Neeltje Maria Min
‘The house remembers me.’
The house remembers me.
This is where I learnt to walk.
This room was the start of a run-up
that ended with a mighty leap.
Here is the kitchen stripped of stacked
dishes and implements.
I washed my face at this tap.
Stiff with old age, table
and chair are clearly in the right.
Mat and lino have long since
become attached.
The attic stairs come to life
when I rest my foot on them.
Each step gives a cosy creak:
upstairs, child, and to bed.
And the bed, once as big as a boat
with me at the helm
is now as big as it is:
a linen or blanket chest.
The billowing sea from back then:
a varnished floor, 3 x 5.
On the shelves, old toys endure
the lack of childish interest.
The past stalks me back
to the ground floor. In the hall
it brings me down.
I reach home base on hands
and knees. It’s dark.
The fire’s off. The rooms all do
what the house commands.
I’ve lost what was:
context, order, place.
Everything I encountered
while exploring last night
took me further from home.
The longer I look back,
the tighter the knot in time.
"Het huis herinnert zich mij."
Het huis herinnert zich mij.
Hier heb ik lopen geleerd.
In deze kamer begon
de aanloop die eindigde in
een ontzettende sprong.
Hier is de keuken ontdaan
van gestapelde vaat en gerei.
Bij deze kraan waste ik mij.
Stram van ouderdom staan
tafel en stoel in hun recht.
Mat en zeil zijn al lang
aan elkaar gehecht.
De trap naar zolder leeft op
als ik mijn voet erop zet.
Behaaglijk kraakt elke tree:
naar boven mijn kind en naar bed.
En het bed, eens zo groot als een boot
waar ik mij stuurman op wist,
is nu zo groot als het is:
een deken- of aardappelkist.
De golvende zee van destijds:
een gebeitste vloer, 3 x 5.
Op de planken gerangschikt verdraagt
speelgoed van vroeger
dat er geen kind meer naar vraagt.
Terug naar beneden besluipt
het verleden mij. Op de gang
haalt het mij onderuit.
Kruipend bereik ik het honk.
Het is donker. De kachel is uit.
Het huis is zijn kamers de baas.
Wat is geweest ben ik kwijt:
volgorde, samenhang, plaats.
Alles waarop ik vannacht
op mijn tocht ben gestuit
bracht mij verder van huis.
Hoe langer ik terugkijk hoe
strakker de knoop in de tijd.
From: Uit Kindsbeen
Publisher: De Bezige Bij, Amsterdam
‘The house remembers me.’
The house remembers me.
This is where I learnt to walk.
This room was the start of a run-up
that ended with a mighty leap.
Here is the kitchen stripped of stacked
dishes and implements.
I washed my face at this tap.
Stiff with old age, table
and chair are clearly in the right.
Mat and lino have long since
become attached.
The attic stairs come to life
when I rest my foot on them.
Each step gives a cosy creak:
upstairs, child, and to bed.
And the bed, once as big as a boat
with me at the helm
is now as big as it is:
a linen or blanket chest.
The billowing sea from back then:
a varnished floor, 3 x 5.
On the shelves, old toys endure
the lack of childish interest.
The past stalks me back
to the ground floor. In the hall
it brings me down.
I reach home base on hands
and knees. It’s dark.
The fire’s off. The rooms all do
what the house commands.
I’ve lost what was:
context, order, place.
Everything I encountered
while exploring last night
took me further from home.
The longer I look back,
the tighter the knot in time.
From: Uit Kindsbeen
‘The house remembers me.’
The house remembers me.
This is where I learnt to walk.
This room was the start of a run-up
that ended with a mighty leap.
Here is the kitchen stripped of stacked
dishes and implements.
I washed my face at this tap.
Stiff with old age, table
and chair are clearly in the right.
Mat and lino have long since
become attached.
The attic stairs come to life
when I rest my foot on them.
Each step gives a cosy creak:
upstairs, child, and to bed.
And the bed, once as big as a boat
with me at the helm
is now as big as it is:
a linen or blanket chest.
The billowing sea from back then:
a varnished floor, 3 x 5.
On the shelves, old toys endure
the lack of childish interest.
The past stalks me back
to the ground floor. In the hall
it brings me down.
I reach home base on hands
and knees. It’s dark.
The fire’s off. The rooms all do
what the house commands.
I’ve lost what was:
context, order, place.
Everything I encountered
while exploring last night
took me further from home.
The longer I look back,
the tighter the knot in time.
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