Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Umar Timol

The Eyes of Others

She’s a young woman living in a village in a distant country,
she’s just got married and she’s pregnant, and she likes her husband
he works hard, he’s pretty nice to her and doesn’t beat her and she
waits impatiently for her baby to be born, she feels it, in her
belly, growing a bit each day, it’s like a seed that’s growing,
growing, it’ll be a girl, she knows it will, and she already loves her
very fiercely, as she loves her little life, sometimes, it’s true, she has
mad dreams, especially when she watches the TV, she too
would like to travel round the world, to visit cities,
meet a handsome prince and stand there in the snow and sing
a sweet romantic song and she tells herself she’s mad to think
of all that stuff, you’re crazy, you are, but she likes her little life, of course
there is her husband’s mother who’s a pain but there are, as her sister
neatly puts it, giggling, worse pains somewhere else and she quite likes
her little life and maybe what she loves the most is going down
to the sea each morning, she goes very early on her own and then
she starts to run, run fast, run very fast, so fast she feels as if she’s
lost her head, she starts to yell, her happiness so strong
it muddles all her senses and she also loves the trees, they are so
strong, so powerful, deep-rooted in the earth like that since the
beginning and she loves the stars as well, they are so lovely and she wonders
what they really are, the ones who’ve been to school they say they’re
balls of fire, she doesn’t really grasp it all that well but knows
they’re very beautiful and that she’d like to touch,
to travel to a star and live there but you’re crazy, you are, crazy,
that’s what she tells herself, you’re mad to think of all that stuff, she knows
deep down, a lot of things she doesn’t like to talk about, she doesn’t trust
the men because they’re scared of women, doesn’t trust the gossips
in the village, they haven’t got a clue about it all, she knows, but it is
hard to work it out, untangle all the meanings in their eyes and she can see
so many things in them, like love, quite often, lots, and love is
like children when they start to dance, it goes a bit in all
directions and it’s full of laughter makes you giddy but there’s also
hate and hate is scary, makes her want to run away, it’s like
a bushfire eating things all up and she tells herself she’s
mad, no question, you are crazy, you are, crazy, it’s not really
normal to be like this, to laugh at every little thing and ever since
she’s been expecting there’s a sort of music in her, something
tuneful, magical, that floods her body, something beautiful and strong
and she knows it’s going to be a girl, she’ll be like her and be –
but it’s her husband who maintains, how silly he is sometimes –
just as beautiful as she is and she tells herself one day they’ll go
and marvel at the trees, the stars, they’ll run out in the fields,
run fast, run very fast, and faster, faster and they’ll start
to shout it feels so good, she’ll delight in pretty things, she’ll make her
lovely clothes and she will hug her hard so she’ll absorb
her innocence, she likes her little life, then one day in the village
something happens, difficult at first to put your finger on,
it seems that people from the town are making something up,
saying that she and hers are different, that they’re
like cockroaches or microbes, when she hears it she wants to laugh
because here in the village everyone’s the same, they also say
their ancestors were looters but what does she know of her ancestors,
that they can’t be trusted, that they’re all two-faced, they want
to steal our women, that they have a lot of children out of stubbornness
and that they smell, she hears a sneaky sort of word well up,
those burst-and-splatter words, like ‘we’, the way her closest
friend will tell her ‘we’ are different from you, she wonders who
they are this we, this famous we, she doesn’t get it, then one day
when she is on the point of dozing off she hears a scream,
the scream of someone having his throat cut, a scream which splits the sky
and something in her breaks, this fear too long held in, this knowledge
stifled for too long and then she starts to run, to run away, to
go – where can she go, she’s no idea but it’s too late and she can see
them coming but they’ve changed from men to animals and in their
hands they carry hatchets, hooks, a torture toolkit, and their eyes
are hollow, holes where eyes should be, they’re coming closer,
they insult her but she can no longer hear them, she won’t hear them, she
won’t die, not now, and not like this, she’s murmuring the name
of god, protect my child, protect my child and one of them
is young, she recognises him, he is her neighbour, he comes up
and spits on her, he tells her to kneel down, down on your knees, you slut,
you’ve got it coming now, just look at her, the bitch, she’d like us all
to fuck her, fancies our big cocks, down on your knees I said, we’ll
teach you to respect us, to respect your masters, on your knees
you filthy whore and while he slits her belly cuts her foetus up and empties
petrol over her and lights it, in the eyes of this young woman – from a country
distant yet not different from ours – still lingers, and will always linger
the enchanted light-show of the sea, the trees, the stars.

DE OGEN VAN DE ANDEREN

Een jong meisje woont in een dorp in een ver land,
ze is pas getrouwd en zwanger, ze houdt van haar man
want hij werkt hard, hij is tamelijk lief en slaat haar niet
en ze wacht ongeduldig op de geboorte van haar kind,
ze voelt het in haar buik elke dag een beetje groeien,
als een graantje dat groeit en groeit, het wordt een meisje,
dat weet ze en ze houdt al van haar, heel erg,
zoals ze van haar leventje houdt, soms, dat is waar, 
heeft ze vreemde dromen, vooral als ze tv kijkt,
dan zou ook zij de wereld willen zien, grote steden bezoeken,
een knappe prins ontmoeten en in de sneeuw
een romantisch liedje staan zingen en ze zegt tegen zichzelf
dat ze gek is daaraan te denken, je bent gek,
je bent echt gek, maar ze houdt van haar leventje,
ja die schoonmoeder is een plaag, maar er zijn zoals haar zus
zo goed en lachend zegt wel ergere plagen dan dat
en ze houdt van haar leventje en waar ze het meest van houdt
is ’s ochtends naar de zee gaan, helemaal alleen, heel vroeg,
en dan gaat ze rennen, heel hard, zo hard dat ze het gevoel heeft
haar hoofd kwijt te raken, ze begint te schreeuwen,
dat is zo’n sterk geluk dat het haar zinnen verbijstert,
en ze houdt ook van de bomen, ze zijn zo sterk, zo krachtig,
al eeuwen geworteld in de grond, en ze houdt ook van de sterren,
ze zijn zo mooi en ze vraagt zich af wat ze werkelijk zijn,
degenen die naar school gingen zeggen dat het vuurbollen zijn,
ze begrijpt het niet helemaal maar ze weet dat ze heel mooi zijn
en ze zou ze willen aanraken, naar een ster gaan, er gaan wonen,
maar je bent gek,je bent echt gek, dat zegt ze tegen zichzelf,
je bent gek dat je daaraan denkt, ze weet in feite heel veel dingen
maar ze praat er niet graag over, ze past op voor de mannen
omdat ze bang zijn voor vrouwen, ze past op voor de kletskousen
van het dorp die er nooit iets van zullen begrijpen, dat weet ze,
maar het is moeilijk uit te leggen, de betekenis van de blikken
te onthullen en ze ziet er zoveel dingen in, liefde, vaak, veel,
en de liefde is als wanneer kinderen beginnen te dansen,
het waaiert alle kanten op, het is vrolijk en het geeft
duizelingen maar er is ook haat en haat maakt bang en wil haar doen
wegvluchten want die is als bosbrand die alles vernielt en ze zegt
tegen zichzelf dat ze echt gek is, je bent gek, je bent gek, 
het is niet normaal zo te zijn, te pas en te onpas lachen en
sinds ze zwanger is zit er iets als muziek in haar, iets melodieus,
iets magisch dat haar lichaam overspoelt, het is mooi en sterk
en ze weet dat het een meisje zal zijn, dat het op haar zal lijken en dat het,
maar dat is haar man die het zegt, zo’n stomme man soms, 
even mooi zal zijn als zij en ze zegt dat ze op een dag samen de bomen en
sterren zullen bewonderen, zullen gaan rennen in de velden, heel snel, almaar
sneller en dat ze zullen schreeuwen omdat het zo goed doet, het meisje
zal er leuk uitzien en zij zal mooie kleren voor haar maken en
ze zal haar armen heel stevig om haar heen slaan
om zich vol te zuigen met haar onschuld, ze houdt van haar leventje 
en dan op een dag  zal er iets gebeuren in het dorp,
eerst kun je er nauwelijks de vinger op leggen, het lijkt wel of de mensen van het dorp
dingen verzinnen, ze zeggen dat zij en haar gezin anders zijn,
dat ze kakkerlakken of microben zijn, ze wil lachen als ze dat hoort want iedereen
in het dorp is hetzelfde, ze zeggen ook dat hun voorouders rovers waren
maar wat weet zij nou van haar voorouders, dat ze niet te vertrouwen zijn
want dat ze een dubbel gezicht hebben, dat ze onze vrouwen willen stelen,
dat ze met opzet veel kinderen maken, dat ze slecht ruiken en ze hoort
een geniepig woord opborrelen, woorden die uitbarsten, die opspatten,
zoals dat ‘wij’, zo zegt haar beste vriendin dat ‘wij’ anders zijn dan jullie,
ze vraagt zich af wie dat wij is, dat veelbesproken wij, ze snapt het niet,
en op een dag als ze net in slaap valt hoort ze een schreeuw,
de schreeuw van iemand die gekeeld wordt, schreeuw die
de hemel splijt en dan breekt er iets in haar, de angst die al veel te lang
is ingehouden, het weten dat al veel te lang is volgehouden,
en ze begint te lopen, te vluchten, ze weet niet waarheen,
maar het is al te laat en ze ziet hen aankomen maar het zijn geen mensen meer
maar beesten en ze dragen bijlen, kapmessen, de hele uitrusting van de wreedheid,
hun blik is leeg, twee gaten in de plaats van ogen, ze naderen haar,
beledigen haar, maar ze hoort hen niet meer, ze wil niet meer horen
en ze wil niet sterven, niet nu, niet zo en ze prevelt de naam van god,
bescherm mijn kind, bescherm mijn kind en een van hen is jong,
ze herkent hem, het is haar buurman, hij nadert haar, spuwt op haar,
beveelt haar op de knieën te gaan zitten, op je knieën slet,
nu zul je betalen, kijk haar die teef, ze wil dat we haar kontneuken,
ze wil onze grote lullen, op je knieën zeg ik, we zullen je leren respect
voor ons te hebben, respect voor je meesters, op je knieën, vuile hoer,
en terwijl hij haar buik opensnijdt en haar foetus aan stukken hakt,
terwijl hij haar met benzine overgiet en haar in brand steekt,
blijven in de ogen van de jonge vrouw – uit een ver land dat echter op het onze lijkt –
de stralende toverwereld van zee, bomen en sterren voorbijzweven.

LES YEUX DES AUTRES

C’est une jeune femme qui vit dans un village dans un pays lointain,
elle vient de se marier et elle est enceinte, elle aime bien son mari
car il travaille dur, il est plutôt gentil et il ne la bat pas et elle
attend avec impatience la naissance de son enfant, elle le sent, dans
son ventre, grandir tous les jours un peu, comme une graine qui pousse
et pousse, ce sera une fille, elle le sait et elle l’aime déjà, très
fort, tout comme elle aime sa petite vie, parfois, il est vrai, elle a
des rêves fous, surtout quand elle regarde la télé, elle aimerait,
elle aussi, faire le tour du monde, visiter de grandes villes,
rencontrer un beau prince et chanter sous la neige une belle chanson
romantique et elle se dit qu’elle est folle de penser à tout ça, t’es
folle toi, t’es folle toi, mais elle aime bien sa petite vie, il y a
bien sûr sa belle-mère qui est une peste mais il y a, comme le dit si
bien sa sœur, en pouffant de rire, pire peste ailleurs et elle aime
bien sa petite vie et ce qu’elle aime peut-être le plus c’est de se
rendre à la mer le matin, elle y va seule, très tôt et alors elle se
met à courir vite, très vite, tellement vite qu’elle a l’impression de
perdre la tête, elle se met à hurler, c’est un bonheur tellement fort
qu’il déboussole ses sens et elle aime aussi les arbres, ils sont si
forts, si puissants, ainsi enracinés dans la terre depuis toujours et
elle aime aussi les étoiles, elles sont si belles et elle se demande
ce qu’elles sont vraiment, ceux qui sont allés à l’école disent que ce
sont des boules de feu, elle n’arrive pas tellement à comprendre mais
elle sait qu’elles sont très belles et elle aimerait les toucher,
aller sur une étoile, y vivre mais t’es folle toi, t’es folle toi,
c’est ce qu’elle se dit, t’es folle de penser à tout ça, elle sait, au
fond, beaucoup de choses mais elle n’aime pas en parler, elle se méfie
des hommes car ils ont peur des femmes, elle se méfie des commères du
village qui ne comprennent jamais rien à rien, elle sait, mais c’est
difficile à expliquer, dénouer le sens des yeux et elle y voit
tellement de choses, de l’amour, souvent, beaucoup et l’amour c’est
comme quand les enfants se mettent à danser, ça va un peu dans toutes
les directions, c’est gai et ça donne le tournis mais il y aussi la
haine et la haine fait peur et lui donne envie de fuir car c’est comme
un feu de brousse qui consume tout et elle se dit qu’elle est
décidément folle, t’es folle toi, t’es folle toi, c’est pas très
normal d’être comme ça, de rire à tout bout de champ et depuis qu’elle
est enceinte il y a en elle comme une musique, quelque chose de
mélodieux, de magique, qui inonde son corps, c’est beau et c’est fort
et elle sait que ce sera une fille, qu’elle lui ressemblera et qu’elle
sera, mais ça c’est son mari qui l’affirme, qu’il est bête parfois,
aussi belle qu’elle et elle se dit qu’un jour elles s’en iront admirer
les arbres et les étoiles, qu’elles s’en iront courir dans les champs,
courir vite, très vite, de plus en plus vite et elles se mettront à
crier tellement c’est bon, elle sera coquette et elle lui fera de
beaux vêtements et elle l’enlacera très fort pour s’imprégner de son
innocence, elle aime bien sa petite vie et puis un jour il se passe
quelque chose au village, on a peine d’abord à mettre le doigt dessus,
il parait que ce sont les gens de la ville qui inventent des choses,
qui disent qu’elle et sa famille sont différents, qu’ils sont des
cancrelats ou des microbes, elle a envie de rire quand elle entend ça
car tout le monde au village est pareil, ils disent aussi que leurs
ancêtres ont tout pillé mais qu’est-ce qu’elle sait de ses ancêtres,
qu’il faut se méfier d’eux car ils ont un double visage, qu’ils
veulent voler nos femmes, qu’ils font beaucoup d’enfants délibérément,
qu’ils sentent mauvais et elle entend sourdre une parole sournoise,
des mots qui éclatent, qui giclent, comme le ‘nous’, ainsi sa meilleure
amie lui dit que ‘nous’ sommes différents de vous, elle se demande qui
est ce nous, ce fameux nous, elle n’arrive pas à comprendre et puis un
jour alors qu’elle est sur le point de s’endormir elle entend un cri,
cri d’un être qu’on égorge, cri qui fend le ciel et alors quelque
chose se casse en elle, cette peur trop longtemps contenue, ce savoir
trop longtemps retenu et alors elle se met à courir, à s’enfuir, pour
aller où, elle ne le sait trop mais c’est trop tard et elle les voit
arriver mais ce ne sont plus des hommes mais des bêtes et ils ont à la
main des haches, des serpes, tout l’attirail de la cruauté, le regard
creux, deux trous à la place des yeux, ils s’approchent d’elle,
l’insultent mais elle n’entend plus, ne veut plus entendre et elle ne
veut pas mourir, pas maintenant, pas comme ça et elle murmure le nom
de dieu, protège mon enfant, protège mon enfant et l’un d’eux, c’est
un jeune, elle le reconnaît, c’est son voisin, s’approche d’elle, lui
crache dessus, lui dit de se mettre à genoux, à genoux salope, tu vas
payer maintenant, regardez là, cette chienne, elle a envie qu’on
l’encule, elle a envie de nos grosses bittes, à genoux je te dis, on
va t’apprendre à nous respecter, à respecter tes maîtres, à genoux,
sale pute et tandis qu’il l’éventre et dépèce son fœtus, qu’il déverse
sur elle de l’essence et l’incendie, flânent et ne cesseront de flâner
dans les yeux de cette jeune femme, – d’un pays lointain mais qui
ressemble au nôtre –, la féerie lumineuse de la mer, des arbres et des
étoiles.
