Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

J. Bernlef

The museum of childhood

It\'s always somewhere, but whoever happens upon it
in some nameless street, usually runs into
a closed door behind which silence reigns

Or seems to reign. Most go on
back to the familiar layout of streets
and forget its existence.

Is the museum fluid, can it be folded
does it consist of prisms, electric fields
or just coincide with whoever thinks of it?

It\'s mostly deserted, the walls
and display cases empty save for dates
each debating whether the other is accurate

Or it fills with fog, with a
hesitant voice inside claiming
to remember nothing, virtually nothing.

But one single face, sound, incidence of light
can suddenly afford entrance to the
exposition where all has proven preserved.

Het museum van de kindertijd

Het museum van de kindertijd

Het is altijd ergens, maar wie het bij toeval ontdekt
in een naamloze straat, stuit meestal op een
dichte deur waarachter stilte heerst

Of lijkt te heersen. De meesten lopen door
terug naar het vertrouwde stratenplan
en vergeten zijn bestaan.

Is het museum vloeibaar, opvouwbaar
bestaat het uit prisma’s, electrische velden
of valt het soms samen met wie eraan denkt?

Meestal is het verlaten, de wanden
en uitstalkasten leeg op de jaartallen na
die elkaar hun juistheid betwisten

Of het vult zich met mist, met daarin
een aarzelende stem die beweert zich
niets meer te herinneren, vrijwel niets.

Maar één gezicht, één geluid, één lichtval
kan plotseling de toegang verschaffen tot de
expositie waar alles bewaard blijkt te zijn.
Close

The museum of childhood

It\'s always somewhere, but whoever happens upon it
in some nameless street, usually runs into
a closed door behind which silence reigns

Or seems to reign. Most go on
back to the familiar layout of streets
and forget its existence.

Is the museum fluid, can it be folded
does it consist of prisms, electric fields
or just coincide with whoever thinks of it?

It\'s mostly deserted, the walls
and display cases empty save for dates
each debating whether the other is accurate

Or it fills with fog, with a
hesitant voice inside claiming
to remember nothing, virtually nothing.

But one single face, sound, incidence of light
can suddenly afford entrance to the
exposition where all has proven preserved.

The museum of childhood

It\'s always somewhere, but whoever happens upon it
in some nameless street, usually runs into
a closed door behind which silence reigns

Or seems to reign. Most go on
back to the familiar layout of streets
and forget its existence.

Is the museum fluid, can it be folded
does it consist of prisms, electric fields
or just coincide with whoever thinks of it?

It\'s mostly deserted, the walls
and display cases empty save for dates
each debating whether the other is accurate

Or it fills with fog, with a
hesitant voice inside claiming
to remember nothing, virtually nothing.

But one single face, sound, incidence of light
can suddenly afford entrance to the
exposition where all has proven preserved.
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