{"id":301344,"date":"1983-01-01T00:00:11","date_gmt":"1982-12-31T23:00:11","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.vanoorschot.nl\/dbnl\/margreet-buwaldazeven-gedichten\/"},"modified":"2021-06-04T15:05:21","modified_gmt":"2021-06-04T14:05:21","slug":"margreet-buwaldazeven-gedichten","status":"publish","type":"dbnl","link":"https:\/\/www.vanoorschot.nl\/en\/dbnl\/margreet-buwaldazeven-gedichten\/","title":{"rendered":"Margreet Buwalda\r\n\r\nZeven gedichten"},"content":{"rendered":"
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[p. 104]<\/div>\r\n<\/a>\r\n

\r\nMargreet Buwalda<\/i>\r\n\r\n
\r\nZeven gedichten<\/h3>\r\n\r\n

Requiem<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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\u2018Early closing day\u2019. Een kleine Engelse stad<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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– te klein haast om stad te zijn –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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hoort onze blijde stemmen tegen de gevels<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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van haar oude hart. Geen verkeer.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Geen mens, zelfs. Drie straten monden uit op een plein<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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dat een waaggebouw omsluit:<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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stevig en waardig. Rood baksteen gedragen door<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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glanzend-wit geverfde zuilen.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Onze kinderen hollen er juichend omheen.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Wij zijn trager, kijken graag,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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wijzen naar een wapen in de muur, verdwijnen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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dan zo-maar door een laag poortje<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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En komen in een steeg die ons terug voert naar<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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het plein. Van deze afstand<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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beschouwen wij d\u00e9cor en kinderen, tot zij<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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ons beiden verheugd hervinden.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Nu gaan wij straten verkennen. Het is jammer<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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– zeggen de kinderen – dat<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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de winkels dicht zijn. Er is veel lelijks te koop.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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‘t Is hoe-dan-ook na sluitingstijd.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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[p. 105]<\/div>
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Aan het eind van de mooiste straat kunnen wij een<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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huis kopen. Wij doen het niet.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Een blauwe plaque laat ons weten dat er vroeger<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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iemand woonde van naam en faam.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Nooit van gehoord. Deze stad is als een geschenk.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Vroeg avondlicht betovert<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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ons, alles. Ik wil niet weg. We gaan. Het is tijd.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Er luidt een klok, we zien geen kerk.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Het tafreel blijft gegrift in mijn ziel. Alsof ik<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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een groter afscheid vreesde.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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In dit droomoord keer ik nooit terug. Ik weet niet<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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hoe het heet. Het behoeft geen naam.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Het is muziek die voorgoed verstomde. Lyriek<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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van het laatste uur. Het koor<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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zwijgt. In de stilte hoor ik een requiem voor<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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een dode man, een lege stad.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
[p. 106]<\/div>\r\n

Honeymoon<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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Hoe zal het Judocus zijn vergaan?<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\r\njdc<\/span> – deel van een autonummer<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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uit gb.<\/span> Een oud model nu, dat toen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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nieuw rondreed langs de Loire. In Mei.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Judocus, dus. De bestuurder een<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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jonge blonde man als jij. Zijn bruid in<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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zomerse kleuren, als ik. Zij kregen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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geen eigen naam, geen eigen gezicht.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Zij waren Judocus – \u2018just married\u2019<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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glom nog in de lak. Waren jij en ik<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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ook met auto versmolten? Harde rijst<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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was er zegenend in neer gestrooid.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Wij verkenden en toerden als zij;<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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zagen Judocus kalm parkeren bij<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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dezelfde kastelen, rijden over<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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dezelfde warme stille wegen.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Voor ons, achter ons – alle dagen:<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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alsof daar verder nergens iemand was.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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De wereld lichtblauw, de wilgen langs de<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Loire zilvergroen. Het water grijs.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Son et Lumi\u00e8re in Chambord. Wij<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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riepen er leven op. In de kleine<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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herberg droeg de waardin ons schalen aan<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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alsof het offeranden waren.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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[p. 107]<\/div>
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In Amboise had jij Da Vinci<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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willen zijn. Ontdekken, onderzoeken.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Leonardo leefde lang. In de tuin<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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waar ik je wachtte, sluimerde ook<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Judocus. Twee-eenheid. Hoe<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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zal het h\u00e8m zijn vergaan?<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 108]<\/div>\r\n

