#i know these little things like my novell and studying in Netherlands might seem small

[girl-bateman]

Exchange semester in the Netherlands???? Hello ???? Fall of 2024 ???? I got accepted ???

[thissurroundingall]

Lieke Marsman

How clarity and a life of poetry and prose emerge out of seclusion and crossing out.

Nederlandstalige versie 

Date of interview: November 7, 2017

Estimated reading time: 14 minutes

Lieke Marsman (°1990) is a young Dutch writer who makes the adjective ‘young’ already look outdated. Growing up in the quiet provincial town of Zaltbommel, the first seed of a writer was planted. At twenty years old Lieke made her debut as a poet with Wat ik mijzelf graag voorhoud, for which she received recognition and several awards, including the C. Buddingh prize. In just ten years a second collection of her poems was published. And recently she published her first novel Het tegenovergestelde van een mens, that links the unexpected literary theme of climate change with love and skillfully combines prose, poetry and essays.

Lieke Marsman is a writer who travels around the world to give talks in the weekends, and retreats behind her desk during the week. A robust wooden table in the co-working space of a big canal house. A beacon of peace and quiet. Through the windows you can catch a glimpse of the idyllic yet chaotic city Amsterdam. Lieke speaks with a calm certainty about her multiple thoughts. Her words are carefully chosen, keeping all subtleties intact. Perhaps it’s the philosopher in her that also asks us a question every now and then, while pouring us some tea. ‘I’m just forcing this on you, I don’t even like tea myself. But we’ll do it for the picture, for some warmth (laughs)’.

Do you have a strict writing regime?

No, not really. I just get up and go to my workspace every morning and go back home in the evening. I used to work from home, but it made me crazy to be in the same small space the entire day. The walls came at me. I work here for little more than a year now and I am much more productive. There’s more of a pattern to my daily life, but I’m not very strict on myself. If I get an idea when I’m home, or have to finish a small task, I do so. I’d rather not, but in reality, it happens. To be able to write I need plenty of time doing nothing. Just walk around, or sit down a bit. I guess that doesn’t count as a strict regime.

Do you have certain habits before you start writing?

I wish that writing would happen automatically whenever I had a cup of coffee. But no, I have no rituals. One day your mind is clear, the other day it is the total opposite. That’s what influences my writing process. When I only wrote poetry, it was even more difficult to plan. Whenever you have an idea you write a poem. Nowadays I can control it better. In the form of an essay for example. It’s more about work ethic than inspiration.

How did you start writing? Was there always a natural urge?

From the earliest age, I was fascinated by books and always wanted to write. When I was thirteen, I wrote my first poems. If I was pleased with the result I wanted others to read them. Not the people close to me, but rather anonymous people on the internet. I spoke with people around the world. Life was so boring otherwise. So, chatting with someone in New Zealand was really exciting. That is how I got to know other people who were interested in literature and poetry. At that time, I already thought it would be fantastic to publish work. That happened much sooner than I could imagine.

While writing I have the possibility to say things exactly the way I want to. In my most beautiful ‘vulnerable’ way. People don’t get to see that things are much messier in real life.

Why poetry?

When I was very young I kept an online diary. My first collection of poetry is actually a result of that. However it was not a traditional diary with entries like: ‘ Today I did this..’ I couldn’t get that on the paper. I could keep on writing, but I wasn’t able to be totally honest. For instance, to say:’ I have a crush on this person’, or: ‘this is how I feel because of that’. There are people who write down their deepest secrets, but I can’t. So I wrote them down in a very cryptic way. And that quickly turned into poetry.

Do you always need a detour to describe feelings?

Yes, a detour always seems necessary. Which is odd, because people often ask me if I find it difficult to write such personal things. But it goes through a whole process, so that in the end it actually no longer has anything to do with me. I do like to play with that concept. While writing I have the possibility to say things exactly the way I want to. In my most beautiful ‘vulnerable’ way. People don’t get to see that things are much messier in real life. When you write you can choose when you are vulnerable. And that is way it is not really vulnerable at all. I feel totally in control when I can choose: now people are allowed to see this tiny part of me.

Have you ever felt the need to look for that real vulnerability?