Close

The Eyes of Others

She’s a young woman living in a village in a distant country,
she’s just got married and she’s pregnant, and she likes her husband
he works hard, he’s pretty nice to her and doesn’t beat her and she
waits impatiently for her baby to be born, she feels it, in her
belly, growing a bit each day, it’s like a seed that’s growing,
growing, it’ll be a girl, she knows it will, and she already loves her
very fiercely, as she loves her little life, sometimes, it’s true, she has
mad dreams, especially when she watches the TV, she too
would like to travel round the world, to visit cities,
meet a handsome prince and stand there in the snow and sing
a sweet romantic song and she tells herself she’s mad to think
of all that stuff, you’re crazy, you are, but she likes her little life, of course
there is her husband’s mother who’s a pain but there are, as her sister
neatly puts it, giggling, worse pains somewhere else and she quite likes
her little life and maybe what she loves the most is going down
to the sea each morning, she goes very early on her own and then
she starts to run, run fast, run very fast, so fast she feels as if she’s
lost her head, she starts to yell, her happiness so strong
it muddles all her senses and she also loves the trees, they are so
strong, so powerful, deep-rooted in the earth like that since the
beginning and she loves the stars as well, they are so lovely and she wonders
what they really are, the ones who’ve been to school they say they’re
balls of fire, she doesn’t really grasp it all that well but knows
they’re very beautiful and that she’d like to touch,
to travel to a star and live there but you’re crazy, you are, crazy,
that’s what she tells herself, you’re mad to think of all that stuff, she knows
deep down, a lot of things she doesn’t like to talk about, she doesn’t trust
the men because they’re scared of women, doesn’t trust the gossips
in the village, they haven’t got a clue about it all, she knows, but it is
hard to work it out, untangle all the meanings in their eyes and she can see
so many things in them, like love, quite often, lots, and love is
like children when they start to dance, it goes a bit in all
directions and it’s full of laughter makes you giddy but there’s also
hate and hate is scary, makes her want to run away, it’s like
a bushfire eating things all up and she tells herself she’s
mad, no question, you are crazy, you are, crazy, it’s not really
normal to be like this, to laugh at every little thing and ever since
she’s been expecting there’s a sort of music in her, something
tuneful, magical, that floods her body, something beautiful and strong
and she knows it’s going to be a girl, she’ll be like her and be –
but it’s her husband who maintains, how silly he is sometimes –
just as beautiful as she is and she tells herself one day they’ll go
and marvel at the trees, the stars, they’ll run out in the fields,
run fast, run very fast, and faster, faster and they’ll start
to shout it feels so good, she’ll delight in pretty things, she’ll make her
lovely clothes and she will hug her hard so she’ll absorb
her innocence, she likes her little life, then one day in the village
something happens, difficult at first to put your finger on,
it seems that people from the town are making something up,
saying that she and hers are different, that they’re
like cockroaches or microbes, when she hears it she wants to laugh
because here in the village everyone’s the same, they also say
their ancestors were looters but what does she know of her ancestors,
that they can’t be trusted, that they’re all two-faced, they want
to steal our women, that they have a lot of children out of stubbornness
and that they smell, she hears a sneaky sort of word well up,
those burst-and-splatter words, like ‘we’, the way her closest
friend will tell her ‘we’ are different from you, she wonders who
they are this we, this famous we, she doesn’t get it, then one day
when she is on the point of dozing off she hears a scream,
the scream of someone having his throat cut, a scream which splits the sky
and something in her breaks, this fear too long held in, this knowledge
stifled for too long and then she starts to run, to run away, to
go – where can she go, she’s no idea but it’s too late and she can see
them coming but they’ve changed from men to animals and in their
hands they carry hatchets, hooks, a torture toolkit, and their eyes
are hollow, holes where eyes should be, they’re coming closer,
they insult her but she can no longer hear them, she won’t hear them, she
won’t die, not now, and not like this, she’s murmuring the name
of god, protect my child, protect my child and one of them
is young, she recognises him, he is her neighbour, he comes up
and spits on her, he tells her to kneel down, down on your knees, you slut,
you’ve got it coming now, just look at her, the bitch, she’d like us all
to fuck her, fancies our big cocks, down on your knees I said, we’ll
teach you to respect us, to respect your masters, on your knees
you filthy whore and while he slits her belly cuts her foetus up and empties
petrol over her and lights it, in the eyes of this young woman – from a country
distant yet not different from ours – still lingers, and will always linger
the enchanted light-show of the sea, the trees, the stars.