Toen dacht ik…<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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… toen dacht ik: ik wil voor jou<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Iets maken wat je mooi zult vinden.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Een kruidnagelschip dat naar<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Het oneindige vaart. Een ster van<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Blank-gelakte lucifers<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Of een ander machteloos bewijs.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Naief boeket van blauwe<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Bloemen die ik zal kleuren zoals<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Een kind dat doet: voor moeder.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Een plaat waarop groot en geel de zon<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Heerst boven een rood huis in<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Een donkergroene tuin. Het geluk.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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In een onzichtbare hoek<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Zal een roze muur ons beschermen.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Vraag niet waartegen. Vraag niet<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Waarom. Het is warm, het is windstil.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Het waait niet op werelden<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Van papier. Het tocht niet in holle<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Paleizen van woorden door<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Zachte parken van verf omgeven.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Schip noch slot dat ik voor je<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Teken, zal ooit bewoonbaar zijn. Het<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Want blijkt voos. De steen poreus.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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De droom is weidser dan het leven.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
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Boat trip<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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De bronzen boot in mijn venster vaart zonder<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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achterplecht. Men kan ook niet van varen spreken.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Er staan gestalten op die dit aanvaarden.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Hun gebogen hoofden weten wellicht van het<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Rafelig zeil en de vergane vlag langs<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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de dorre mast. Zij treuren verstard. Niets in zicht.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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De zeilen dienen vervangen en de romp<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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hersteld. Ik wil met spoed iets laten gebeuren.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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De tijd moet ingehaald. Er ging al te veel<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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verloren. Ik zoek de reisgenoot met wie ik<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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thuis mag blijven. Maar ook gestreken zeilen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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horen gaaf te zijn. Boeg en want ongeschonden.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Ik vorm mij van die mens een beeld dat ik wil<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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toetsen aan een werkelijkheid die ik daarna<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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met hem wil binnen gaan. De boot wordt niet per<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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uur gehuurd. De tocht mag tot de einder duren.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>
[p. 110]<\/div>
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Het tekenen van kisten<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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– tijdens telefoneren,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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bijvoorbeeld, altijd weer, en vast<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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onbewust, want zelden of<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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nimmer bellend over hout,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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of kist – heeft wellicht ook een<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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symbolische betekenis.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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De kist is langwerpig; leeg;<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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het perspectief correct. Men<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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kan er in kijken. Duurt het<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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gesprek lang, dan staan er schragen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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onder die mijn hand daar schetst.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Planken; kwasten. Soms wordt de<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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kist gesloten; soms groeien<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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er bloemen uit. Willekeur heerst<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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niet alleen op blank papier.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 111]<\/div>\r\n

Verhaal<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Het verhaal van de horizon<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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waar, vaag, hemel en aarde<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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elkaar raken. Hemel en<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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heide, in dit geval. Het is<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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een oud verhaal – waarin de<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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moeder sterft. Haar kinderen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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strompelen barrevoets door de<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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onafzienbare hei naar<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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de horizon waar zij de<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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hemel willen betreden, hun<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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moeder hervinden. Alsof<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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de aarde niet rond is en<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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haar horizon niet steeds verschuift.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Alleen de hut waaruit zij<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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kwamen liet zich – achter hen –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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vinden in de avond. Zwart blok<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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tegen gele hemel, leeg.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Het wordt niet minder treurig<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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nu ieder weet dat achter hei<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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geen hemel klimt. Hooguit een<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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woonwijk. Een fabrieksterrein<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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en, wellicht, een verbrandingsplaats.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>
[p. 112]<\/div>
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Vroeger dacht ik: wie tekent,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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kan schrijven. Mijn kat werd uitgangspunt.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Wie een poes tekent, schrijft hem.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Onverschillig stond het dier model.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Daar hij het getekende<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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noot las – het niet kon, op die manier –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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was hij niet beledigd als<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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ik hem te schraal belijnde, hoekig<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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of te honds. Onwetendheid<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
\r\n
\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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wordt voor wijsheid versleten. De kat<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
\r\n
\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
\r\n
zweeg. Toen hij ineens voorgoed<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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verdwenen was, leek mijn pen te veel.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>
\n

Over dit hoofdstuk\/artikel<\/h3>\n

Margreet Buwalda<\/a><\/p>\n
\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[p. 104] Margreet Buwalda Zeven gedichten Requiem \u00a0 \u2018Early closing day\u2019. Een kleine Engelse stad \u00a0 – te klein haast om stad te zijn – \u00a0 hoort onze blijde stemmen tegen de gevels \u00a0 van haar oude hart. Geen verkeer. \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Geen mens, zelfs. Drie straten monden uit op een plein \u00a0 dat… Lees verder <\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","class_list":["post-301344","dbnl","type-dbnl","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nMargreet Buwalda Zeven gedichten · Uitgeverij Van Oorschot<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/www.vanoorschot.nl\/en\/dbnl\/margreet-buwaldazeven-gedichten\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Margreet Buwalda Zeven gedichten · Uitgeverij Van Oorschot\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"[p. 104] Margreet Buwalda Zeven gedichten Requiem \u00a0 \u2018Early closing day\u2019. 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Een kleine Engelse stad \u00a0 – te klein haast om stad te zijn – \u00a0 hoort onze blijde stemmen tegen de gevels \u00a0 van haar oude hart. Geen verkeer. \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Geen mens, zelfs. Drie straten monden uit op een plein \u00a0 dat... 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