Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Véronique Pittolo

In provincial families

In provincial families, in the old days, existence was seemingly peaceful, car in the garage, shoes in the front hall, Sunday scarcely different from the week.
 
The little nuns would see their sister’s children go off to school each morning, and they couldn’t get over it. Their vision shifted towards the cult of Mary, the sweetness of unconsummated motherhood, in all its forms, a fear of men.

In plattelandsfamilies

In plattelandsfamilies was vroeger het bestaan ogenschijnlijk rustig, de auto in de garage, de schoenen in de hal, de zondag nauwelijks anders dan de rest van de week.
 
Elke ochtend zagen nonnetjes de kinderen van hun zus naar school vertrekken, ze konden er niet bij. Hun blik wendde zich af naar de Mariaverering, de zachtheid van het niet geconsummeerde moederschap, in al haar vormen, de vrees voor de man.

Dans les familles provinciales, autrefois, l’existence était en apparence tranquille, la voiture dans le garage, les chaussures dans l’entrée, le dimanche, à peine différent de la semaine.
 
Les petites nonnes voyaient les enfants de leur sœur partir à l’école chaque matin, n’en revenaient pas. Leur vision se détournait pour le culte de Marie, la douceur de la maternité non consommée, sous toutes ses formes, la crainte de l’homme.
Close

In provincial families

In provincial families, in the old days, existence was seemingly peaceful, car in the garage, shoes in the front hall, Sunday scarcely different from the week.
 
The little nuns would see their sister’s children go off to school each morning, and they couldn’t get over it. Their vision shifted towards the cult of Mary, the sweetness of unconsummated motherhood, in all its forms, a fear of men.

In provincial families

In provincial families, in the old days, existence was seemingly peaceful, car in the garage, shoes in the front hall, Sunday scarcely different from the week.
 
The little nuns would see their sister’s children go off to school each morning, and they couldn’t get over it. Their vision shifted towards the cult of Mary, the sweetness of unconsummated motherhood, in all its forms, a fear of men.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère