{"id":13374,"date":"2023-11-24T08:47:21","date_gmt":"2023-11-24T06:47:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/leeuwardencityofliterature.nl\/?post_type=project&p=13374"},"modified":"2025-12-04T22:21:56","modified_gmt":"2025-12-04T20:21:56","slug":"de-swimster","status":"publish","type":"project","link":"https:\/\/leeuwardencityofliterature.nl\/fy\/project\/magazine-letter-20232\/de-swimster\/","title":{"rendered":"De swimster"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Tekst: Pia Prezelj | Oersetting: Martsje de Jong | Yllustraasje: Ema Koba<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

De drip waard grutter, swierder tusken Hast it k\u00e2ld en Net d\u00fbke, waard hieltyd tsjokker, krekt as pudding, bytsje mear, lyts bytsje mear, en makke him doe los fan \u2019e hakke, hingjend oer de r\u00e2ne, en rekke it beton.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Op dizze oere is it meastentiids r\u00eastich, alteast relatyf sprutsen, gen\u00f4ch<\/em>, net r\u00eastich gen\u00f4ch foar de sprongen en de swimslaggen dy echte, folle, sterke, foar de ljochtflitsen tusken it sykheljen troch, d\u00ear\u2019t wat is en wat w\u00eaze kinne soe him yn fernauwet, foar it ferlies yn wietichheid, yn lytse stikjes bl\u00eaden en gers dy\u2019t oer de boaiem fan it swimbad tommelje. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Op dizze oere kaam se meastentiids oerein fan it ferwaarme plestik fan har lisstoel en r\u00fbn se l\u00e2ns de line dy\u2019t him \u00fatstrekte oer de noardkant fan it swimbad, hielendal oan \u2019e frieskiste ta d\u00ear\u2019t se in iislolly \u00fatsocht, mei as gefolch dat de swietichheid l\u00e2ns har fingers dripte en dy plakkerich waarden, sadat se op in bankje sitten gean moast, eagjend l\u00e2ns de parasollen fan d\u00ear\u2019t aloan wer miggen op harren buken l\u00e2nen, en ek op \u2019e druven dy\u2019t op it gers goaid wiene om\u2019t se yn \u2019e tassen plette waarden \u00fbnder it gewicht fan ien as oare kr\u00eam, fochtynbringende, fers\u00eaftsjende, beskermjende, foaral dat l\u00easte, want wy kinne \u00fassels tsjin fan alles en noch wat beskermje, tocht se, tsjin in hiel soad dingen, d\u00ear binne wy goed yn, d\u00ear ha wy g\u00e2ns metoaden, prosessen en meganismen foar \u00fbntwikkele, mijen en previnsje ha wy op it \u00f4fm\u00eadzjende \u00f4f \u00fbnder de knibbel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ek dizze kear soe se troch it \u00fbndjippe wetter rinne, har fuotten \u00f4fkuolje litte en wiete spoaren efterlitte foar oaren dy\u2019t, krekt as sy, binnen it oere tasprutsen wurde soene, Pardon, mefrou, ik wit net oft jo it witte, mar ik moat jo yn it \u00fbnth\u00e2ld bringe dat wy om s\u00e2n oere slute, soe de jonge sizze dy\u2019t foar syn nije scooter wurke, en ek dizze kear soe se in iislolly \u00fatkieze, in skoftsje nei de ploaien fan \u2019e parasollen stoarje, har spul ynpakke en nei h\u00fbs weromgean, l\u00e2ns in paad dat se mei de eagen ticht fytse kinne soe, nei romten d\u00ear\u2019t it wetter in fine stream is, \u00fbntdien fan syn \u00f4fmjittingen, beheind fan kr\u00eaft, mar dochs feilich<\/em> is, hold se harsels foar, want feiligens ferget opoffering, feiligens komt op it foarste plak, dat ha se har dochs altyd bybrocht.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Se gie op \u2019e side lizzen, probearre net te tinken oan Net d\u00fbke en oan alle druven, besocht inkeld oan it tsjuster te tinken, dy\u2019t read-oranje waard as se har eagen sleat en de holle nei de sinne draaide. De drip rekke it beton \u2013 en d\u00earnei noch ien en noch ien.