Tuesday, 5 February 2019

Groyne by Willem van Toorn

Groyne

The slanting grey stones. Grass in between. 
Halfway a hollow pollard with a deformed heart 
in the bark and initials of dead lovers long ago. 
At the end the wooden beacon. If you swim 
there, the eddies pull you down without mercy. 
The drawing in my uncle's scout book, arrows 
show precisely how you must let yourself be 
dragged down into the depths and then escape 
along the bottom 'with a few firm strokes'. The 
priest or curate who went rowing with three 
boys near the point and capsized. Days later, the 
bodies were washed ashore, near groynes by 
distant villages. Only catholics could be that 
stupid.


Original title: Krib - From the collection: Dooltuin - 1995 - Em. Querido's Uitgeverij B.V. - Amsterdam


No comments:

Post a Comment