The Eyes of Others

She’s a young woman living in a village in a distant country,
she’s just got married and she’s pregnant, and she likes her husband
he works hard, he’s pretty nice to her and doesn’t beat her and she
waits impatiently for her baby to be born, she feels it, in her
belly, growing a bit each day, it’s like a seed that’s growing,
growing, it’ll be a girl, she knows it will, and she already loves her
very fiercely, as she loves her little life, sometimes, it’s true, she has
mad dreams, especially when she watches the TV, she too
would like to travel round the world, to visit cities,
meet a handsome prince and stand there in the snow and sing
a sweet romantic song and she tells herself she’s mad to think
of all that stuff, you’re crazy, you are, but she likes her little life, of course
there is her husband’s mother who’s a pain but there are, as her sister
neatly puts it, giggling, worse pains somewhere else and she quite likes
her little life and maybe what she loves the most is going down
to the sea each morning, she goes very early on her own and then
she starts to run, run fast, run very fast, so fast she feels as if she’s
lost her head, she starts to yell, her happiness so strong
it muddles all her senses and she also loves the trees, they are so
strong, so powerful, deep-rooted in the earth like that since the
beginning and she loves the stars as well, they are so lovely and she wonders
what they really are, the ones who’ve been to school they say they’re
balls of fire, she doesn’t really grasp it all that well but knows
they’re very beautiful and that she’d like to touch,
to travel to a star and live there but you’re crazy, you are, crazy,
that’s what she tells herself, you’re mad to think of all that stuff, she knows
deep down, a lot of things she doesn’t like to talk about, she doesn’t trust
the men because they’re scared of women, doesn’t trust the gossips
in the village, they haven’t got a clue about it all, she knows, but it is
hard to work it out, untangle all the meanings in their eyes and she can see
so many things in them, like love, quite often, lots, and love is
like children when they start to dance, it goes a bit in all
directions and it’s full of laughter makes you giddy but there’s also
hate and hate is scary, makes her want to run away, it’s like
a bushfire eating things all up and she tells herself she’s
mad, no question, you are crazy, you are, crazy, it’s not really
normal to be like this, to laugh at every little thing and ever since
she’s been expecting there’s a sort of music in her, something
tuneful, magical, that floods her body, something beautiful and strong
and she knows it’s going to be a girl, she’ll be like her and be –
but it’s her husband who maintains, how silly he is sometimes –
just as beautiful as she is and she tells herself one day they’ll go
and marvel at the trees, the stars, they’ll run out in the fields,
run fast, run very fast, and faster, faster and they’ll start
to shout it feels so good, she’ll delight in pretty things, she’ll make her
lovely clothes and she will hug her hard so she’ll absorb
her innocence, she likes her little life, then one day in the village
something happens, difficult at first to put your finger on,
it seems that people from the town are making something up,
saying that she and hers are different, that they’re
like cockroaches or microbes, when she hears it she wants to laugh
because here in the village everyone’s the same, they also say
their ancestors were looters but what does she know of her ancestors,
that they can’t be trusted, that they’re all two-faced, they want
to steal our women, that they have a lot of children out of stubbornness
and that they smell, she hears a sneaky sort of word well up,
those burst-and-splatter words, like ‘we’, the way her closest
friend will tell her ‘we’ are different from you, she wonders who
they are this we, this famous we, she doesn’t get it, then one day
when she is on the point of dozing off she hears a scream,
the scream of someone having his throat cut, a scream which splits the sky
and something in her breaks, this fear too long held in, this knowledge
stifled for too long and then she starts to run, to run away, to
go – where can she go, she’s no idea but it’s too late and she can see
them coming but they’ve changed from men to animals and in their
hands they carry hatchets, hooks, a torture toolkit, and their eyes
are hollow, holes where eyes should be, they’re coming closer,
they insult her but she can no longer hear them, she won’t hear them, she
won’t die, not now, and not like this, she’s murmuring the name
of god, protect my child, protect my child and one of them
is young, she recognises him, he is her neighbour, he comes up
and spits on her, he tells her to kneel down, down on your knees, you slut,
you’ve got it coming now, just look at her, the bitch, she’d like us all
to fuck her, fancies our big cocks, down on your knees I said, we’ll
teach you to respect us, to respect your masters, on your knees
you filthy whore and while he slits her belly cuts her foetus up and empties
petrol over her and lights it, in the eyes of this young woman – from a country
distant yet not different from ours – still lingers, and will always linger
the enchanted light-show of the sea, the trees, the stars.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Ludo Pieters Gastschrijver Fonds
Hendrik Muller fonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère