From the cockney bathos of ‘my old Dutch’ to ‘Mother’ – the name often conferred in working class homes on ‘wife and mother’ – there is really no equivalent to Nijhoff's title that feels comfortable in English. Add to that the problem discussed by the critic, Rooker, who reviewed evidence that the title might refer to the name of a boat and you begin to understand the difficult task handed to this year's translators.

Here is a plain, almost transparent poem – isn't it? Surely the poet simply visits a new bridge and hears someone who reminds him of his pious mother? But the bridge, actual and metaphorical symbol of reconciliation, links the prosaic beginning to the mystery of the end. Is the voice the poet hears with both inner and outer ear his mother's or that of the mysterious woman who sails the ship? Is the ship itself simply a river boat or has it a deeper connection to the ferrying of souls? Whose voice is really invoking peace and safety for the poet?

As judges we knew we would be expecting too much to find a perfect resolution of the title problem but we did look for signs that the translator understood the inherent mystery of the poem and found them in the winning translation from Myra Heerspink Scholz. The careful ambiguity of That Woman, My Mother, the fresh use of language – ‘snub’ ‘riveted’ all words which work to point up the poet's explicit meaning without being literal – and ‘shelter’ in the last line, to bring the metaphor safely home, all added up to an exciting submission. Another fine achievement from Judith Wilkinson also caught the surprise and mysterious essence of the poem. Our shortlist gave the judges a hard time and we congratulate all who had the mettle to tackle this subtle and poignant poem.

Kate Foley
For the jury.

That Woman, My Mother

I went alone to Bommel just to see
the bridge. I saw the bridge they'd built. Two sides
that seemed to snub each other in the past
look neighbourly again. I drank my tea
and lay about ten minutes in the grass,
my head filled with the vistas long and wide –
when from the middle of that boundlessness
I heard a voice that riveted my mind.

It was a woman. Slowly down the river
her boat approached the bridge, then glided through.
She stood alone on deck, beside the rudder,

and what she sang, it was a psalm, I knew.
Oh, I thought, Oh, if that might be my mother.
Praise God, she sang, His hand will shelter you.

Translation: © Myra Heerspink Scholz, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel; I just had to view
the new bridge. The two banks – so far apart
they seem to have shunned each other from the start –
are neighbours now. Lying in the grass, time flew:
no sooner had I stretched out, drunk my tea,
my head full of the landscape far and wide,
than, in the midst of that vast countryside,
a voice rang out that struck a chord with me.

It was a woman. The small ship in her care
sailed past the bridge slowly, the soul of calm.
She worked the helm, alone in the fresh air,

and what she sang, I realised, was a psalm.
O, that it were my mother sailing there.
Praise God, she sang, who holds you in His palm.

Translation: © Judith Wilkinson, 2009

Motherwoman

I went off to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two opposing sides
that once seemed to avoid one another
were neighbors again. Ten minutes or so

I lay in the grass, having drunk my tea,
my head full of the landscape, far and wide.
There in that boundlessness I let myself
learn a voice that resounded in my ears.

It was a woman. The ship that she sailed
passed slowly downstream under the bridge.
She stood alone on deck, steering the helm,

and the songs she sung I took to be psalms.
O, I thought, O if my mother were there.
Praise God, she sang, His hand will guide you home…

Translation: © Nora Delaney, 2009

MOTHER AND WOMAN

I went to Bommel bridge to see its span.
I saw the pristine bridge. Near and far shore,
which shunned each other, so it seemed, before,
are neighbours once again. Ten minutes ran
past: I lay in the grass and drank my tea,
my head full of the landscape far and wide –
when straight from eternity's core there cried
a voice that resounded inside of me.

A woman's voice. She sailed upon a craft
that slid downstream beneath the bridge's arm.
She was alone on deck, close by the tiller, aft,

And I could hear her singing was a psalm.
Oh, I thought, would Mother were on that raft.
Praise God, she sang, He'll keep you safe from harm.

Translation: © Paul Vincent, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two opposing sides
that appeared to avoid each other,
are becoming neighbours again. A minute or ten
I lay there, in the grass, drinking my tea,
my head filled with the landscape, wide and aside –
leave me there in the middle outside eternity
hearing a voice that sounds in my ears.

