Arend Victorie

[To Arend Victorie’s index]

Jan

© Translation from Drenthe Low Saxon: R. F. Hahn, 2007

esterday I had to take my brother to a hospice.

It was a difficult trip to take, but it could no longer be helped. He had been living alone and could no longer find his way around his home. There are metastases in Jan’s right arm, in his chest and in his hip. On top of it, Jan has advanced-stage Alzheimer’s disease, and he doesn’t understand why he has to leave his home and why he can’t go back. “But there isn’t anything wrong with me, is there? When will we go back home then?” Those are the types of questions he asks. And when you explain to him that he’s terribly ill he is quiet for a moment and then says, “That’s too bad … How much longer do I have to live?” The only answer we manage to give him is “Not much longer, Jan.” And then we watch him pondering this. And then he says, “So are we going back home now?”

Old man

Autumn coloring trees,
wrinkles drawing worries
and eyes asking about yesterday.
Thoughts falling silent
in autumn leaves.

Now is gone,
then’s coming back.
Twigs rocking gently

Back and forth.
Back and forth.

Lost in today,
longing for then,
for Dad and Mom
and the path along the canal.

Twigs rocking gently.

For him in vain now …

[To Arend Victorie’s index]