Fortabt sonet

NY poesi 1

John Ashbery

FORTABT SONET

De vokser op for hurtigt
nu om stunder. Uprætentiøsitet
bliver uhåndterligt, skovene
et sted man forlader i hast.
Du siger din listige facon
er ukunstlet? Det er jeg så også
indeholdende dig, mester.
Dine spor liver op med ny interesse.

Vejen ser altid hvad der er længere fremme,
nemlig modstand. Ingen tand
eller stjerne modsiger hvad der er skabt
og svært at spolere. Vask gæstens
fødder, piloten. Jack var hans navn
og vi var som brødre, selv om vi aldrig kendte hinanden.

LOST SONNET

They grow up so fast
these days. Unassumingness
becomes unwieldy, the woods
a place to walk from briskly.
You says your cunning comportment
is artless? Well then so am I
for containing you, champ.
Your tracks are alive with new interest.

The trail always sees what's up ahead,
which is resistance. No tooth
or star contradicts what is made
and hard to screw up. Wash the guest's
feet, the aviator. Jack was his name,
and we were like brothers, though we never knew each other.

- fra The New Yorker, oct. 12, 2009, købt i aviskiosk på Grand Central