It was a woman. The ship that she sailed
slowly drifted to me with the current, through the bridge.
She was on the deck alone, standing at the rudder,

and what she sung I could hear were psalms.
Oh, I thought, oh, that my mother sailed there.
God be praised, she sung, His hand will safeguard you.

Translation: © Jack Horne, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel, to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two opposite banks,
that seemed to evade each other in the past,
are neighbouring again. Ten minutes I lay
stretched out in the grass, drank my tea
my head satiated with the scenery so vast –
let me hear a voice from the middle
of the endlessness so my ears were sounding

It was a woman, The ship she manned
came slowly downstream sailing passing the bridge
She was alone on deck, she stood at the wheel

and what she sang I heard were psalms
Oh, I thought, Oh, that there my mother sailed
Praise God, she sang, His hand will save you.

Translation: © Gerard Scharn, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two opposite sides,
in former times avoiding each other, seemed
to have become neighbours again. After ten minutes
or so, that I was lying in the grass, drank my tea,
my head filled with the landscape wide and broad –
it happened that from the centre of infinity
a clear voice was reaching my ears.

It was a woman. The ship she was navigating
came slowly downstream through the bridge.
She was alone on deck, she stood at the wheel,

and what she was singing I understood those were psalms.
Oh, I thought, Oh, how I wished my mother passed by.
Praise the Lord, she sang, His hand will guard you.

Translation: © Hannie Rouweler, 2009

I went to Bommel to see the bridge,
and saw the new one. Two separate sides
that used to refuse to reunite
embraced as i was lying there.
A bliss it seemed, the fields, my tea,
a head filled with the countryside,
until, out of eternity, a voice
appeared. My ears rang light.

It was a woman. The ship she steered
steamed slowly down the stream. She passed
the bridge. She was the only one

and she was singing hymns.
If only, I thought, she were my mother.
Praise God, she sang. His hand will guide.

Translation: © Peter Knipmeijer, 2009

The Mother at the Helm

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two other sides
that seemed to avoid each other before,
now neighbours again. Some ten minutes
I'd been lying there, in the grass, drinking my tea,
my head full of the landscape far and wide –
when from the midst of the infinitude
there was a voice that caught my ear.

It was a woman. Slowly the ship she sailed
came downstream through the bridge.
She was alone on deck, steering the helm,

and now I heard she was singing psalms.
O, I thought, o, if this could be my mother.
Praise the Lord, she sang, His hand will save you.

Translation: © Jan van Maele, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two opposite sides
which had seemed to shun each other
are becoming neighbourly again.
I lay in the grass, for a minute or ten,
and drank my tea, my head full of the sweeping view –
and out of this infinity a voice resounded in my ears.

It was a woman. The ship she sailed
edged its way downstream through the bridge.
She was alone on deck, she was at the helm,
and the songs she sang I realised were psalms.
Oh, I thought, oh, it is my mother sailing.
Praise the Lord, she sang, His hand will save you.

Translation: © Jeannine D'hondt, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel for to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two sides
that once seemed to avoid one another,
turn into neighbours again. Take ten minutes
that I lay there, in the grass, my tea drunk,
my head full of landscape far and wide–
when, in the midst of that infinity,
I perceived a voice that made me all ears.

It was a woman. The ship that she sailed
slowly entered downstream through the bridge.
She was alone on deck, standing at the helm,

and in what she sang, I recognized psalms.
My, I thought, oh, that there my mother sailed.
Praise the Lord, she sang, He will be guarding you.

Translation: © Ine Kievits, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge that day.
I saw the bridge, so new. Two other sides
That once appeared well–pleased with what divides,
Neighbours again. Ten minutes or so I lay,
Just lay there in the grass and drank my tea;
The landscape far and wide had filled my head,
When out of this infinity it spread –
A voice. I heard it ringing in my ears.

It was a woman. Through the bridge to where
I lay, she slowly dropped down in a praam.
She stood on deck alone, the helm her care,

And sang, and what she sang I heard were psalms.
I thought, o, were my mother sailing there.
Praise God, she sang, salvation's in His palm.

