Hannie Rouweler

About the Poet: 

Hannie Rouweler (Netherlands, Goor, 13 June 1951), poet and translator, has been living in Leusden, The Netherlands, since the end of 2012. Her sources of inspiration are nature, love, loss, childhood memories and travel. In 1988 she debuted with Raindrops on the water. Since then about 40 poetry volumes have been published, including translations in foreign languages (Polish, Romanian, Spanish, French, Norwegian, English). Poems have been translated in about 30 languages. She attended five years evening classes in painting and art history, art academy (Belgium). Hannie writes about a variety of diverse topics. ‘Poetry is on the street, for the taking’, is an adage for her. She mixes observations from reality with imagination and gives a pointe to her feelings and findings. Unrestrained imagination plays a major part in her works. She published a few stories (short thrillers); is editor of various poetry collections.

APPEL

Eet vandaag stukjes appel
dompel ze in honing
en spreek tot jezelf
over de zoete dingen van het leven

die het leven overeind houden
de dagelijkse fakkel
van licht, gelijkheid, menselijkheid
overgedragenvan generaties op generaties.

En vergeef.
Het staat in alle heilige geschriften.
Vergeef.
En onderricht. Onderricht over
keuzes.

Eet dat stukje appel.

APPLE

Eat apple pieces today
dip them in honey
and speak to yourself
about the sweet things in life

that keep life afloat
the daily torch
of light, equality, humanity
transferred
from generations to generations.

And forgive.
It is in all sacred writings.
Forgive.
And teach. Education about
choices.

Eat that piece of apple.

De nacht is zacht

De avond valt traag op het grasveld
waar katten en mensen verdwenen zijn in
hun huizen – ik denk aan de snelle zonsondergang
in andere delen van de wereld en het strand

waar ik met jou ben. Je bent teruggekomen
bij mij. Waar je vandaan komt doet er niet toe.
Niets doet er nog toe van een reden of herinnering
alleen maar dit moment

dat je naast me zit. We kijken naar de deining
van de golven, het is al bijna nacht. Je schouder
leunt tegen de mijne en we versmelten
in deze droomtijd, die ons nog gegeven werd.

The night is sweet

Evening falls slowly on the lawn
where cats and people have disappeared into
their homes – I think of the quick sunset
in other parts of the world and the beach

where I am with you. You came back
to me. Where you come from doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters anymore of a reason or memory
just this moment

that you are sitting next to me. We watch the swell
from the waves, it is almost dark. Your shoulder
leans against mine and we merge
in this dreamtime, which was still given to us.

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