Poem
Hubert van Herreweghen
Mother, where are you? You knew . . .
Mother, where are you? You knewthe answer to all the things
that I ever asked of you,
why, when we lay on the springs
and looked up and saw those things,
the little gnome had wings too.
Why winter, why summer’s breeze,
Why hunger and why cold,
Why apples on the trees,
and the children, from what sphere
they come to earth and cry as they please.
I could never get it quite clear.
But now you must tell me, dear love,
fairytale mother, dear soul,
softly tickling my ears from above,
where those children go to.
© Translation: 2010, Paul Vincent
Moeder, waar zijt gij? Gij hadt . . .
Moeder, waar zijt gij? Gij hadt . . .
Moeder, waar zijt gij? Gij hadtaltijd antwoord op mijn vragen,
gij wist waarom dit en dat,
waarom als wij samenlagen
in bed en naar boven zagen,
de kabouter vleugels had.
Waarom winter, waarom zomer,
waarom honger, waarom kou,
waarom appelen op de bomen
en de kinderen, waarvandaan
schreiend zij op de aarde komen.
Ik heb het nooit goed verstaan.
Maar nu moet gij mij vertellen,
sprookjesmoeder, lieve vrouw,
kittelend mijn orelellen,
waar die kinderen henengaan.
© 1977, Hubert van Herreweghen
From: Verzamelde gedichten
Publisher: Orion, Bruges
From: Verzamelde gedichten
Publisher: Orion, Bruges
Poems
Poems of Hubert van Herreweghen
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Mother, where are you? You knew . . .
Mother, where are you? You knewthe answer to all the things
that I ever asked of you,
why, when we lay on the springs
and looked up and saw those things,
the little gnome had wings too.
Why winter, why summer’s breeze,
Why hunger and why cold,
Why apples on the trees,
and the children, from what sphere
they come to earth and cry as they please.
I could never get it quite clear.
But now you must tell me, dear love,
fairytale mother, dear soul,
softly tickling my ears from above,
where those children go to.
© 2010, Paul Vincent
From: Verzamelde gedichten
From: Verzamelde gedichten
Mother, where are you? You knew . . .
Mother, where are you? You knewthe answer to all the things
that I ever asked of you,
why, when we lay on the springs
and looked up and saw those things,
the little gnome had wings too.
Why winter, why summer’s breeze,
Why hunger and why cold,
Why apples on the trees,
and the children, from what sphere
they come to earth and cry as they please.
I could never get it quite clear.
But now you must tell me, dear love,
fairytale mother, dear soul,
softly tickling my ears from above,
where those children go to.
© 2010, Paul Vincent
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