Translation: © Erik Honders, 2009

Mother dear

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two opposing ends
that had appeared the poorest of friends,
again reunited. During some ten minutes which
I spent there, in the grass, drinking my tea,
my mind filled with the landscape far and wide–
as all sense of time did subside
I heard a voice in my ear calling to me.

It was a woman. She was on a barge
which sailed under the bridge, slowly descending.
She was alone on deck, she was in charge,

and I heard they were psalms she was singing.
O, I thought, o, it is my mother on that barge.
Praise God, His hand will save you, she did sing.

Translation: © Elsa Churchill, 2009

The Woman, the Mother

I went to Bommel, the bridge to see.
And there the bridge I saw: two sides
that long like mirrors lone had stood, now rise
and stand as one. I drank my tea

and lay my head awhile upon the grass.
Although my thoughts were with this wide
and endless vista occupied,
still came a voice from far away. And as

it neared I heard it was a woman. The boat
that she did steer sailed 'neath the bridge, downstream and slow.
And as she stood, alone on deck, a note

I heard, and t'ward my ear the music of a psalm did flow.
Oh, what I'd give for that to be my mother there afloat,
I thought. Praise God, she sang, for guidance as you go.

Translation: © Anne Paris, 2009

THE MOTHER THE WIFE

I went to Bommel just to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two opposing shores
that shunned each other seemingly before
are neighbours once again. A grassy verge
I lay on, tea consumed, for some ten minutes
my head filled with the landscape far and wide –
when from that endlessness on every side
this voice came, and my ears resounded with it.

It was a woman. And the boat she steered
was passing downstream through the bridge quite slowly.
She stood there at the helm, alone on deck,

and what she sang were hymns, I now could hear.
Oh, I thought, oh, were mother there instead.
Praise God she sang, His hand shall safely hold thee.

Translation: © John Irons, 2009

The Mother the woman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the bridge anew. Two opposite sides
that seemed to have been avoiding each other,
become neighbours again. For 10 minutes or so,
I lay there, in the gras, drank my tea,
my head filled with the landscape so wide –
let me there amidst of infinity
a voice sound to my ears.

It was a woman. The ship navigated by her
sailed gently downstream through the bridge.
She was all alone at the deck, she stood at the helm,

and what she sang I heard were psalms.
Oh, thought I, oh, that it was my mother floating by.
Praise God, she sang, His hand will guard you.

Translation: © Patricia Sim Zecha, 2009

The Mother Woman

I went to see what the fuss was about:
the new bridge at Bommel. Opposing shores
that seemed to avoid each other before
became neighbors again. While I hung out
there, lying in the grass, drinking my tea,
the landscape far and wide filling my head,
from the middle of nowhere, someone said
something―a voice in that infinity.

It was a woman. In a ship, sailing.
She stood alone on the deck at the helm
and came downstream toward the bridge, wailing.

And I heard that what she sang was a psalm.
Oh, I thought, it's my mother out sailing.
Praise God, she sang, who holds you in His palm.

Translation: © Chris Wilson, 2009

Woman and Mother

I went to see the new bridge going south.
I saw the bridge. Two banks that always seemed
to somehow turn their backs had been redeemed
as neighbours. I sipped my tea, then wiped my mouth
and lay back in the grass to meditate
the landscape spread out wide in front of me –
then from the midst of that immensity
there came a voice that made me sit up straight.

It was a woman, singing on a ship.
She stood there at the wheel, alone and calm,
sailing slowly downstream under the bridge.

I knew the song she sang. It was a psalm.
Oh, Mother, if only that was you on that ship.
Praise God, she sang, He keeps us safe from harm.

Translation: © David Colmer, 2009

A mother and a woman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge
I saw the new one; where once two
Opposing sides had glowered, each on each
Now there were neighbours; I took tea and bread
And lay some minutes in the grass; my head
Full of endless air and sky; then struck my ear
A voice that seemed to me both far and near

It was a woman, and the boat she steered
Came upstream slowly, through the piers
She alone on deck, the tiller in her arms

And the songs I heard her sing were psalms
O, I thought, O that my mother held the oar !
Praise God, she sang, his hand is ever sure.

