Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Hubert van Herreweghen

Mother, where are you? You knew . . .

Mother, where are you? You knew
the 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.

Moeder, waar zijt gij? Gij hadt . . .

Moeder, waar zijt gij? Gij hadt . . .

Moeder, waar zijt gij? Gij hadt
altijd 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.
Close

Mother, where are you? You knew . . .

Mother, where are you? You knew
the 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.

Mother, where are you? You knew . . .

Mother, where are you? You knew
the 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.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère