Living

The Ferryman

by Emile Verhaeren 1855–1916

Translated by Jethro Bithell (1911) · From Contemporary Belgian Poetry (1911)

Living

With hands on oars the ferryman
Strove where the stubborn current ran,
With a green reed between his teeth.

But she who hailed him from the bank,
Beyond the waves, among the rushes rank
That rim the rolling heath,
Into the mists receded more and more.

The windows, with their eyes,
And the dials of the towers upon the shore,
Watched him, with doubled back,
Straining and toiling at the oar,

And heard his muscles crack.
Of a sudden broke an oar,
Which the current bore
On heavy waves down to the sea.

And she who hailed him from the mist,
In the blustering wind, appeared
More madly still her arms to twist,
Towards him who never neared.

The ferryman took to the oar remaining
With such a might,
That all his body cracked with straining,
And his heart shook with feverish fright.

A sudden shock, the rudder tore,
And the current bore
This remnant to the sea.

The windows on the shore,
Like eyes with fever great,
And the dials of the towers, those widows straight
That in their thousands throng
A river bank, were obstinately staring
At this mad fellow obstinately daring
His crazy voyage to prolong.

And she who hailed him there with chattering teeth,
Howled and howled in the mists of night,
With head stretched out in frantic fright
To the unknown, the vast, and rolling heath.

The ferryman, as a statue stands,
Bronze in the storm that paled his blood,
With the one oar firm in his hands,
Beat the waves, and bit the flood.
His old hallucinated eyes
See the lit distances rejoice,
Whence reaches him the lamentable voice,
Under the freezing skies.

His last oar breaks,
His last oar the current takes,
Like a straw, down to the sea.

The ferryman exhausted sank
Upon his bench, with sweat that poured,
His loins with vain exertion sore,
A high wave struck on the lee-board,
He looked, behind him lay the bank:
He had not left the shore.

The windows and the dials gazed,
With eyes they opened wide, amazed,
Where all his strength to ruin ran;
But the old, stubborn ferryman
Kept all the same, for God knows when,
The green reed in his teeth, even then.

MLA

Verhaeren, Emile. “The Ferryman.” Translated by Jethro Bithell. Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/verhaeren/117/.

Chicago

Verhaeren, Emile. “The Ferryman.” Translated by Jethro Bithell. Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/verhaeren/117/.

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