No, I cannot do that. That will probably happen once, but not anytime soon.

When you are young, feelings are more like avalanches, a flood. Now I don’t feel like that so often.

Do you feel that you have already experienced an evolution as a writer? Things that you do differently?

I don’t know if it is a conscious development, but my first poetry is very talkative. You can see that already looking at the lay-out, for example. Whenever I write poetry now, I notice it is much more compact. I could no longer write the poems from my first collection. When you are young, feelings are more like avalanches, a flood. Now I don’t feel like that so often. And now I write more prose and essays anyway. It’s fun to try out new things. For the time being there is no way back, but perhaps it will return as a kind of circle.

Where you instantly drawn to Amsterdam as a place to live and work?

It was a very conscious choice to move here. I knew I wanted to move as soon as I finished high school. But I didn’t know where to. Later on, I met people who already lived in Amsterdam. And then I thought: ‘This is where I want to live. There are so many people working on what I am doing here.’ I studied philosophy and found my peers. When I talked about writing poetry, people said: ‘How nice, can we read it?’ While that was always a bit strange in Zaltbommel. Back there I was a bit ashamed of it. But in Amsterdam poetry turned out to be cool. In Amsterdam, suddenly, I could be cool.

Do you need people around you doing the same?

At that moment, I think, it was very important. The first couple of years I totally immersed. Not necessarily exclusively in the literary scene, in the gay scene also. Here I found people with whom I could just go out in a way that I actually liked. Before I thought that hanging in bars was a terrible idea.

Now I notice that the thought that other people are in the same line of work as I is enough. And I do like to be by myself a lot. Sometimes I think ‘everybody, just leave me alone!’ (laughs). I need it to be able to write. Silence. Especially for poetry. I sometimes wonder why I haven’t written any poems for a year now. Probably because I put too much energy into other things. If I took two weeks of vacation, would isolate myself, it would come back. But at this time in my life I find it hard to take a vacation.

In the book your character travels to Italy. You did not go on a study trip yourself?

I have thought about it: maybe it would be helpful if I go there myself? Just to see how it looks, to visit the dams. But it didn’t come to that. I only watched some videos.

In your novel Het tegenovergestelde van een mens, that among other things speaks about climate change, you work with the idea of a dam. What do you find fascinating about a dam?

I noticed, generally, people don’t understand it, they think dams are a bit of a boring subject. But I find it fascinating that such a massive construction is created by humans. It is quite a big intervention in nature. That complements the themes of the book. I also thought the concept of a dam that breaks is beautifully dramatic. So that had to be an important moment in the book. In the Netherlands you don’t have constructions like that. And I always knew the story should be set in the mountains. Maybe because there are no mountains in the Netherlands. So when you see them, it must be because you’re on vacation (laughs). I think people who live in the mountains do not experience it that way.

The climate theme, did you add that later or was it a clear subject in advance?

At first I think I didn’t realize how well it fitted with the rest. I was more concerned with creating a story. At that time I had just graduated and I was finally able to read what interested me. I started reading more about the climate because I knew very little about it. And I found that kind of odd. Then, you might recognize that, when you’re working on something, suddenly everything seems to refer to it. Whatever I read, it was about everything I wanted to say. I knew I wanted to write a book that would mix fiction, non-fiction and poetry. So it really was a blessing when I ‘discovered’ the climate change theme. It was a perfect match with the ideas I already had in mind.

When I started reading about climate change I noticed there was only very little written prose on the subject. I wanted to do something about that, not only as an artist or writer, but as a human.

The book highlights the bad nature of humankind and how they want to turn the natural environment to their hand. In contrast, you also sketch the good in people that want to love. How do you see the ‘human condition' yourself?

It changes a lot. I don’t believe in ‘the nature’ of people. There are good people and bad. And people who are a little bit good or a little bad. At one moment I was reading Leopardi. He has a really extreme cynical view of humankind. I actually found it kind of funny and I understand his ideas. If he would be alive today his ideas would probably be even more extreme. It was an interesting look at humankind to mention in the book.