Translation: © Ralph Sydenham, 2009

The Mother the Woman the Wife

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
And saw the brand new bridge. Two countering sides
that seemed oblivious to one another in the past
are neighbors once again. Ten minutes more or less
I lay there, in the grass, my tea downed to the final drop,
my head filled with the landscape far and wide –
when in the midst of all that's infinite I heard
a voice, a voice that brought a ringing to my ears.

It was a woman. The ship on which she stood
came downstream slowly sailing beneath the bridge.
She was alone on deck, standing at the helm,

and what she sang I heard were psalms.
Oh, I thought, oh, if only that were my mother at the helm.
Praise God, she sang, in His hands you'll be safe.

Translation: © Marjolijn de Jager, 2009

Missis

I went to see the bridge in water meadow
What I saw was new
the farther sides
in earlier days avoiding bow
not willing to be near each other
appeared to have become one another's brother

While I was lying in the grass and sipped my tea
the scenery so fully, widely in my
mind you! Out of that endlessness there was a voice
the sound of which captured me

Voice of a women. She sailed downstream
and passed the bridge
On deck she held the helm all by herself
I heard her singing psalms

What I thought was
oh, could I have seen my mother
sailing there and have I heard her singing me
right into the Lord's palms

Translation: © Ploos, 2009

The mother the woman

I made for Bommel the bridge to see.
I saw the new bridge. Two ends
seeming to avoid before, now friends
again. Ten minutes or so of me
lying there, in the grass, my tea swilled,
my head full of the landscape's boundlessness –
From the midst of endlessness
To my ears a sounding voice spilled

It was a woman. The ship she sailed
slowly downstream and the bridge through
She was alone on deck, by the helm she hailed,

And what she sang I heard were psalms true.
O, I thought, o, that there my mother sailed.
Praise God, she sang, His hand will keep you.

Translation: © Barbara Beckers, 2009

The Mother the Wife

The Bridge in Bommel I went to see.
I saw the new bridge. The Here and the Yonder
that apparently used to shun one another,
were now buddies again. Finished my tea
I lay there, in the grass, for a minute or ten
my head filled with the landscape far and wide –
a voice suddenly resounds inside
my ears, coming from the middle of immensity

It was a women. The ship she sailed
slowly came through the bridge down the waterways.
The woman was at the helm, alone on the deck she regaled

and what she sung, I heard were songs of praise.
Oh, I thought, oh, that there my mother sailed.
His hand will protect you, she sang, the Lord we praise.

Translation: © Claudia Ait-Touati, 2009

The mother, the woman

I went to Bommel to look at the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two opposite sides
that seemed to avoid each other before,
become neighbours again. Ten minutes or so
I was lying there, on grass, my tea finished,
my head full of the landscape far and wide –
when from the midst of eternity
I happen to hear a voice so that my ears were ringing.

It was a woman. The barge steered by her
came slowly downriver passing the bridge.
She stood on deck alone, she was at the helm

and what she was singing I heard they were psalms.
O, I longed, o, if only my mother was sailing there.
Praise God, she sang, His hand shall preserve thee.

Translation: © Elisabeth Innemee, 2009

Mother

Having gone to Bommel to see the bridge,
I saw the new bridge. Opposite sides that
once apparently shunned the other are
to become neighbours again. In the ten
minutes or so of my lying there, in
the grass, my tea drunk, my head filled with the
landscape far and wide – from infinity's
midst I hear a voice that rings in my ears.

It was a woman. The barge she steered
slid slowly through the bridge downstream. She
was alone on deck, she stood at the wheel,

and what she sang sounded like psalms to me.
Oh, I thought, oh, that my mother sailed there.
Praise the Lord, she sang, His hand will save thee.

Translation: © D.M. Leonard, 2009

Mother woman

To Bommel for to see the bridge I went.
I saw it, newly raised along the waterside,
connecting neighbours where they seemingly had shied
at contact. 'bout ten minutes had I spent
there lying, drinking tea in its vicinity,
enjoying sights and sounds, both far and near,
when suddenly a voice meets with my ear
and wakes my mind up from the land's infinity.

A woman! And the boat she was aboard,
it passed the bridgework, down the river slow and calm.
All hands on deck, alone she was, toward

her goal shall steer. What I believed to be a psalm
I heard, as if my mother praised the Lord.
She sang, like Mum would do: "You're safe in His hand's palm."

