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Dichtertje
54 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1917
6 people are currently reading
78 people want to read
About the author
Nescio
19 books54 followersJan Hendrik Frederik Grönloh was born in Amsterdam, the oldest of four children. After an idealistic youth, he joined the Holland–Bombay Trading Company in 1904, becoming director in 1926, suffering a nervous breakdown leading to a short hospitalization in 1927, and retiring at age fifty-five, on December 31, 1937; he married Aagje Tiket (b. 1883) in 1906 and had four daughters with her, born in 1907, 1908, 1909, and 1912. Meanwhile, as Nescio (Latin for “I don’t know”; he adopted a pseudonym so as not to jeopardize his business career, acknowledging his authorship publicly only in 1929), he wrote what is now considered perhaps the best prose in the Dutch language.
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Displaying 1 - 26 of 26 reviews
January 30, 2021
HAHAh stel je bent een god maar je bent de god van NEdeRLaNd
bro
bro
September 4, 2013
The last greatest conquest of anyone's life is probably finding his/her one true love and getting married to that true love. The little poet has already gone past this. He has been married to his wife for six years already and they have a five-year-old daughter. He has a steady job and they are "more or less happy."
Yet: "forever is a terribly long time to be married."
And he sees where this is all leading to. Just like what had happened to his father who lived, raised a family, worked hard, spent years doing his daily routine with nothing special happening to him, then he died. This is the same thing that will happen, and is happening, to him. He looks at his little girl and knows that the trajectory of her life would be no different from his, or his dead father.
The little poet then poeticizes: he imagines something different for him. He dreams of becoming a great poet, and then to fall. To maybe have an affair with a poetess, if not to astound the world. One day he sees a pretty woman with her husband while he rides a streetcar. His eyes flirts with her and she seems to reciprocate. Silently with his mind he concocts a dialogue of fornication between them. Amidst the crowd--
"A tall tower surged up from his spirit and a tall tower surged up from hers. And they looked out far and wide over everything and saw only each other."
But nothing happened. He is just a little poet. The poem in his mind "took a somber turn and Amsterdam (where he lives) is dark and empty."
Ah, Amsterdam! Just before he becomes a great poet, just before he falls, when the fullness of time finally arrives, he looks at his city with already with a great poet's eyes--
"The sun was shining again, she saw the houses in the light and the trees and the golden glow on the pond. She saw the weeping willow turn yellow, its branches hung down and they reached for the water, they hung in deathly silent yellow adoration over the pond and they saw their own yellow light in the water. The woolly white clouds sailed in the pond, they skimmed across the blue sky but didn't conceal it. And those were the weeping willows in the city in early spring, a material embodiment of God between the clog-like buildings, so tall, awakening a longing that is grace and misery at once. You turn the corner, a foul, disgusting corner next to a fish stall that stinks of marinated herring, and suddenly something blazes from your eyes into your heart, you see gold crash down like an ocean and you stand there and a little boy wipes his nose with the back of his hand and yells: 'Fancypants!' That is Amsterdam, the capital of the Netherlands, in early spring."
He's going to have Dora, his wife's younger sister, she who has loved him when she was just a girl, before her breasts became big. And Dora looks at things like a poetess does:
"She suddenly saw before her eyes, like a long-forgotten thing, a wide river rushing toward the sea. Its waves propelled the sunlight toward the sea but the water and the light were without end. A little tugboat pulled a long train of boats along a blue and gold trail. The boat was tiny and insignificant, its steam pipe barely reached the sky and its smoke was only just visible, its hoarse cry was lost in space. For hours and hours it moved through the water, between the fields, under an awe-inspiring sky.
"And she saw a long road full of dust and sunlight and solitude. And then something else again: a meadow, endless, and an alley of autumn trees a bit farther down, there in the sun, from the side, and all of it full of living gold and of blue sky. And then: a river down in a valley, already dark in the east and the day was dying in the west, yellow at first, far sadness, pale green above that, a day that did not want to die, the darkness powerfully rising, it rose from the land into the eastern sky and hurtled west, and there was a river, red and crying, it wanted to hold on to the light, the light that wanted to stay. And so the river flowed, with the light, down to the ocean she couldn't see."
