{"id":301373,"date":"1983-01-01T00:00:38","date_gmt":"1982-12-31T23:00:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.vanoorschot.nl\/dbnl\/margreet-buwaldaacht-gedichten\/"},"modified":"2021-06-04T15:05:32","modified_gmt":"2021-06-04T14:05:32","slug":"margreet-buwaldaacht-gedichten","status":"publish","type":"dbnl","link":"https:\/\/www.vanoorschot.nl\/en\/dbnl\/margreet-buwaldaacht-gedichten\/","title":{"rendered":"Margreet Buwalda\r\n\r\nAcht gedichten"},"content":{"rendered":"
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[p. 399]<\/div>\r\n<\/a>\r\n

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

Dode vrijdag<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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Een hospitaal aan de stadsrand<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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waar doden van nu en morgen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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gratis parkeren. Onbeperkt.<\/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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Bijna jarig was je; ik bedacht<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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hoe ik je kamer zou herscheppen,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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daar, in een bloementuin. Wij zouden<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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er de lente wanen waarin wij<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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straks weer samen mochten leven.<\/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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Leven? Het ebde uit je weg<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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terwijl ik meende dat je sliep.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Vrijdagmiddag tegen vijven –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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zo vroeg begon geen weekend ooit. Een<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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dag die als een dag begint en als<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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een sterfdag eindigt. Dode Vrijdag,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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brandmerk in mijn ziel.<\/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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Maandag nu, en drie jaar later –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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de datum bleef, de dag verschoof.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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‘t Is of je gisteren stierf, vandaag –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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in wezen sterf je elke dag.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
[p. 400]<\/div>\r\n

Honingpot<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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Wat rest nog van die morgen?<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Een honingpot.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Zo onverwacht verliet je,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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ziek, ons huis –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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alsof een hoge golf<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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je wegsloeg.<\/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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Bevend in de vroege kou<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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keek ik je na.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Geen tijd te verliezen, jij.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Wie eerder weet<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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wordt sneller beter; dat<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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dacht je toch?<\/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 ontbijt, onberoerd in<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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allerijl en<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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angst. Vluchtend kocht ik op de<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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markt een pot vol<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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honing, door een bij van<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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steen bekroond –<\/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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Voor als je thuis zou komen.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Een radeloos<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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gebaar. De stenen bij bleef<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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onbewogen.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Nectar versuikerde<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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o, zo traag.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 401]<\/div>\r\n

Later<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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Later, zei je. Later zullen we, kunnen we<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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doen en gaan we – o, alles. Naar Arcadi\u00eb.<\/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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Later is een never-never land dat wij,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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de grijze tijd aan ons, zullen bezoeken<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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in de eeuwige zon tot de warme dood<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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er zacht op volgt. Dood had haast en morgen werd<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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gisteren. Het beloofde land<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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ligt nergens.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 402]<\/div>\r\n

Overleven<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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Uiteindelijk overleeft het leed zichzelf –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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het heft zich op. Wat rest, is als een teken<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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in de huid aanwezig. Een herinnering<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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aan pijn.<\/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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Gouden bergen werden grauwe vlakten in<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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een bewaasde wereld die na verloop van<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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tijd voorzichtig vorm en kleur herkreeg. Noem dat<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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overleven.<\/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 oude kerken kon ik je herkennen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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in elke Christus aan een kruis – het bleke<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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scheefgezakte hoofd de doden uit het dorp<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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indachtig.<\/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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Land van belofte, rijk van eeuwigheid; angst<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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voor pathos laat veel ongezegd. Hoe zou je<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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antwoorden? Ver en zonder geluid je stem.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Bijgezet.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 403]<\/div>\r\n

Archeologie<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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Dit merkte ik, alleen in de lege tuin<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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op een windstille nazomeravond:<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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de keien die jij en ik eens zochten bij<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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de grens en naar ons erf vervoerden om<\/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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daar de scheiding tussen pad en bloemen te<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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markeren, gingen te loor onder het<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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geweld van woekerend gewas. Onkruid. Mos.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Te veel grenzen werden overschreden:<\/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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jij had dit nooit toegestaan. Het werd ook mij<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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te erg. Met beide handen klauwde ik<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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de stenen bloot. De border ging de perken<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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te buiten; ik scheurde er planten uit.<\/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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Zwart zand onder mijn nagels. Pijn in mijn rug<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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die geen andere pijn deed vergeten.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Koesterend, verhullend mos. Ik poogde op<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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te graven wat niet op te graven viel.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 404]<\/div>\r\n

Ruimte<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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In het midden welk midden<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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van het netvlies<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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de vaas van verweerd zandsteen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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grijs en autonoom in de<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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verlaten tuin.<\/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 sierpot op een oud erf<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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is geen teken<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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van leven. Een suggestie,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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een aanknopingspunt. Men kan<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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niet bestaan in<\/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 landschap zonder lijnen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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dat wegglijdt naar<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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een vaalgroen verschiet. Men kan<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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er niet ademen; de lucht<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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is te ijl. De<\/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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vaas lijkt het enige houvast.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Blikvanger die<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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hooguit een illusie of<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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spinrag bevat. Daarachter,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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ruimte voor hoop.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 405]<\/div>\r\n

Levensecht<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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Opgaand in en deel uitmakend van<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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een stenen kademuur staan bij de<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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ontzilte haven de scheepsjongens<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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van Bontekoe. Schoenen, broek en buis<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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in brons gegoten. Met glanzende<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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verlangens – naar een verre haven,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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een schip in open zee, een moeder,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
\r\n
\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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het onbenoembare. Hun geest woei<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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lang over de wateren. Gouden<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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zon ging onder. Levensecht, in hun<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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bewegingen verstard, hun ogen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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zonder uitzicht, zien ze de schepen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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niet die hier niet meer zullen varen.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 406]<\/div>\r\n

Verjaardag<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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In oude agenda’s herlas ik<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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wie op mijn verjaardag waren geabonneerd.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Die namen, dacht ik, zullen wel mijn vrienden zijn.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Hun komst een door de tijd verworven<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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recht dat stoelt op iets dat we dan maar<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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vriendschap zullen noemen.<\/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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Hoe anders verjaarde ik als kind!<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Iemand werd uitverkoren en daarom kwam hij.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
\r\n
Zelfbewust; gunsteling onder gunstelingen –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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waakzaam beseffend dat het tij snel<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
\r\n
\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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kan keren en dat het \u00e9ne jaar<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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niet het volgende is.<\/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. 399] Margreet Buwalda Acht gedichten Dode vrijdag \u00a0 Een hospitaal aan de stadsrand \u00a0 waar doden van nu en morgen \u00a0 gratis parkeren. Onbeperkt. \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Bijna jarig was je; ik bedacht \u00a0 hoe ik je kamer zou herscheppen, \u00a0 daar, in een bloementuin. Wij zouden \u00a0 er de lente wanen waarin wij… Lees verder <\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","class_list":["post-301373","dbnl","type-dbnl","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nMargreet Buwalda Acht 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-buwaldaacht-gedichten\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Margreet Buwalda Acht gedichten · Uitgeverij Van Oorschot\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"[p. 399] Margreet Buwalda Acht gedichten Dode vrijdag \u00a0 Een hospitaal aan de stadsrand \u00a0 waar doden van nu en morgen \u00a0 gratis parkeren. 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