Translation: © Andreas Grün, 2009

The Mother – The Woman

I went to Bommel to give the bridge a view.
Opposite sides that earlier didn't seem to care,
have again as neighbours something to share
and this for me made the bridge so new.
What should I hear lying in the grass there after tea
– my head filled with the landscape abounding –
but a voice coming to my ears resounding
for some ten minutes in the midst of eternity.

It was a woman on a ship, steering the rudder,
coming downstream under the bridge, slow and calm.
She alone stood on the deck – there was no other –

and from her song I heard what was a psalm.
Oh, I thought, that sailing there was my own mother.
Praise God, she sang, His hand will save you from harm.

Translation: © Frans Lohman, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel to look at the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two banks once reluctant
to meet, who seemingly rather stayed distant,
become neighbours again. The minutes which
I lay there, in the grass, and savoured my cup,
my head filled up with the wide countryside –
when all of a sudden a voice as bright
as bells from within the boundlessness rang up

It was a woman. With determined flair
she sailed her boat downstream through the bridge, so calm
alone on deck, at the wheel, unaware

and that what she sang, I could hear, was a psalm
O I thought, 't was my mother sailing there
Praise the Lord, she sang, your name's carved in His palm

Translation: © Kurt Meylemans, 2009

Mother

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two opposing sides
each previously shunned and separated by the tides
were reunited. In the ten minutes I was privileged
to lie in the grass and drink my tea,
my head slowly filling with the countryside –
a panorama most splendid and wide,
I heard a voice from the midst of infinity.

It was a woman. A ship carried her farther
downstream through waters slow and calm.
She was alone on deck, she stood at the rudder,
And what she sang I heard were psalms.
Oh, I thought, Oh, mother!
Praise God, sang she, His hand shall keep you from harm.

Translation: © Cathy Villevoye-Silk, 2009

The mother the woman

It was the Bommel bridge I went to see.
I saw the new bridge. Close again, at last,
two separated sides that in the past
seemed to avoid each other. I had tea
and lay down in the grass to have a rest,
my head filled up with landscape all around –
when out of the infinity a sound
arose, a voice that made my ears protest.

It was a woman. And she sailed aboard
a boat which slowly crossed the bridge's arch.
Next to the helm she stood, alone on board,

and in her song a gospel lay concealed.
O could it be, I thought, my mother's barge.
Praise God, she sang, His hand will be your shield.

Translation: © Christian Schmitt, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two opposed flanks,
each once an estranged ridge,
neighbours again.  About ten minutes on those banks
I lay there, my tea drunk, in the grass,
my head full of the landscape far and near –
hearing, amidst that boundlessness
a voice sounding in my ear.

It was a woman.  The ship she steered
sailed slowly downstream beneath the bridge.
She was alone on deck, she stood at the wheel,

and the songs I heard her sing were psalms.
Oh, I thought, oh, that my mother sailed there.
Praise God, she sang, He holds you in his palms.

Translation: © Susan de Sola,2009

The Old Lady Mother

To see the bridge, to Bommel town I went.
I saw the new-built bridge. Each other side,
which erstwhile seemed intent on the divide,
rejoins its neighbour now. A time I spent
reclining on the grass, my tea drank here,
my head filled with the breadth of scenery –
let me there deep out of the infinity
perceive a voice resounding in my ear.

A woman 't was. Her ship that I did see
came downstream through the bridge all slow and calm.
Alone on deck and at the helm stood she,

and what she sang, I heard it was a psalm.
Oh if, thought I, my mother that should be.
Praise God, she sang, He keeps you in his palm.

Translation: © Paul Mercken, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Zaltbommel to see the new bridge.
I saw the bridge standing there. Two sides
that once seemed separate and divided
now reunited again. I lay on the ridge
for ten minutes or so as I drank my tea,
my head full of the landscape far and near
and hark, a voice resounding in my ear
from in the midst of the infinity.

I saw her then: a woman steering a ship
slowly through the bridge, downriver to calm.
She was alone on deck, the rudder at her hip,

and what she was singing were psalms.
Oh, I thought, oh, were that my mother on the ship.
Praise the Lord, she sang, He holds you in His palm.