Nescio. Latin for "I don't know." The pseudonym of this beloved Dutch writer Jan Hendrik Frederik Gronloh (22 June 1882 - 25 July 1961) who, mood-wise, reminds me so much of the Portuguese Fernando Pessoa yet, with his light, wry humor, would also sometimes make me recall P.G. Wodehouse. However, unlike Pessoa who was a prodigious writer, Nescio was markedly lazy. He didn't write anything that may be considered a full-length novel, or even just a novella. His longest works were just four short stories, this one being the longes at 42 pages. Unlike Wodehouse too, his comic voice does not envelope everything. He has and outstanding flair for the dramatic and the poetic. His language is beautiful (I can only read this in English) and, in the original Dutch, is said to be blindingly gorgeous.
Yet: "forever is a terribly long time to be married."
And he sees where this is all leading to. Just like what had happened to his father who lived, raised a family, worked hard, spent years doing his daily routine with nothing special happening to him, then he died. This is the same thing that will happen, and is happening, to him. He looks at his little girl and knows that the trajectory of her life would be no different from his, or his dead father.
The little poet then poeticizes: he imagines something different for him. He dreams of becoming a great poet, and then to fall. To maybe have an affair with a poetess, if not to astound the world. One day he sees a pretty woman with her husband while he rides a streetcar. His eyes flirts with her and she seems to reciprocate. Silently with his mind he concocts a dialogue of fornication between them. Amidst the crowd--
"A tall tower surged up from his spirit and a tall tower surged up from hers. And they looked out far and wide over everything and saw only each other."
But nothing happened. He is just a little poet. The poem in his mind "took a somber turn and Amsterdam (where he lives) is dark and empty."
Ah, Amsterdam! Just before he becomes a great poet, just before he falls, when the fullness of time finally arrives, he looks at his city with already with a great poet's eyes--
"The sun was shining again, she saw the houses in the light and the trees and the golden glow on the pond. She saw the weeping willow turn yellow, its branches hung down and they reached for the water, they hung in deathly silent yellow adoration over the pond and they saw their own yellow light in the water. The woolly white clouds sailed in the pond, they skimmed across the blue sky but didn't conceal it. And those were the weeping willows in the city in early spring, a material embodiment of God between the clog-like buildings, so tall, awakening a longing that is grace and misery at once. You turn the corner, a foul, disgusting corner next to a fish stall that stinks of marinated herring, and suddenly something blazes from your eyes into your heart, you see gold crash down like an ocean and you stand there and a little boy wipes his nose with the back of his hand and yells: 'Fancypants!' That is Amsterdam, the capital of the Netherlands, in early spring."
He's going to have Dora, his wife's younger sister, she who has loved him when she was just a girl, before her breasts became big. And Dora looks at things like a poetess does:
"She suddenly saw before her eyes, like a long-forgotten thing, a wide river rushing toward the sea. Its waves propelled the sunlight toward the sea but the water and the light were without end. A little tugboat pulled a long train of boats along a blue and gold trail. The boat was tiny and insignificant, its steam pipe barely reached the sky and its smoke was only just visible, its hoarse cry was lost in space. For hours and hours it moved through the water, between the fields, under an awe-inspiring sky.
"And she saw a long road full of dust and sunlight and solitude. And then something else again: a meadow, endless, and an alley of autumn trees a bit farther down, there in the sun, from the side, and all of it full of living gold and of blue sky. And then: a river down in a valley, already dark in the east and the day was dying in the west, yellow at first, far sadness, pale green above that, a day that did not want to die, the darkness powerfully rising, it rose from the land into the eastern sky and hurtled west, and there was a river, red and crying, it wanted to hold on to the light, the light that wanted to stay. And so the river flowed, with the light, down to the ocean she couldn't see."
Nescio. Latin for "I don't know." The pseudonym of this beloved Dutch writer Jan Hendrik Frederik Gronloh (22 June 1882 - 25 July 1961) who, mood-wise, reminds me so much of the Portuguese Fernando Pessoa yet, with his light, wry humor, would also sometimes make me recall P.G. Wodehouse. However, unlike Pessoa who was a prodigious writer, Nescio was markedly lazy. He didn't write anything that may be considered a full-length novel, or even just a novella. His longest works were just four short stories, this one being the longes at 42 pages. Unlike Wodehouse too, his comic voice does not envelope everything. He has and outstanding flair for the dramatic and the poetic. His language is beautiful (I can only read this in English) and, in the original Dutch, is said to be blindingly gorgeous.
March 7, 2025
Dit is waarom dichters bundels maken, geen boeken.
