Charitable she walks around
with the harp of her rake
with scooping shovel
She sends slugs
back to their saunas
chase wood lice
escalator downinto the basement-
departments of their shadowy
Because she's on earth for this purpose
to sculpture out of light
with hoe, with garden-shears, with fork
flower beds, lawns, arbours
museums for the wind
as if suddenly
from the darkness of her pond,
prince Frog plunges
a sound aged with peace...very short
in this poem of the gardener
in Ireland, early 21st century.
Photos © Hans van den Bos, Ireland
This poem is a free translation into English, by Hans van den Bos, of Manuel Kneepken's poem 'Hovenier'.
Hans van den Bos' original translation of this poem can be found on the blog 'Poetry from the Low Countries' on page 'Trompenburg'.