This month’s editorial is a translation of a piece by Lieke Marsman, the Netherlands’ poet laureate. She posted it on May 21 at the height of frustrations around the government’s handling of the corona crisis, and at, presumably, a peak when her social media accounts were being bombarded by trolls. Rather than paint a rosy picture of the Netherlands like her predecessors, marketing our country to, let’s be honest, our country (because who else cares?) in sweeping lines of unearned flattery, our current poet laureate is speaking out, and speaking loudly.

- Megan Garr

Some thoughts on anger, poetry and politics

People sometimes say that I have become more outspoken, more angry in recent years, both on social media and in my work, adding that perhaps this is because having cancer for three years has awakened a certain fighting spirit. These people also wonder if an illness like this shouldn't make you softer – after all, you only get a limited amount of time in this life, why waste it on things that can't stand the light of day? I’m not repeating these questions here to pass judgment, but because they are questions that I also ask myself, and to which I sometimes find the beginnings of an interesting answer.

My illness has certainly caused me to become softer, warmer, more compassionate – which does not mean that my anger, too, cannot grow, and that the two cannot coexist. Aside from the fact that exhibiting anger can be a form of compassion, I see my anger becoming more compressed and demarcated by the day, which actually means that there’s more room than ever for softness. The sharper my anger burns, the warmer the rest of me is. People may be surprised by how much my latest collection, for example, has a Christian component: the collection is largely about God and grace, both receiving and giving – what that entails.

The fact that I express myself politically in my poetry (and beyond) obviously means that not everyone finds my work beautiful or good.

We tend to like what underlines our own convictions. But shouldn't a poet, a poet laureate in particular, try to write poetry that can bank on universal approval?

The answer, of course, is that each poet determines that for herself, and that poets are not journalists, so we have no responsibility to objectivity or impartiality. But do we really want a poet laureate to take such a hard line against the powers that be? Can she, to cite a recent example, call a minister who makes the wrong choices time after time again a "grinning plate of oatmeal"?

When poetry fails to live up to certain expectations, the reactions make clear that Dutch leadership has faced far too little opposition in recent decades. Even at the first teeny tiny sign of protest, the little lady poets have to lower their voices: we haven't paid them for this!

What would poetry that speaks for everyone and is liked by everyone actually look like? Whatever it is, I'm sure there are lots of people who would find such poetry horrible (especially me), and thus it is a contradiction in terms. What politicians expect from poetry: a decorative sparkle that can be added to the presentation of the umpteenth sleep-inducing project – didn't the boss set some money aside for that? – but I am under no illusion, such clients are generally not the largest market for poetry collections. Poetry, but not too spicy, and only when it suits us.

Fortunately, a sort of turning point is underway here: people (men and women and non-binary) are less and less inclined to allow themselves to be treated like crap by our country’s “be on our best behavior” paternalistic government. But O! the policies of the past few years seemed so respectable; there were so few swear words in the tax authority’s letters. And Hugo de Jonge had such a stylish jacket on when he quietly pushed at-risk people later and later in the vaccination schedule. And despite all of the scandals, Mark Rutte always arrives with a smile, and that's worth something, too! It's worth nothing at all. “Be on our best behavior” is the Netherlands at its most narrow-minded: the phrase with which the parties in power have kept everyone with an unwelcome opinion away from the conference tables for years, and so were able to sell off one sector after another without any objection. But now, thanks to corona, we finally seem to be waking up: you don't have to stay on your best behavior when someone is trying to break your neck.

One of the reasons that I, as poet laureate, choose to misbehave every now and then is that I hope it will create some space for all the artists who are currently struggling to keep their heads above water. Who have to prove time and time again that their work is indeed essential; who are forced to defend their work because you can’t buy it in bulk at the dollar store. The amusement parks are once more filling up with people, but the museums are still closed. Bars and cafes can open with outdoor seating, and rightly so, but what are we actually going to talk about while enjoying that bitterball and beer?

To the artists and everyone who works in the cultural sector, bite the hand that feeds you. Bite and bite – until the food they serve you can finally stand the light.

-Lieke Marsman