May 25, 2025
Pas maar op met die diabolo
March 9, 2025
„Het lot van den mensch is verdriet te hebben, wanneer hij z’n doel niet
bereikt en wanneer hij z’n doel bereikt heeft.
„Er is geen troost in de deugd en er is geen troost in de zonde.
„Daarom laat blijmoediglijk af van alle verwachting. Stel uw hoop op de
eeuwigheid: uit dezen droom is geen ontwaken.”
'Hè,
schrijven wat je denkt is zoo fijn, zoo roef, roef, je weet zelf niet hoe je ’t
doet. ’t Staat er ineens precies zooals ’t er staan moet. En als je ’t dan
naderhand leest, dan leef je in eens weer je eigen leven van toen en toch
weet je niet, of je dat nu zelf bent of een ander.”
Af en toe staan er best mooie dingen in het boek, maar het is zo'n sleur om te lezen. Dit was echt beter geweest als gedichtenbundel en niet als verhaal. Het had best kunnen werken, maar dat doet het alleen echt niet. Op papier klinkt het best goed, maar het viel behoorlijk tegen. Misschien vind ik het leuker als ik het nog een keer lees.
bereikt en wanneer hij z’n doel bereikt heeft.
„Er is geen troost in de deugd en er is geen troost in de zonde.
„Daarom laat blijmoediglijk af van alle verwachting. Stel uw hoop op de
eeuwigheid: uit dezen droom is geen ontwaken.”
'Hè,
schrijven wat je denkt is zoo fijn, zoo roef, roef, je weet zelf niet hoe je ’t
doet. ’t Staat er ineens precies zooals ’t er staan moet. En als je ’t dan
naderhand leest, dan leef je in eens weer je eigen leven van toen en toch
weet je niet, of je dat nu zelf bent of een ander.”
Af en toe staan er best mooie dingen in het boek, maar het is zo'n sleur om te lezen. Dit was echt beter geweest als gedichtenbundel en niet als verhaal. Het had best kunnen werken, maar dat doet het alleen echt niet. Op papier klinkt het best goed, maar het viel behoorlijk tegen. Misschien vind ik het leuker als ik het nog een keer lees.
February 14, 2019
Oké, oké, eerlijk is eerlijk: heeft misschien wel de beste laatste zin.
May 13, 2025
Wat in de Nederlandse letteren is mooier dan Nescio? Zeg het me maar als jij het weet. Dichtertje laatst herlezen, zoals ongeveer elke +/- 10 jaar. En het was weer prachtig! Sentimenteel enerzijds, omdat zijn Amsterdams schrijven soms precies leest zoals mijn oma (1919) dat sprak. Met zo'n -n die woorden aan elkaar verbindt. Anderszijds ook weer prachtig omdat er ogenschijnlijk niets gebeurt terwijl er ondertussen álles gebeurt en dat dit alles verder ook doordrenkt is met smeulend verlangen: "Alle meisjes kijken alsof ze iets weten".
Ditmaal heb ik langer zitten Googlen dan lezen. Van de sneer naar de tachtigers in de opening tot de verwijzing naar Potgieter en z'n connectie bij de Gids. Er zit stiekem wat "beef" in en ik heb echt zitten Googlen over wie dat zou kunnen gaan, maar ik ben uiteindelijk nergens uitgekomen.
Doodzonde.
Zo heb ik ook nog niet scherp wie "de God van Nederland" in dit verhaal nou is. De precieze beschrijving wijst ook hier op een bestaand iemand.
Wederom: doodzonde.
Ben of ken jij een letterenstudent die hier op wilde afstuderen of dat zelfs heeft gedaan? Please, mag ik je analyses lezen? Want ik ga altijd wel lekker op dat soort heisa.
Ditmaal heb ik langer zitten Googlen dan lezen. Van de sneer naar de tachtigers in de opening tot de verwijzing naar Potgieter en z'n connectie bij de Gids. Er zit stiekem wat "beef" in en ik heb echt zitten Googlen over wie dat zou kunnen gaan, maar ik ben uiteindelijk nergens uitgekomen.
Doodzonde.
Zo heb ik ook nog niet scherp wie "de God van Nederland" in dit verhaal nou is. De precieze beschrijving wijst ook hier op een bestaand iemand.
Wederom: doodzonde.
Ben of ken jij een letterenstudent die hier op wilde afstuderen of dat zelfs heeft gedaan? Please, mag ik je analyses lezen? Want ik ga altijd wel lekker op dat soort heisa.
January 27, 2021
*3,5?
