On Thursday 9 June 2016, Marieke Rijneveld received the Netherlands' highest poetry prize: the C. Buddingh Prize.
Her love of language started with transcribing 'The Philosopher's Stone', the first Harry Potter - she had borrowed the book from the library and actually wanted to keep it. Her love for poetry started with her speech therapy lessons: in the little room where she had lessons there were paintings with poems on them. If Marieke did her best, she was allowed to recite them. "Unfortunately, it never came to that," she says, "but at home I looked up the poems and started writing again. So it is just as well that Marieke Rijneveld (1991) had to go to speech therapy, otherwise we would not have been able to enjoy the heady power of her lyrics. With her collection of Calfskin she deservedly won the C. Buddingh'-Prize, the award for the best poetry debut of the year, on Thursday.
What place does poetry occupy in your life?
''Calfskin was created in a year, but some poems had been soaking for a bit longer. I started writing primarily to understand the world and myself, to keep things with me and explore. That's still true now, but it's bigger than that. It has now become an art form and a way of creating my own world. Writing poems and stories has taken over my life. I feel bad if I haven't written for a day or if a text or poem fails, I experience fear that I have lost it, that it was a one-off literary whim. And although I have since proved that this is not the case, that fear still lurks in me. I did have to give up some things for writing, but I can't think of anything else that will make me happier than shuffling around my desk every morning and writing.''
The form of your poems is more reminiscent of prose than poetry. What do you call it yourself?
''I call my poems "poems". There is often a compelling rhythm in my work, probably due to my both Biblical and musical background. Many images are also contrived, there is a deeper layer in them and the text stands alone without really revealing what the conclusion is.''
Where does a poem start for you, does it arise from an image, a word, a sentence?
''For me, a poem often starts with an image. The first sentence has to be good, then the rest follows automatically, and where it goes I rarely know in advance. I am guided by the image and have in Calfskin worked a lot with round poems, again ending with an image that followed on from an earlier sentence. Between the beginning and the end, I use many metaphors that in turn provoke new images, but always land neatly back on their feet.
Take the poem 'Grief eaters'. I live on the fifth floor of a student house and the place is crawling with silverfish that walk on the floor or along the wall. I sometimes squeeze them between my fingers, they seem to be made of dust and dissolve into thin air. I had read somewhere that they descended on moisture, and then it occurred to me that they must also descend on grief. I liked that image and so I came up with the idea of weaving it with a girl who reads back in her diary about her first kiss that didn't turn out well, about the versions she was or wanted to be, and about how she can become a good daughter for her father: "Daddy says practice makes perfect, I think if I keep my arms wide enough apart one day a daughter will come out of me. I would then wake him and whisper: practice makes a daughter, now you make a father."
Fantasy and reality are close together in my work. In many poems, I try to hold on to something. I am someone who constantly notices everything: details, smells, atmosphere and weather changes. The world is new every day as the smallest and most sensitive details change. As a result, I can hardly hold onto anything. This has both fine and annoying sides. It can make me anxious, but on the other hand it allows me to continue to marvel like a child, because nothing occurs to me like how I knew it. At school, I didn't memorise any information and therefore I have barely any knowledge of the world, but I observed people and nature for years so I would notice all the changes. I try to put that wonder and confusion into my work too. All the themes I delve into and know I will lose the information, I try to make them my own by incorporating them into my poems and stories. So it has also become a way of learning.''
Who are role models for you, when it comes to writing?
''I have very few examples, also because I can remember little literature and theory. I can say, however, that I have a kind of obsession with Jan Wolkers. A newspaper article with his head on it therefore hangs above my desk. When I have worked well, he seems to look kinder. Then I think: I am doing a good job. I also read other literature, but I compare a lot with Wolkers. I love his way of writing and through his work I have also learned to dare to write about shameful subjects and to be more unflinching.
In terms of poetry, Anna Enquist is an example Her work was the first poetry I came into contact with and that has always stayed with me. To have someone as an example, I must also feel similarities in terms of background and lifestyle. From the younger generation, I feel a lot of kinship with Lize Spit, a good friend of mine and a very good writer.''
Why do you deserve the C. Buddingh'prize?
''I don't think I deserve the C.Buddingh Prize more than the other nominees - we all worked hard for it. Meanwhile, I am Calfskin almost as a person I have come to love, and so I award my collection this prize out of love. It is a fine conclusion to a very fine literary year in which I was able to develop myself and receive a lot of praise. I am very grateful for that. At primary school, we got a curl on the hand if we worked well. The C.Buddingh' Prize is a very big curl.
What does it mean to you that you have won? Is appreciation or affirmation important to you?
''I need a lot of affirmation, and I loathe that at times. But that will disappear in time when I have published more work. I think the award will have a good influence on my next work - my debut novel - because it helps me trust myself more and enjoy writing. This week, someone asked if I appreciate my success. I then said that success is the neighbour's rabbit, before you know it you put your fork in it. I am very grateful for what I have already achieved, but I am also always strict with myself. I have to be able to do better. As a result, I sometimes experience a lot of pressure. On the one hand, this is good, it keeps me developing and my next job will be another step forward if all goes well. On the other hand, it would also give me more peace of mind if I could try out the rocking position on my new office chair sometime and just sit back and look back at what I have achieved so far.''
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