Translation: © Michele Hutchison, 2009

The Mother The Woman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two river sides
that earlier wished from each other to hide
again became neighbours. In the grass, one midge
of a minute or ten, I lay drinking my tea
my head full of the landscape far and wide –
there in the middle of the infinite-outside
a voice reached me chiming in my ears.

It was a woman. The ship she steered
came slowly downstream under the bridge.
Alone on deck, she stood by the helm

and what she sang I heard clearly as psalms.
Oh, I thought, oh, there sails my mother.
Praise God, she sang, his hand will keep you safe.

Translation: © Olivia MacLennan, 2009

MOTHER THE WOMAN

Bommel's bridge I went to see.
The new one I beheld. Two banks
once seemed as different flanks,
come now together. And shortly
lying, in the grass, having drunk my tea ,
my head full of landscape, far and wide –
I happen to hear from amidst time untied
a sounding voice that came to me.

A woman it was. The ship she steered
slowly downstream the bridge came sailing.
Alone on the deck, at the helm she appeared.

and it was psalms I heard her sing.
Oh, I mused, oh, if here my mother neared.
Praise God, she sang, you're in His keeping.

Translation: © Klaas D. Drenth and Henk B. Muda, 2009

Motherwoman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. The two sides
victims of an earlier divide,
become neighbours again. Surrounded by foliage
I lay ten minutes, in the grass, drinking tea,
head full of the landscape sprawling wide –
let me there meander out of time's eternal tide
and hear a voice my ears acknowledge familiarly.

It was a woman. Her ship and no other
sailed slowly downstream through the bridge gracefully.
Alone on deck and stood at the rudder,
She sung what seemed like psalms to me.
O, thought I, those same songs which nourished my mother.
Praise God she sang, His hand will protect thee.

Translation: © James Johnson, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw the new bridge. Two shores
that had seemed to avoid each other,
grew to be neighbours again. Ten minutes or so
I lay there, in the grass, drinking my tea,
my head full of the landscape far and wide –
when, from the middle of infinity,
a voice made my ears ring.

It was a woman. The ship she steered
slowly glided downstream through the bridge.
She was alone on deck, she stood at the helm,

and what she sang I heard were psalms.
Oh, I thought, oh, that it were my mother sailing there.
Praise God, she sang, His hand will keep you.

Translation: © Liesbet Van Nieuwenhove, 2009

The mother, the wife

I went to Bommel to see the bridge,
I saw the new bridge. Two opposite shores
That seemed to avoid one another before,
are neighbours once more. For ten minutes,
lying there, in the grass, I drank my tea,
my head full of the scenery, far and wide –
Imagine me hearing in this endlessness
a voice in my ears reaching out to me.

It was a woman. The ship that she was sailing
slowly downstream through the bridge it came near.
She was alone on deck, like a captain at the railing

And what she sang were psalms as I could hear.
Oh, I thought, oh, that is my mother there sailing.
Praise God, she sang, His hand will save you my dear

Translation: © José ter Mors, 2009

The Mother the Woman

I went to Zaltbommel to see the bridge
I saw the new bridge. Two opposite sides
who both used to reject the other ridge,
once again reunite. Ten minutes or more
that I would lie, on the grass, drinking my tea,
head filled with the landscape far-off and near –
who would have thought in that infinity
a voice would sound, inviting me to hear.

A woman she were. The ship she was sailing,
came gliding downstream and through the bridge, slowly.
She stood on deck, by herself, manning the helm,
and her singing, I knew, were songs of holy

Oh, I thought, oh, could she my mother be.
Praise God, she sang, for His hand will keep thee.

Translation: © Roos van de Wardt, 2009

The mother the woman

I went to Bommel, its bridge to see.
I saw the new bridge. Each distant shore
that seemed to avoid the other before
are neighbors again. Having drunk my tea,
I lay awhile there in the grass. The vast
landscape filled my head till it rang–
Infinity pierced by the sudden clang
of a voice in my ears, holding me fast.

