In Walt Whitman Speaks: His Final Thoughts on Life, Writing, Spirituality, and the Promise of America, he again speaks to us, this time from his house at 328 Mickle Street in Camden, New Jersey.* “I seem to be developing into a garrulous old man—a talker—a teller of stories,” he told his friend Horace Traubel, who was transcribing in shorthand most of what Whitman said to him during the last years of his life. By the time Whitman died in 1892, Traubel had accumulated about five thousand pages of these conversations, a monumental chronicle of Whitman’s reflections, ruminations, analyses, and affirmations.… Lês fierder

Nederlân is ien fan de gelokkichste lannen yn ’e wrâld, mar tagelyk kampt it mei eangst en frees. Nim my no. Neist in autintike, sympatike en mediagenike held bin ik ek ien fan de grutste senuwpezen. Sa ha ik frees foar technyske apparaten as wekkers en kompûters, om’t ik dy altyd stikken gean as ik it net wol. Ik ha ek fuotbalfrees, wat ynhâld dat ik belangrike wedstriden (resint: Nederlân – Dútslân) troch de spanning net mear foar de radio of televyzje doar te folgjen. De hiele tiid doch ik dan wat oars, bygelyks stofsûgje of húske himmelje, braaf tinkend oan wrâldfrede en in skjinne natuer.… Lês fierder

We, yes we! We are planning to start a new cycle journey together. But before we set off on our bikes, we need to make some arrangements, like getting a proper bike for Ydwine for starters (done though!) and getting the gear to match the bike (a saddle that doesn’t feel like a torture device after 10 kilometres for example). In the meantime we are rounding off work assignments, handing over board tasks, collecting outdoor gear (we are now proud owners of a tarp too) and clearing out our humble abode from all the books, furniture and all the other stuff that we had gathered in the brief period that we lived there.… Lês fierder

In jûn

Weak-read talm’t de sinne de kym te fielen
As in frou mei ’t fjirtich wurden. Soer
Gniist de moanne him skealik ta, in skriele.
As in nomade yn de útflakke stielen
Lêste strielen (stjerrend blikkefjoer),
Fart er op de wetters fan La Manche.
,,Seis myl út de kust yn ’e jûnsoer’”,
Peinzget er drôf, ,,mei gjin inkelde kâns
Op in skipbrek of in aventoer.”
…

Lês fierder by oersetter Abe de Vries… Lês fierder

No snap ik wêrom ús heit, de Vietnamveteraan, neat fertelle koe oer syn ûnderfiningen dêr yn de djipten fan de tunnels. No snap ik wêrom minsken net prate wolle, harren nea net uterje kinne oer the hole in their soul, the road to hell and beyond. No’t ik stadichoan út myn swiere depresje omheech krûp wol ik der eins ek net oer prate. Ik doar it net. Bin bang. Mar fan myn shrink moat ik it fan my ôfskriuwe. Nei dy ta sil ik ris wat besykje. Mar jonge, do silst it gat fan myn wêzen en de djipten fan myn wanhope nea fiele.… Lês fierder

Ik sei dat ik oan ien frikadel wol genôch hie, mar se wie net om te praten. As jo in board patat mei in frikadel bestelle wolle, krije jo twa.

Lês fierder by Omrop Fryslân… Lês fierder

De bêste man is it ferline jier stikken gien! En Maarten is fansels al in topsporter en dat binne gjin ‘gewoane’ minsken.

Lês fierder by Omrop Fryslân… Lês fierder