Soms moest ik wel hardop lachen
Soms moest ik wel hardop lachen
April 17, 2022
C'est terrible.
June 8, 2016
kind of liked it, some parts were funny and some parts were well written
misogyny was a little bit cringy tho
misogyny was a little bit cringy tho
December 24, 2019
ik denk niet dat er woorden zijn om te beschrijven hoe erg dit boekje binnenkwam
October 20, 2024
Enerzijds sterk geschreven, vond ook de manier waarop hij het contrast natuur vs stad gebruikt handig om de diepere verhaallijn te kunnen begrijpen. Anderzijds vol typische misogyne ideeën die de oppervlakkige verhaallijn van begin tot eind extreem voorspelbaar maken.
February 24, 2019
A. F. Th verwijst naar dit verhaal, in zijn roman Mooi doodliggen (p. 52-53). Daardoor herlas ik het. Nescio's ironische stijl is fenomenaal, maar wat een romantisch gekwezel.
September 19, 2021
Na de lezing van zijn biografie, dit pareltje nog eens herlezen. Kunst.
May 28, 2022
Het verhaallijn was meer te volgen dan in de andere boeken dieik van Nescio heb gelezen (of er zat meer een verhaallijn in. Poëtisch geschreven, interessant
March 27, 2024
Bijzonder boek, zeker voor die tijd.
November 3, 2024
Het droeve leven van het dichtertje dat zo onbegrepen mooi schrijft. En dan ook nog in Nijmegen, Lent, Berg en Dal en Beek. Maar vooral aan de Waal. Via Gutenberg
August 26, 2025
'De taal is armoedig, doodarmoedig. Die de werken des Vaders kent, weet dit.'
January 12, 2026
Het kan aan mij liggen, maar ik snap er momenteel niks van en kan je niet vertellen waar dit over gaat.
February 16, 2017
Read for Dutch literature / Gelezen voor literatuur Nederlands in 6V.
Ik had absoluut geen idee wat hier gebeurde. Het was moeilijk om doorheen te komen door de spreektaal (datti = dat hij etc) en ik ben blij dat ik het uit heb (helaas moet ik er nog twee). Die ene ster erbij is voor het einde, dat mij wel fascineerde. Als je een boek zoekt voor je lijst en je denkt 'oh, dit is lekker kort' - niet. doen.
Ik had absoluut geen idee wat hier gebeurde. Het was moeilijk om doorheen te komen door de spreektaal (datti = dat hij etc) en ik ben blij dat ik het uit heb (helaas moet ik er nog twee). Die ene ster erbij is voor het einde, dat mij wel fascineerde. Als je een boek zoekt voor je lijst en je denkt 'oh, dit is lekker kort' - niet. doen.
July 13, 2016
I have never read anything by Nescio before but I felt I had to, as his collection of stories (De Uitvreter, Titaantjes, Dichtertje, Mene Tekel) is supposed to be one of the best Dutch literary works. I highly enjoyed Dichtertje (English: Little Poet), which happened to be the first story in my edition. "Dichtertje" deals with dreams and the reality of every day life through the story of the main character Eduard ("Ee"), a married office clerk who dreams and fantasizes of a more exciting life as an artist than the confined, bourgeois life he is living in reality. A little gem!
July 4, 2021
Mon âme prend son élan vers l’infini: Er is geen troost in de deugd en er is geen troost in de zonde, zegt de duivel. Door te vallen, verheft de ziel zich omhoog; in opstand te komen tegen wat door anderen is opgelegd en de strijd aangaan.
NB Mooie beschrijving van Nijmegen: “Toen leunde haar bovenlijf uit ‘t raampje en keek naar Nijmegen, dat daar lag op de heuvels aan de rivier, zoo on-Hollands, zwak romantisch, huizen boven huizen en boomen boven boomen, en zong tegen den wind en ‘t gerammel van den trein over de brug.”
NB Mooie beschrijving van Nijmegen: “Toen leunde haar bovenlijf uit ‘t raampje en keek naar Nijmegen, dat daar lag op de heuvels aan de rivier, zoo on-Hollands, zwak romantisch, huizen boven huizen en boomen boven boomen, en zong tegen den wind en ‘t gerammel van den trein over de brug.”
Read
November 25, 2012Geen ster gegeven. Vond het niets aan.
September 28, 2015
prachtig!
January 4, 2016
I have no idea what I just read... What the hell was that all about?
Displaying 1 - 26 of 26 reviews