Herman de Coninck
Herman de Coninck Poems
- Mother What you do with time is what a grandmother ...
- He'd hoped he might get by wit...
- SLEEP NOW "Go to sleep now," I say to a daughter ...
- HIM AND HER Bravely she keeps up her spirits and bust. ...
- FINGERPRINTS ON THE WINDOW I think that poetry is something ...
- TAARLO We walk, the two of us, through the autumn day. And ...
- BIRTHDAY VERSE You never said anything. I always had to ...
Herman de Coninck (21 February 1944 – 22 May 1997) was a Belgian poet, essayist, journalist and publisher.
Herman de Coninck was born in Mechelen, Belgium, where his parents ran a Catholic bookshop. He attended the Sint-Rombouts College in Mechelen where he contributed to the school newspaper. Determined to become a writer, he studied Germanic philology at the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven. ... more »
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Comments about Herman de Coninck
What you do with time
is what a grandmother clock
does with it: strike twelve
and take its time doing it.
You're the clock: time passes,
you remain. And wait.
Waiting is what happens to
a snow-covered garden,
a trunk under moss,
hope for better times
in the nineteenth century,
or words in a poem.
For poetry is about letting things
grow moldy together, like grapes
turning into wine, reality into preserves,
and hoarding words
in the cellar of yourself.