HANNIE ROUWELER (3)

The poem, often born in reality, appears to have wings. It grabs hold of something higher, almost inimitable and untouchable, and loses sight of reality.



Poetry is an animal
that prowls around the house at night,
that doesn’t jump through hoops.



Sometimes birds fall from the sky.
Poets too.



Also see:
Dutch poetry in Indonesian language, translated by Siti Wahyuningsih and Albert Hagenaars

Critical reviews on modern Dutch poetry



www.alberthagenaars.nl