Guido Gezelle Biography
Guido Pieter Theodorus Josephus Gezelle (May 1, 1830 - November 27, 1899) was an influential Dutch language writer and poet and a Roman Catholic priest from Belgium.
He was born in Bruges in the province of West Flanders, where he also spent most of his life. He was ordained a priest in 1854, and worked as a teacher and priest in Roeselare. He was always interested in all things in English and was given the prestigious right of being the priest for the 'English Convent' in Bruges. He died there in a small room, where it is still forbidden to enter.
He was the son of Monica Devrieze and Pieter Jan Gezelle, a Flemish gardener in Bruges. Gezelle was the uncle of Flemish writer Stijn Streuvels (Frank Lateur).
There is a museum of his works close by the English convent and also a small bar named after him.
He tried to develop an independent Flemish language, more or less separated from the general Dutch language, which had certain more "Hollandic" aspects. The Dutch he used in his poems was heavily influenced by the local West Flemish dialect. His works are often inspired by his mystic love towards God and Creation. Later, his poetry was associated with literary Impressionism, and he is considered a forerunner of that movement.
Gezelle also was a translator of poetry and prose, most famous now for his translation of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's Song of Hiawatha, published in 1886. He had already read the original at Roeselare in 1856 and was interested in it because on the one hand, the American Indians fascinated him, and, on the other, he liked its portrayal of Christian missionaries.
For his linguistical mastery, Gezelle is till today considered one of the most important poets in Dutch.
I have many an hour with you worn out and enjoyed
and never has an hour with you bored me for a moment.
I have many a flower for you
...
Welcome Winter, how cracks your ice?
Fills your snow the valleys?
I have here spring thaw at the hearth
And no fire to fetch.
...
Ten halven afgewrocht,
ontvangen, niet geboren;
gevonden algeheel,
noch algeheel verloren,
zoo ligt er menig rijm
onvast in mij, en beidt
den aangenamen tijd
van volle uitspreekbaarheid.
Zoo slaapt de botte in 't hout,
verdonkerd en verdoken;
geen blomme en is er ooit,
geen blad eruit gebroken;
maar blad en blomme en al,
het ligt erin, en beidt
den dag, den dageraad …
de barensveerdigheid.
...
Performed imperfectly,
conceived, not duly born;
not found entirely,
entirely not forlorn,
thus lies many a rhyme
biding, unripe in me,
the pleasurable time
of speakability.
Thus sleep the bushes' buds,
recondite and concealed;
no flower yet unfurled,
no leaf till now revealed;
but leaf and flower lie,
embedded eagerly
biding the day, the dawn . . .
the full parturiency.
...
παραροδανον δοναχηα
Homerus, Ilias, XVIII, 576
O! 't ruischen van het ranke riet!
o wist ik toch uw droevig lied!
wanneer de wind voorbij u voert
en buigend uwe halmen roert,
gij buigt, ootmoedig nijgend, neêr,
staat op en buigt ootmoedig weêr,
en zingt al buigen 't droevig lied,
dat ik beminne, o ranke riet!
O! 't ruischen van het ranke riet!
hoe dikwijls dikwijls zat ik niet
nabij den stillen waterboord
alleen en van geen mensch gestoord,
en lonkte 't rimplend water na,
en sloeg uw zwakke stafjes ga,
en luisterde op het lieve lied,
dat gij mij zongt, o ruischend riet!
O! 't ruischen van het ranke riet!
hoe menig mensch aanschouwt u niet
en hoort uw' zingend' harmonij,
doch luistert niet en gaat voorbij!
voorbij alwaar hem 't herte jaagt,
voorbij waar klinkend goud hem plaagt;
maar uw geluid verstaat hij niet,
o mijn beminde ruischend riet!
Nochtans, o ruischend ranke riet,
uw stem is zoo verachtlijk niet!
God schiep den stroom, God schiep uw stam,
God zeide; "Waait! . . ." en 't windtje kwam,
en 't windtje woei, en wabberde om
uw stam, die op en neder klom!
God luisterde . . . en uw droevig lied
behaagde God, o ruischend riet!
O neen toch, ranke ruischend riet,
mijn ziel misacht uw tale niet;
mijn ziel, die van den zelven God
't gevoel ontving, op zijn gebod,
't gevoel dat uw geruisch verstaat,
wanneer gij op en neder gaat:
o neen, o neen toch, ranke riet,
mijn ziel misacht uw tale niet!
O! 't ruischen van het ranke riet
weêrgalleme in mijn droevig lied,
en klagend kome 't voor uw voet,
Gij, die ons beiden leven doet!
o Gij, die zelf de kranke taal
bemint van eenen rieten staal,
verwerp toch ook mijn klachte niet:
ik! arme, kranke, klagend riet.
...
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