{"id":302009,"date":"1989-01-01T00:00:33","date_gmt":"1988-12-31T23:00:33","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.vanoorschot.nl\/dbnl\/j-bernlefphoenix\/"},"modified":"2021-06-04T15:09:28","modified_gmt":"2021-06-04T14:09:28","slug":"j-bernlefphoenix","status":"publish","type":"dbnl","link":"https:\/\/www.vanoorschot.nl\/en\/dbnl\/j-bernlefphoenix\/","title":{"rendered":"J. Bernlef\r\n\r\nPhoenix"},"content":{"rendered":"
\r\n\r\n <\/interp>
[p. 230]<\/div>\r\n<\/a>\r\n

\r\nJ. Bernlef<\/i>\r\n\r\n
\r\nPhoenix<\/h3>\r\n\r\n

1<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Hier moet het geweest zijn, de plek<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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waar geschreven staat<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u2018Hij verdween…\u2019<\/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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Niet in een bos, zoals eerst werd gedacht<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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of in de donkere spiegel van een meer<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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maar hier, in het hart van de stad.<\/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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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Wie omkijkt ziet zichzelf aankomen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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over de brede trottoirs, langs lege etalages<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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voorbij lange rijen wachtenden<\/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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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Wie terugloopt ziet dat hij zich heeft vergist –<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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de winkel is verlaten, lege kartonnen dozen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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op de gebarsten marmeren vloer.<\/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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Alleen wie doorloopt weet met alle bewoners<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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dat deze stad belegerd is<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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tot op het kleinste balcon.<\/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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Dan beseft hij dat alles verloren is<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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dat de stad in beton is gegoten maar<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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dat de werkelijke stad ergens anders wacht<\/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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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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En dat hij daarnaar op weg is<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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net als die anderen, die doen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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alsof zij hier thuis zijn, de weg kennen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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de namen van straten.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>
[p. 231]<\/div>
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Heel ergens anders<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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een plattegrond van lege gezichten<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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nooit meer invulbaar, door niemand of niets.<\/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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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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De agent gebaart \u2018doorlopen\u2019 en<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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zij verdwijnen gedwee in de<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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voetgangerstunnel onder de grond.<\/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 lege plek.<\/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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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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\u2018Hij verdween…\u2019<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Meer staat er niet op de steen.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n

2<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Vele zijn de dromen<\/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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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Van steden die verdwenen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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die nooit bestonden<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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van steden onder de grond<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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van steden tronend in de hemel.<\/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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Deze stad werd in \u00e9\u00e9n nacht gedroomd.<\/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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Sindsdien lopen de bewoners<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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in de voetsporen van vroeger<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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even veerkrachtig als de doden<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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die op het plein tesamen stromen.<\/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 noodzakelijke engel steekt zijn trompet<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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vanaf de torentrans: het is tijd.<\/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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En in het koffiehuis, tussen de ritselende gesprekken<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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iemand die dit overschrijft<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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lang geleden en voor altijd.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n\r\n
[p. 232]<\/div>\r\n

3<\/h4>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Hij glimlacht achter zijn buro<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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vol as en verboden boeken, zijn gezicht<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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een smal bebrild boegbeeld.<\/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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\u2018Als ik aan Jalta denk<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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begint het te sneeuwen, voor<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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en achter \u00e9\u00e9n witte vlakte<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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nergens voetsporen, geen vogelprenten<\/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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Als een jongetje schud ik de bol<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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en alle familieportretten komen tot leven:<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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‘s nachts hoor ik het smeltwater<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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juichend door de goten ruisen.\u2019<\/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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Zijn witte haar schilfert<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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zijn pantoffels zweven<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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zijn horloge tikt steeds luider.<\/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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Hij werkt aan zijn vergeten<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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tot hij het niet meer harden kan<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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de stad kerk voor kerk uitspuwt<\/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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En loslaat, wegvliegt, als loden<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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engel traag en laag wegwiekt<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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over de kinderhoofdjes.<\/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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Grafstenen – een eindeloze straatweg<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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zover het oog reikt.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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Poznan. Jalta.<\/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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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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De pantoffels van de loden engel<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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maken zich stampend uit de voeten.<\/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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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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Als het binnenste van een kolenmijn<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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zo ziet de toekomst van het heden eruit<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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zwarte gangen, een Iabyrinth vol mensen die wachten<\/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 bovengronds de schachten<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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dichtgegooid met de stenen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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van hun verdwenen steden<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>
[p. 233]<\/div>
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Niemand om te zien of<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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de wachttorens nog bemand zijn<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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de schachtwielen nog draaien<\/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 het hart van de steen<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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\u00a0<\/div>\r\n
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beweegt iets; schudt iets de veren<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n
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blaast iets de as van zich af<\/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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misschien.<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>\r\n\r\n<\/div>
\n

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

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

[p. 230] J. Bernlef Phoenix 1 \u00a0 Hier moet het geweest zijn, de plek \u00a0 waar geschreven staat \u00a0 \u2018Hij verdween…\u2019 \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Niet in een bos, zoals eerst werd gedacht \u00a0 of in de donkere spiegel van een meer \u00a0 maar hier, in het hart van de stad. \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 Wie omkijkt… Lees verder <\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","class_list":["post-302009","dbnl","type-dbnl","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nJ. Bernlef Phoenix · 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\/j-bernlefphoenix\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_US\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"J. 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