{"id":301428,"date":"1984-01-01T00:00:05","date_gmt":"1983-12-31T23:00:05","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.vanoorschot.nl\/dbnl\/margreet-buwaldagedichten\/"},"modified":"2021-06-04T15:05:50","modified_gmt":"2021-06-04T14:05:50","slug":"margreet-buwaldagedichten","status":"publish","type":"dbnl","link":"https:\/\/www.vanoorschot.nl\/en\/dbnl\/margreet-buwaldagedichten\/","title":{"rendered":"Margreet Buwalda\r\n\r\nGedichten"},"content":{"rendered":"
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[p. 36]<\/div>\r\n<\/a>\r\n

\r\nMargreet Buwalda<\/i>\r\n\r\n
\r\nGedichten<\/h3>\r\n\r\n

Dochter<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Hoog in de lucht tilt hij haar, zij kirt.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Naderhand draagt hij haar op sterke<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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schouders – zodat zij de optocht ziet.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Op een muur zitten haar grote broers,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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onbeweeglijk – want op foto’s stil<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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gelegd. Iets verder krijgt zij, jarig,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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‘s ochtends vroeg een prachtig poppenhuis.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Het tafereel werd ingelijst; toont haar<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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kleine rug, zonlicht in het nekje –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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bij dat nieuwe huis. Omgeven door<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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de broers. Haar blijde snuit zichtbaar in<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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het vensterglas.<\/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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Wie komt er in mijn huisje wonen?<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Nog is het leeg; weldra raakt het vol:<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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stenen man, plastic vrouw, wollen kind<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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en meubels uit Hong Kong. Ze zwerven<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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door een landschap met tafelpoten,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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verdwijnen gaandeweg uit het beeld.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Dan speelt zij ander spel: haar vingers<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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springen op de toetsen; geluid wordt<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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klank – alle dagen en steeds meer. De<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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noten, eindeloos herhaald, raken<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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snaren diep-verzonken in gehoor<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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en geheugen.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>
[p. 37]<\/div>
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Even leek het vol; in een oogwenk<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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was het leeg. Poppenhuis op mensen-<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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zolder; de wollen pop die altijd<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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kind blijft, heeft geen vingers. Het is niet<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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mogelijk, hem deze muziek te<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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laten spelen. Maar men zou willen dat het kon.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
[p. 38]<\/div>\r\n

Afscheid<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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Kind op de drempel van morgen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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lacht in de lens van het zomers portret<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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haar toekomst tegemoet.<\/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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Nog slaapt zij in het eigen bed<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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dat zij niet mee zal nemen. Daar is ook<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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een bed. Geen piano –<\/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 spijt haar, zij speelt graag. Vreemd dat<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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het instrument haar niet zal missen en<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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dat ook dit voorbij ging.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 39]<\/div>\r\n

Paradox<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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Niet het eerste kind dat<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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het huis verlaat. Waarom, dan?<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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En hoe het te verwoorden?<\/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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Zij roept mij. Ik kom – al<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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denk ik z\u00f2 over haar na,<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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dat ik amper tijd heb<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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voor haar.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 40]<\/div>\r\n

Palm court<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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Even tot bewustzijn komen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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en<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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een afgeronde dialoog<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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meer zien dan horen. Luisteren<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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wilde ik, terwijl de lijnen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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vervaagden en slaap aan mij trok<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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tot<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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ik mij moest haasten naar de trein.<\/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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De naam van een provinciestad<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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waar<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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ik niet wil zijn en niemand ken.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Een grapje van de droom; naam bleef<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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woord waar ik niet kwam – al holde<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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ik door hoge oude straten<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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naar<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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het voorportaal van het station.<\/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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Een drukte van belang – zonder<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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dreiging.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Restaurant met palmen en pluche.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Een klok wees de tijd – had ik haast?<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Onzichtbare lijnen kwamen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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hier samen; ik hoorde en zag<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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wat ik<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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had gemist. De tijd was aan mij.<\/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. 36] Margreet Buwalda Gedichten Dochter \u00a0 Hoog in de lucht tilt hij haar, zij kirt. \u00a0 Naderhand draagt hij haar op sterke \u00a0 schouders – zodat zij de optocht ziet. \u00a0 Op een muur zitten haar grote broers, \u00a0 onbeweeglijk – want op foto’s stil \u00a0 gelegd. Iets verder krijgt zij, jarig, \u00a0 ‘s… Lees verder <\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","class_list":["post-301428","dbnl","type-dbnl","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nMargreet Buwalda 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-buwaldagedichten\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Margreet Buwalda Gedichten · Uitgeverij Van Oorschot\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"[p. 36] Margreet Buwalda Gedichten Dochter \u00a0 Hoog in de lucht tilt hij haar, zij kirt. \u00a0 Naderhand draagt hij haar op sterke \u00a0 schouders – zodat zij de optocht ziet. \u00a0 Op een muur zitten haar grote broers, \u00a0 onbeweeglijk – want op foto’s stil \u00a0 gelegd. 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