Plakken
1 Living in a poem. Leeuwarden
‘I can only live in a poem,’
That’s what Jan Jacob Slauerhoff wrote.
‘Well, goodbye: Hoogstraat (Klein and Groot);
I’m trying to find another home.’
No longer beans, baked in lard,
No old biscuits and tepid tea.’
And away he sailed to the Chinese Sea –
Where labour was cheap and work was hard.
Now he had Peking duck, but without the fries,
That doctor-poet far away.
What did he achieve at the end of the day?
His friends Bij de Put: did he forget those guys?
Voorstreek, Eewal: did he cut all those ties?
At Zaailand, Kelders, and Dokkumer Ee?
2 A heron is fishing. IJlst
A heron is fishing in the Ie:
Patienly waiting for what can be caught;
Net or trap or rod – he has naught.
The best spot for fishing this will always be.
A fisherman nods: no stress chicken he,
An old skipper dozing on his yacht.
A heron is fishing in the Ie:
Standing still as it was taught.
Little boys eating french fries they’ve just bought.
An old couple eating scones and tea;
Apartments instead of the old factory,
Peace for which some wars were fought.
A heron is fishing in the Ie.
A heron is fishing in the Ie:
Patienly waiting for what can be caught;
Net or trap or rod – he has naught.
3. Little boats. Drachten
The town so quiet;
Quays have now
Become a road.
Little kids are looking through the poem-arch;
Little kids are singing through the poem-arch.
A farmer’s wife is walking:
The echo quickly
Imitates
The sound of her footsteps.
The town so quiet;
A rat keeps looking
For the canal.
The moat has drowned the road.
Quietly three, four,
Quietly three, four,
Quietly three, four boats float
Through the moat, through the moat.
And three, four kids whisper softly:
‘The weather’s fine, don’t you agree?’
[The words are inspired by the poem ‘Bommen’ by poet Paul Rodenko.]
4. Germans near the lock are sleeping. Hindeloopen.
The Germans near the lock are sleeping.
The beerkegs empty, the fried fish cold;
The rickety house on the dike has mould;
The willows near the church are weeping.
A poor sheep crippled – while tourists are keeping
Suitcases filled with cash and gold.
The Germans near the lock are sleeping –
Their beer was drunk, their tales were told.
An old man with rusty skates is weeping:
So long ago, those days of old.
A woman rushes – she cannot keep in
The snacks and booze when the high waves rolled.
The Germans near the lock are sleeping.
Hylpen near the sea ...
Hylpen near the sea ...
Hylpen near the sea ...
Hylpen ...
5. Highway A-seven. A7
This is the place-to-be: the highway.
Be brave: this is not-meant-for-the-shy-way.
Drive on, on this do-or-die-way:
The last resort, the time-is-nigh-way …
A-seven: the fastest-way-to-fly-away!
A-seven, A-seven – my idea of heaven!
A-seven, A-seven – this loud, this crowded heaven!
The black tarmac covers the land:
Across meadow, heather, wood and sand.
With the steering wheel in my one
And my cell phone in my other hand:
This is how I race across the land.
A-seven, A-seven – my idea of heaven!
A-seven, A-seven – this loud, this crowded heaven!
The main road where I can make the rules,
The highway where I shake the rules,
Where I can make and shake and break the rules,
The place where I’m the fool of fools:
That hot A-seven where nothing cools!
A-seven, A-seven – highway to hell, low way to heaven …
A-seven, A-seven – byway to hell, no way to heaven …
A-seven, A-seven – my idea of heaven!
A-seven, A-seven – this loud, this crowded heaven!
A-seven, A-seven – highway to hell, low way to heaven …
A-seven, A-seven – byway to hell, no way to heaven …
6. Sky. Kornwerd
Sky: the sky is high – high as heaven
Dike: Afsluitdijk – sea dike
Lands: flat lands – lowlands
Village: high tower – slender tower
Wind: wing in the wind – high on the tower
Bats in the belfry
Bats in the belfry
Sky: the sky is high – the sky is low
Bats in the belfry
Bats – bats – bats
7. Jan de Roos. Highway 43
Jan de Roos: there he goes again.
From Heerenveen to Groningen.
By bus from town to town:
Always cheerful, never feeling down.
