Time was lacking,
yes, no doubt about it.
A black thrush was singing
shamelessly, poor

adversary, bell-ringer …
Second Prometheus, risen
from the really hot regions,
stoked up from Styx' waters,

from end-of-days-elixir,
pecked the view day after day
and handed us over, to
the treasure fleet of vultures …

I awoke in the night
that winter-time set in,
when ghosts and antlers
stuck out from the long wall;

the midwinter horns blew
and dry brushwood climbed:
‘… Big Bells Good-bye
… Blue Bells Good-bye'

There's a raid going on
against all that exists.
The oat field saw it,
the fireworks maker did not.

9 November 2004

Translation: 2008, Willem Groenewegen