Before the event I was thinking about bilingualism and what it means to my work. At first sight not terribly much. I muddle up the two languages and sometimes in an early stage of the writing process my text is a funny mixture of both Frisian and Dutch. On closer inspection, though, I notice that sections in Frisian sometimes seem to be a little juicier, probably because I am more aware of Frisian slang. When I use too many baroque words in Dutch I have the feeling I’m lying. On the other hand, precisely because of this, I’m very fond of the Dutch language. Perhaps it’s even a better vehicle for my prose poems. There’s a strangeness slipping into the words that underline the content of the stories. Sometimes I have the feeling when a Frisian is using Dutch language that he or she more or less imitates it, being a little bit formal. It makes me think of the way the late great Dutch writer Gerard Reve used his language, also formal and a little old-fashioned, with multiple layers of humour.

And now to end with something completely different: yesterday we had dinner with Katia in Café Elévé and at some point the situation in the US was discussed. She was asked if the future did look a little better with Obama as opposed to Bush. Katia’s answer: The future? At least he looks better.

DROOM

we lagen op twee tuinstoelen
tegen de voet van de terp

mijn tante en ik

het was vijf uur ’s middags en zomers warm
maar de lucht was donkergroen

ik was gevlucht van mijn eigen bruiloft
en sprak met mijn tante over de kinderen
die aan de andere kant van de terp een kuil hadden gegraven
en die hadden gevuld met water

na het geplons van de kinderen
die van de terp in de kuil sprongen

zagen we hoe mijn oma overstuur thuiskwam
er was iets met mijn opa

ik herinner me niet welke taal
mijn tante en ik hadden gesproken

maar het laatste wat ik haar vroeg
was zonder twijfel in het fries

is pake dea?

*

DREAM

we were lying on two garden chairs
at the foot of the small hill

my aunt and I

it was five o’ clock in the afternoon and warm like summer
but the air around us was a dark green

I had fled from my own wedding
and spoke with my aunt about the children
who had dug a hole on the other side of the hill
and filled it with water

after the splashing of the children
who jumped from the hill into the hole

we saw how my grandmother came home all upset
something was wrong with my grandfather

I don’t remember which language
my aunt and I had been using

but the last thing I asked her
was in Frisian without a doubt

has grandfather died?

www.tseadbruinja.nl