Jan de Roos looks at town and field and lake;
From Drachten and all the way to Sneek.
By bus, and he seldom pays his fare;
Medallions on his cap and coat: everywhere.
Jan de Roos never has the blues:
Neither in Assen nor in Jubbega (the 3rd Sluice);
He sings his songs in every street,
And uses his baton (but never on the beat).
Jan de Roos looks at the department store;
He smiles at girls going through the door.
He uses his walking stick when he sings,
His cap has all those glittering things.
Jan de Roos sings in the centre of town;
Never really at home, but also never down.
He sees all these women walking by:
He observes them with a twinkle in his eye.
Jan de Roos, oh, where has he gone?
Are his travelling days finally done?
Or is he still In Boalsert or in Leek?
In Winschoten, Hoogezand or Sneek?
8. Let’s call him Pee. Harlingen
In Harns was a fisherman – well, let’s call him Pee.
Who knew every canal, every lake, sea and bay.
He fastened his nets in the shoals near the dike,
Caught cockle and mussel and sometimes a pike.
And at night Pee called out to his wife at the locks:
‘Warm my supper, my dear, and then get me dry socks.’
While fishing all week he had the same wish:
To haul in those nets that were teeming with fish.
From Monday to Friday he weathered the storm,
The rain, snow and sleet – and those days that were warm.
So at night Pee called out to his wife at the locks:
‘Warm my supper, my dear, and then get me dry socks.’
That Monday old Pee sailed his ship through the lock.
His wife saw the waves as she stood on the dock.
The sea was so wild and the water so black.
And on Friday the boat without Pee had come back.
The wife heard no voice calling out at the locks:
‘Warm my supper, my dear, and then get me dry socks.’
The sea was so wild and the water so black.
And on Friday the boat without Pee had come back.
The wife heard no voice calling out at the locks:
‘Warm my supper, my dear, and then get me dry socks.’
The wife heard no voice calling out at the locks:
‘Warm my supper, my dear, and then get me dry socks.’
9. The Abbegea bull. Abbega
Bull – spring is in the air.
What’s he doing there?
That Abbegea bull.
Bull – and why does he stare?
The cows don’t seem to care,
But this bull is no fool.
Bull – he sees all those cows there:
Black and white, dark and fair.
How can a bull keep cool?
Spring: farmer, cows and bull,
You can hear the cattle moo.
Many calves: the stable full ...
The cows happy: the farmer too!
[DC al fine]
10. The Broerekerk has lost its hat. Bolsward
The Broerekerk has lost its hat;
The faithful look up at the sky,
They see the silver seagulls fly;
And fear the shadow of a bat ...
The Broerekerk has lost its hat;
Who took the roof? Who did all that?
‘Ye faithful!’ preaches old Priest Pat,
‘We will find shelter by and by.
Though the Broerekerk has lost its hat;
Well, ours is not to reason why!’
The Broerekerk has lost its hat;
Who took the roof? Who was that brat?
While ladies seemed to chew the fat
The priest got something in his eye:
Some substance that a starling ate.
The preacher swore to give tit for tat,
While the Broerekerk had lost its hat.
The Broerekerk has lost its hat;
Who took the roof? Who did all that?
The Broerekerk has lost its hat;
Who took the roof? Who was that brat?
The Broerekerk has lost its hat;
Who took the roof? A bird ... a bat ...?
11. Tea’s fate. Zuydersea
Tea lies here.
Tea lies here.
Tea lies here.
Tea lies here: death came near ...
12. At the shallows. Peasens-Moddergat
At the shallows near Peasens-Moddergat
Fishes the man, and drinks his mug of tea,
Early on a Saturday, then urinating in the sea;
And, high on the dike, there waits the cat.
On the shallows some geese and a duck;
And there, in the distance, the island in white.
Who knows, who knows when the fish will bite.
He and the cat and speaking brings bad luck.
The shallows, the silence – the man lifts his hat.
The cat yawns: now it’s time to dine.
The fisherman now senses a fish on the line
High on the dike near Peasens-Moddergat.
And while a friendly lady in Moddergat
Gave a baked fish on a plate to the cat,
The fisherman in Peasens retrieved his rod and knew:
He had just caught another old shoe.
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