Poem
Willem van Toorn
landscape with father
Sprawled flat on your backyou’ve become the hills, the banks
of scrub and stubbly brown
here, the wind-smoothed cracks
in your forehead of greyish stone.
On your cheek an ochre village.
In your palm an olive grove
grows over your fingers.
Now the season is hot
above your feet. The fleecy
clouds will soon be cooling
the evening. Sleepily cooing
doves make their cot
in the eaves of your hair.
When the rains come this winter, your eye
slowly opens: a clear
pool in summer’s dry
bowl. Children lean
over your lids and peer
playfully inside.
What an amazed landscape. Not
even you, I bet, could have thought
that you would be so quiet.
landschap met vader
landschap met vader
Languit ben je de heuvelsgeworden hier, de bruine
hellingen met stoppels van struiken,
de gladgewaaide breuken
in je voorhoofd van grijze steen.
Een okeren dorp in je wang.
De olijfgaard in je handpalm
groeit over je vingers heen.
Nu is het een warm seizoen
boven je voeten. Pluizige
wolken dragen koelte
aan voor de avond. Koerend
verbergen slaperige duiven
zich in de rand van je haar.
Als de regen komt deze winter
gaat je oog langzaam open:
een klare vijver in de droge
kom van de zomer. Kinderen
spelend voorovergebogen
kijken in je binnen.
Wat een verbaasd landschap. Vast
had je zelf ook niet gedacht
dat je zo stil was.
© 1991, Querido
From: Eiland
Publisher: Querido,
From: Eiland
Publisher: Querido,
Poems
Poems of Willem van Toorn
Close
landscape with father
Sprawled flat on your backyou’ve become the hills, the banks
of scrub and stubbly brown
here, the wind-smoothed cracks
in your forehead of greyish stone.
On your cheek an ochre village.
In your palm an olive grove
grows over your fingers.
Now the season is hot
above your feet. The fleecy
clouds will soon be cooling
the evening. Sleepily cooing
doves make their cot
in the eaves of your hair.
When the rains come this winter, your eye
slowly opens: a clear
pool in summer’s dry
bowl. Children lean
over your lids and peer
playfully inside.
What an amazed landscape. Not
even you, I bet, could have thought
that you would be so quiet.
From: Eiland
landscape with father
Sprawled flat on your backyou’ve become the hills, the banks
of scrub and stubbly brown
here, the wind-smoothed cracks
in your forehead of greyish stone.
On your cheek an ochre village.
In your palm an olive grove
grows over your fingers.
Now the season is hot
above your feet. The fleecy
clouds will soon be cooling
the evening. Sleepily cooing
doves make their cot
in the eaves of your hair.
When the rains come this winter, your eye
slowly opens: a clear
pool in summer’s dry
bowl. Children lean
over your lids and peer
playfully inside.
What an amazed landscape. Not
even you, I bet, could have thought
that you would be so quiet.
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