Fredagsdiktet: It Couldn't Be Done

Nå er det jaggu både påskeferie og vårstemning! En stund trodde jeg virkelig at denne snøen aldri skulle smelte. Men nå drypper det muntert fra takrenner, kveldene er lysere og det lukter bar asfalt. Og da kjenner jeg at jeg egentlig setter veldig pris på å bo i et land med årstider.

I kveld er dermed et lett og optimistisk dikt midt i blinken. Edgar Albert Guest bør være passende:
For 40 years, Guest was widely read throughout North America, and his sentimental, optimistic poems were in the same vein as the light verse of Nick Kenny, who wrote syndicated columns during the same decades.




It Couldn’t Be Done

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done
But he with a chuckle replied
That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one
Who wouldn’t say so till he tried.
So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it.
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it!

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;
At least no one ever has done it;”
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat
And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.
With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure,
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you.
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it;
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.

(Edgar Albert Guest)