‘Doe’t de himel te tûmeljen begûn...’

Krimp

Krimp

Kroegen bankrot, winkels ticht,
in daksgoate dript, in strjitte rint oer,
it doarp sliept
de oere fan in âld Frysk deadeboek.

Oan bline finsters ûnthjitte posters

politike himelriken,
graffity sprekt út

djip ferûngelike ûnderbúken

Aksters skrasse oer winter syn hôven.

Sûnder folk bochtet
in bus fuort de lege kimen yn.
.
.

DECLINE

Pub and shops all bankrupt,
a leaking gutter, a street that floods,
the village has fallen asleep,
the hour of an old Frisian book of the dead.

Posters on blind windows
promise political heavens,
graffiti airs the grievances
of a churning underbelly.

Magpies chatter over wintry farms.

An empty bus swerves left and right
on its way to a bare horizon.
..
.

Translation David Colmer