It was a woman. The ship she steered
sailed slowly under the bridge downstream.
Alone on deck, at the helm, and as she neared,

I heard her sing psalms– Oh, (as in a dream)
if only it were my mother that steered.
Praise God, she sang, His hand will redeem.

Translation: © Sari Cunningham, 2009

The mother the wife

I went to Bommel to see the bridge
I saw the primeval bridge and face to face
both sides –they never wanted to embrace
each other– yet as neighbours. Just a pitch–

ten minutes I guess– I was at grass, drunk
my tea, filled my head with infinity.
There it was; a voice was bound for me.
My ears where sounded as in a trunk

call. A woman she was. Here ship was slow
'cause through the bridge it had to go.
She was alone at deck and the wheel

her singing of psalmody – it was as real
as when my mother sang – oh, I thought oh –
Praise the Lord, His hand you'll always feel.

Translation: © Louise, 2009

Wife and Mother

In Bommel there's a bridge I went to see.
I saw the new bridge. Each opposing shore
had kept it's distance, so I'd heard, before;
they're neighbors now. When, having drunk my tea,
I lay there in the grass awhile, astounded
by all that landscape spreading far and wide,
what should emerge from the endless countryside
but this: a voice that in my ears resounded.

A woman's voice: the vessel she was sailing
under the bridge moved downstream, slow and calm.
She was alone on deck, she stood by the railing,
next to the tiller, and she sang a psalm.
O, I thought, that my mother there were sailing.
Praise God, she sang, you are sheltered by his palm.

Translation: © David McKay, 2009

Mother the woman

I went to Bommel to see the bridge. I saw
the new bridge. The two banks once divided,
shunning each other it seemed, now united.
I lay in the grass, my tea drunk, no more
than ten minutes had passed, with my mind still bound
by the landscape far and wide and near me –
when what should I hear from that infinity
but a sudden voice that made my ears resound.

It was a woman, all alone at the helm
of a boat sailing slow downstream, clearing
the bridge. And I could hear what she was singing
to herself on the deck. It was a psalm.
Oh, I thought, oh, were it only my mother.
Praise God, she sang, His Hand shall guard thee ever.

Translation: © Maureen O'Toole, 2009

Mother-woman

I went to Bommel when the bridge was new
to see the bridge. Two opposing banks
that seemed before to shun each other
made neighbours once again. A little while
I lay there in the grass and drank my tea,
my head full of the landscape all around,
when focussed in infinity, precise,
a voice emerged, making my ears ring.

It was a woman. The boat she journeyed on
came downstream slowly, underneath the bridge.
She was alone on deck, stood at the wheel,

and what she sang, I heard that it was psalms.
O, I thought, O that could be my mother there.
Praise God, she sang, His hand shall be thy shield.

Translation: © Sarah Greeves, 2009

THE MOTHER WOMAN SAILS

Off to Bommel to see the bridge.
I saw it newly built. Opposite banks
that strove to keep apart, now flanks
of neighbour lands. One minute? ten?, in which
I drank my tea, prone on the grassy strand,
my head full of distance, endless, wide,
when from that boundlessness there rang inside
my waking ears, a voice. She sang.

It was a woman. She slipped her vessel's keel
slowly through the bridge. Downstream she sailed
alone on deck and singing by the wheel.

I heard her songs of praise, her psalms –
O that my mother still sailed and pealed
aloud her praise of God's strong, saving arms.

Translation: © Frances Whybrew, 2009

Frau Mutter

Ich fuhr nach Bommel, dort die Brücke schaun.
Ich sah das neue Werk. Zwei Gegenseiten,
die ein ums andre Treffen zu bestreiten
vermieden hatten und sich nun vertraun.
Ich lag im Gras und hatte Tee getrunken,
im Kopf mich mit der Landschaft eingedeckt,
da werd von einer Stimme ich geweckt
aus dem, in dessen Endlos ich versunken.

Ein Boot, an Deck war eine Frau zu sehn,
kam langsam durch den Brückenbau gefahren.
Alleine sah ich sie beim Rudergehn.

Sie sang, ich meinte, dass es Psalmen waren.
Als ob ich meine Mutter dort säh' stehn.
Preis Gott, sang sie, denn er wird Dich bewahren.

Translation: © Andreas Grün, 2009