The trout
In a bright little stream
Shooting past in carefree haste
Was a capricious trout,
Going off like an arrow:
I stood by the edge of the water
And in sweet peace I watched
The lively little fish as it bathed
In the clear little stream.
A fisherman with his rod
Was standing on the bank, though,
And cold bloodedly he watched
As the little fish twisted.
So long as the bright water
Is not disturbed, I thought,
He won’t be able to catch the trout
With his fishing rod.
But in the end the thief felt
That it was taking too long; he made
The little stream treacherously cloudy:
Before I realised it,
His rod started twitching;
The little fish wriggled about on it;
And I, with my blood boiling,
Watched on as she was tricked.
(Translation: Malcolm Wren, in https://www.schubertsong.uk/text/die-forelle/)
Sem comentários:
Enviar um comentário