yn ’e buert fan swarte haan by in sleat op in
hite saterdeimiddei yn septimber
it lân jout op as de see
mei gjin bakken mar weinen
fol ierappels by fûl sinneljocht
oer aldebildtdyk dinderjend
de dyk weaget
fan hjittens sjogge wy it oan
út anonime reidkraach wei
fiele wy ús as dy pear knollen
falle en rôlje nei de frijheid
ien tel net oplette
in hân fiere litte
ta smots op asfalt opbakt
near zwarte haan next to a ditch on hot Saturday
afternoon in September
the land provides like the sea
not crates but wagons full
of potatoes in bright sunlight
rumbling along oudebildtdijk
the dike undulates here
in the heat we follow its path
from an anonymous clump of reeds
we feel like those few tubers
falling and rolling to freedom
a second’s inattention
a slackening hand
smashed to pulp on the ground
Translation: Michele Hutchison
