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How can it be, Creator there aloft, that I should see You but as in a glint; as in a glass, too obfuscated oft with damp and dust: and never quite distinct?
Leos Janácek: Smrt (Morte - Death)
more photos by Jaroslav Voller
I N S P E C U L O
How can it be,
Creator there aloft,
that I should see
You but as in a glint;
as in a glass,
too obfuscated oft
with damp and dust:
and never quite distinct?
If You exist
and are God, it must be
that I see You;
that, without cloth, somewhere
You are looked on,
that, looking, finally,
I see You near
and always at You stare!
How can it be:
not vainly have You given,
by Your mild hand,
the vital aptitudes
that make me strive,
and sigh after a living,
tat all the good,
by seeing You, includes!
Once there will come
from orient a day,
a dawning and
a diuturnity
that cannot fade
away nor lead astray
the striving soul,
which seeks and does not see.
My eye will see
You wholly once and craves
to be the drop
that in the ocean sank:
it will see You,
while swallowed by the waves,
that seeing sea
with neither bed nor bank!
Als de ziele luistert
spreekt het al een taal dat leeft,
‘t lijzigste gefluister
ook een taal en teeken heeft:
bla’ren van de boomen
kouten met malkaar gezwind,
baren in stroomen
klappen luide en welgezind,
wind en wee en wolken,
wegelen van Gods heiligen voet,
talen en vertolken
‘t diep gedoken Woord zoo zoet….
als de ziele luistert.
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