Albert Verwey Poems, Albert Verwey was a notable Dutch poet and literary historian who became associated with the great literature movement throughout the Low Countries at the end of the 19th century known as the “Movement of Eighty”, named after the decade in which it happened (i.e.1880). He went on to establish himself as a major figure in the literary life of his country and was one of the few Dutch writers ever to be nominated for the Nobel Prize, although he was unsuccessful in winning it.
He was born Albert Verweij on the 15th May 1865 in Amsterdam, the son of a cabinet maker. He lost his mother to tuberculosis when aged only five. This was the start of an extremely turbulent time for the boy as his father remarried but was widowed for a second time within a year. A third marriage took place a few years later only for his father to also succumb to tuberculosis within two years. So, by the age of thirteen Albert was orphaned.
He did well at the Protestant Christian school in Lindengracht and had a talent for writing as well as being an avid reader. He wrote his first poem while at school and impressed teachers and pupils alike when he read Ruth out loud to them. By the age of eighteen Verwey had his first collection of poetry published and this was called Persephone.
Two years later he collaborated with two other literary friends to launch the periodical De nieuwe gids (“The New Guide”), and this became a major voice for Dutch literature throughout the 1880s. Verwey included his own sonnets and poems in this magazine as well as encouraging other budding writers to do the same.
Albert Verwey died on the 8th of March1937 in Noordwijk aan Zee at the age of 71.
Albert Verwey Poems
How I Loathe these Days Full of Sun
Of the sun itself, that does not wish to set;
And if it were Night, I would stand next to him
And say now: Friend, it is true that my life firstBegan here, everything that I then dreamed up
Was a lie, what I said about the sun delusion.And of pleasure and love,—but, very well,
Forgive me that I so foolishly could stray.Then for each, sweet intercourse of sorrow would be
Most intimate, as with souls, now unburdened
By pride and vanity and petty interest;—
And for each would be as if next to him walked
His own soul, at the end completely understood,
Naked and glorious, of same and equal rank