Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Marieke Lucas Rijneveld

Scared hares weigh the most

And how that water came that night, we sat freshly washed beside the radio in
the back room, the house suddenly appeared made of cardboard, as though

we had hidden ourselves inside the weekly box of bananas, the roof
tiles chattered. They said: storm moving in from the north. That evening, Grandpa

had driven the cows up onto the dike, not knowing we would later
find them floating like swollen balloons in the water, how we

watched from the stairwell as the carpet rose faster and faster,
everything of value held over our heads: a child, a packet

of Blue Band butter, some jewels.  Prayers were heard within houses; fish
made air bubbles under water – whatever happened, God was given

a life jacket in our thoughts. And mud, everywhere mud. The peanuts
we’d eaten beside the radio were now like some of the villagers,

sunk to the bottom; the water was salty and ice-cold, the foam came up
to our navels. Later, when the helicopters shaved low over attics and heads

it became sink or swim, but each time only a few were allowed to be saved,
because, as the soldiers called out: scared hares weigh the most.

Angsthazen wegen zwaarder

Angsthazen wegen zwaarder

En hoe die nacht het water kwam, wij frisgewassen voor de radio in
de achterkamer, het huis leek ineens van bordkarton gemaakt, alsof

we ons in de wekelijkse bananendoos verstopt hadden, de dakpannen
klapperden. Ze zeiden: een storm vanuit het noorden, grootvader die die

avond de koeien de dijk op joeg, niet wetende dat we ze later als op-
geblazen ballonnen drijvend op het water terug zouden vinden, hoe we

vanuit het trapgat het vloerkleed steeds sneller omhoog zagen komen,
wat van waarde was werd boven het hoofd gehouden: een kind, een pakje

Blue Band-boter, wat sieraden. Uit huizen klonken gebeden; vissen die
luchtbelletjes maakten onder water, wat er ook gebeurde, God kreeg een

reddingsvest in onze gedachten. En modder, overal modder. De pinda’s
die we bij de radio hadden gegeten waren nu net als sommige dorps-

bewoners naar de bodem gezakt, het water was zout en ijskoud, het schuim
kwam tot onze navels. Later de helikopters die laag over zolders en hoofden

scheerden, het werd zwemmen of verdrinken, er mochten er steeds maar
een paar mee, want zoals de soldaten riepen: angsthazen wegen zwaarder.
Close

Scared hares weigh the most

And how that water came that night, we sat freshly washed beside the radio in
the back room, the house suddenly appeared made of cardboard, as though

we had hidden ourselves inside the weekly box of bananas, the roof
tiles chattered. They said: storm moving in from the north. That evening, Grandpa

had driven the cows up onto the dike, not knowing we would later
find them floating like swollen balloons in the water, how we

watched from the stairwell as the carpet rose faster and faster,
everything of value held over our heads: a child, a packet

of Blue Band butter, some jewels.  Prayers were heard within houses; fish
made air bubbles under water – whatever happened, God was given

a life jacket in our thoughts. And mud, everywhere mud. The peanuts
we’d eaten beside the radio were now like some of the villagers,

sunk to the bottom; the water was salty and ice-cold, the foam came up
to our navels. Later, when the helicopters shaved low over attics and heads

it became sink or swim, but each time only a few were allowed to be saved,
because, as the soldiers called out: scared hares weigh the most.

Scared hares weigh the most

And how that water came that night, we sat freshly washed beside the radio in
the back room, the house suddenly appeared made of cardboard, as though

we had hidden ourselves inside the weekly box of bananas, the roof
tiles chattered. They said: storm moving in from the north. That evening, Grandpa

had driven the cows up onto the dike, not knowing we would later
find them floating like swollen balloons in the water, how we

watched from the stairwell as the carpet rose faster and faster,
everything of value held over our heads: a child, a packet

of Blue Band butter, some jewels.  Prayers were heard within houses; fish
made air bubbles under water – whatever happened, God was given

a life jacket in our thoughts. And mud, everywhere mud. The peanuts
we’d eaten beside the radio were now like some of the villagers,

sunk to the bottom; the water was salty and ice-cold, the foam came up
to our navels. Later, when the helicopters shaved low over attics and heads

it became sink or swim, but each time only a few were allowed to be saved,
because, as the soldiers called out: scared hares weigh the most.
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère