not friends,
And friendship has passed.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself.
And sometimes it happens that you are loved and then
You are not loved,
And love is past.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself into the grass.
And sometimes you want to speak to her and then
You do not want to speak,
Then the opportunity has passed.
Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish.
And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then
There is somewhere to go,
Then you have bypassed.
And the years flare up and are gone,
Quicker than a minute.
So you have nothing.
You wonder if these things matter and then
As soon you begin to wonder if these things matter
They cease to matter,
And caring is past.
And a fountain empties itself into the grass.
This, that I carry like a butterfly,
prisoner in my cupped and outstretched hands,
is, of all things, small,
but great in its demands
and bears within itself a world of power.
I close my hand upon it like a wall.
For this there can be neither time nor season
and of all things upon the earth
it has the least to do with reason.
(I open my hand, finger from palm. Look!)
This holds within it life, death, and birth;
used wrong, there is no harm it cannot do.
Look long, look carefully;
this is for you.
Je moet niet alleen, om de plek te bereiken
thuis opstappen, maar ook uit manieren van kijken.
Er is niets te zien, en dat moet je zien,
om alles bij het zeer oude te laten.
Er is hier. Er is tijd
om overmorgen iets te hebben achtergelaten.
Daar moet je vandaag voor zorgen.
Voor sterfelijkheid.
Yet fool'd with hope, men favor the deciet;
Trust on, and think tomorrow will repay.
Tomorrow's falser than the former day;
Dryden, Aureng-Zebe, IV, 1
And sometimes it happens that you are friends and then
You are not friends,
And friendship has passed.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself.
And sometimes it happens that you are loved and then
You are not loved,
And love is past.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself into the grass.
And sometimes you want to speak to her and then
You do not want to speak,
Then the opportunity has passed.
Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish.
And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then
There is somewhere to go,
Then you have bypassed.
And the years flare up and are gone,
Quicker than a minute.
So you have nothing.
You wonder if these things matter and then
As soon you begin to wonder if these things matter
They cease to matter,
And caring is past.
And a fountain empties itself into the grass.
This, that I carry like a butterfly,
prisoner in my cupped and outstretched hands,
is, of all things, small,
but great in its demands
and bears within itself a world of power.
I close my hand upon it like a wall.
For this there can be neither time nor season
and of all things upon the earth
it has the least to do with reason.
(I open my hand, finger from palm. Look!)
This holds within it life, death, and birth;
used wrong, there is no harm it cannot do.
Look long, look carefully;
this is for you.
Je moet niet alleen, om de plek te bereiken
thuis opstappen, maar ook uit manieren van kijken.
Er is niets te zien, en dat moet je zien,
om alles bij het zeer oude te laten.
Er is hier. Er is tijd
om overmorgen iets te hebben achtergelaten.
Daar moet je vandaag voor zorgen.
Voor sterfelijkheid.