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Om yn sliep falle te kinnen stelde se har foar hoe\u2019t se weisonk yn it wyt fan \u2019e lisstoel, mar dy wie ynienen hurd en skerp en se paste der net hielendal yn, it die sear har sear yn \u2019e side en yn it skouder. Jo sille deroan wenne moatte dat jo jin wat \u00fbnnoflik fiele, kaam har fan efter it read-oranje te binnen, brocht se har de frou yn it sin dy\u2019t de wanten \u00fatdie middenmank al dy kabels en knoppen en sondes en skermen, glimkjend, kalm, geskikt foar sokke mominten, ommers, wa wol der no gjin bliere boal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Se gie sitten, tilde de plestik r\u00eachleuning op en line efteroer. Rjochts fan har strekte in oar him \u00fat oer de r\u00e2ne fan it swimbad, joech wat troch en sei wat tsjin immen. Juster noch soe se harke hawwe, him mooglik tsjinholden hawwe, mei him praat hawwe, Moarn sil it blykber reine, mar no like alles sa lyts, sa \u00fbnbetsjuttend neffens har faze<\/em>, krige se te hearren, as wie it wat d\u00ear\u2019t se ier as let fan opknappe kinne soe, De measten fan jim miene dat it allinnich moarns foarkomme kin, om\u2019t it moarnsmislikens neamd wurdt, mar kinst ek oerdeis en nachts mislik w\u00eaze, jo sille der oan wenne moatte dat jo jin wat \u00fbnnoflik fiele.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yn \u2019e ploaien fan \u2019e parasollen, dy\u2019t se sa graach beseach en d\u00ear\u2019t se motiven en ritmes yn socht, seach se hjoed mar ien ding: har \u00f4fs\u00fbndering \u00fat it fertroude. Dat hinne en wer wapperjen yn \u2019e wyn wie net langer har eigendom, likemin de r\u00fbtine dy\u2019t sy troch de jierren hinne fersterke hie, ferheftige, likemin har famkeseftigens dy\u2019t se oant no ta diele kinnen hie mei oaren, en dy\u2019t ek oaren yn har kweekten as n\u00f4tieren om rispje te kinnen, en dy\u2019t se sels ek kweekte, as sieraad droech, har taeigene, fol grutskens. Se seach nei de famkes dy\u2019t om it swimbad hinne draafden, mei liven dy\u2019t sa \u00f4fgryslik op har eigen liif liken, oansjenlik mar dochs net hielendal, en se besefte dat dit allegear foarby wie. Der wie wat yn har dat swierder en tsjokker waard, mar doe\u2019t se einlings oerein kaam om har \u00fat te rekken, seach de jonge dy\u2019t foar in nije scooter wurke har lykas altyd oan, hy knikte tsjin har lykas altyd, \u00fbnder soartgenoaten, tocht se \u2013 sy wie dit<\/em> en dat<\/em> tagelyk, twa liven, it lege en it folle, beide like \u00fbnwerklik, it iene net-mear en it oare noch-krekt-net. Se wist dat se meikoarten kieze moatte soe foar ien fan dy liven, foar in weromkear dy\u2019t noait mear echt mooglik wie, of foar dat wat se likemin beneame koe as woe, want de klank allinnich soe ek in foarm fergje, en dy foarm soe har opeaskje. Mar no noch net \u2013 hjoed noch net.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ferd\u00fbbele pakte se har swimbril en waggele nei it swimbad. Mei it wetter oan \u2019e skouders ta flibe se op \u2019e gl\u00eazen en wreau se justjes yn, spande it bandsje en luts it oer har sliepen, sykhelle djip, bytsje mear, lyts bytsje mear, en treau har \u00f4f fan \u2019e r\u00e2ne. Under op it blauwe d\u00fbnsen lytse stikjes bl\u00eaden en gers tusken har swimslaggen troch. Ut frije wil, sa like it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n
L\u00eas de tekst yn it Sloveensk<\/a><\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n

<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Tekst: Pia Prezelj | Oersetting: Martsje de Jong | Yllustraasje: Ema Koba De drip waard grutter, swierder tusken Hast it k\u00e2ld en Net d\u00fbke, waard hieltyd tsjokker, krekt as pudding, bytsje mear, lyts bytsje mear, en makke him doe los fan \u2019e hakke, hingjend oer de r\u00e2ne, en rekke it beton. 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