Simultaneously, there is the character Robin, who is much more positive. At a later stage of writing I let a friend read the work. She did not understand why Ida has a relationship with Robin, ‘cause Robin is a grumpy bitch’. She hasn’t said any positive thing at that point, while, for me, it was very clear the she was the positive, down to earth voice in the book. So giving her more explicit positive ideas was partly a practical choice. The book needed someone with hope and believe in the good. For myself, I think I’m somewhere in the middle.

Humans in relation to nature, how does this translate into art? Is there an activist role that you have to play as an artist, or can it be separate from it?

I think that artists can determine that for themselves. And it’s important there’s non-activist art as well. But when I started reading about climate change I noticed there was only very little written prose on the subject. I wanted to do something about that, not only as an artist or writer, but as a human. It’s an interesting topic to approach in many different ways. Philosophically, as well as with concrete examples and data. I like to take a big subject such as climate change and approach it from different angles, like poetry, essays. I think I’d find it very restrictive if I could have only written poetry or essays on this matter. Although it took me a while to find the right approach. But as soon as I found it, it felt very natural to me. I don’t know why others don’t do this more often. Why limit yourself to only one genre?

How do you determine when the work is finished? When do you know that the book must be released?

When there’s nothing more to edit, to delete from it, I think. Like a sculpture, first you remove big parts of the story. Next you work on the scale of millimetres. I was pretty rigorous with editing my work. At least two third was scraped. I even arrived at the point where I was taking away too much. That’s when you can harm the work. In the end finishing the work is a matter of feeling. The feeling that everything is right in place. And also, the feeling to be done with it.

Sometimes you have to clean up, and it can be such a relieve. It may sound tough, but it also applies to people or relationships.

What you write very much comes from within. What is striking in your work are lifeless objects that are used to give shape to the personal shape. Where does that come from?

On the one hand I am intrigued by object-oriented philosophy. On the other hand, sometimes you see a ‘thing’ and you know, you feel, it is ‘sweet’. It is something you want to care for. I think that’s such a strange and funny concept. It’s about feelings for and of things. Secondly, I find it special that you can connect things that actually don’t have much to do with one another. You do that as a writer and I also think as a reader. At least I hope so.

In the book you describe the character Ida putting all sorts of objects she loves next to each other. Did you also do that as a child?

Certainly, but I think every child does that? Nowadays I no longer collect anything, but I can still be happy as a child with pretty things. But I also love to throw stuff out. Every once in a while, I try to throw out as many things as possible. Only books I can’t let go of.

Like making cuts in your work?

Yes, it doesn’t only apply to my writing, but to everything. Sometimes you have to clean up, and it can be such a relief. It may sound tough, but it also applies to people or relationships. Throughout the years you can carry so much ballast, you must create some clarity in order to create new energy.

What’s it like to talk about the book now? Is that something you enjoy?

It differs. Some performances are fun, others are pretty stupid. It depends on the ambience, or if you’re not in the mood for talking but you have to. Because the book is about climate change I also get asked for non-literary events. That’s what I hoped for, to get invited into different scenes and environments. It gives me a lot of energy. I don’t always get that from the literary scene (laughs).

Is that the reason why you write more essays and opinion articles now?

Yes, I think so. At a certain point, I always feel the need to do something new, or I’ll get bored. I have been writing poetry and performing it for ten years now. It is no longer that exciting. So I’m taking a little more distance from it right now. I do trust that in time it will come back to me.

You translate poems as well. Some are also included in your collection Man met hoed. How does this relate to your own poems?

Sometimes you feel like writing poetry but have no idea of your own. Translating can then be a nice way to do some creative work without having to be full of inspiration. It’s a form of practice. At first I looked for poems that were quite easy to translate. Just so it would be relatively thoughtless work. Like you’re laying out a jigsaw puzzle. But then I thought, maybe I’d like to try something more challenging. Something that requires more concentration.

When I changed publishers, they stopped printing my first collections of poems. So the idea was raised of publishing a new combined edition with some extra additions. That’s where the selection of translations came in. For that I chose poets who either influenced me or inspired me. I thought it was good occasion to introduce poets who are less known.

In the outside world there’s so much you can relate to and write about. It never ends.

There is a lot of room for humour on your website and Facebook page. Do you want to lighten up the dusty literary world?

My website that simply refers to Google, is mainly a matter of laziness (laughs). I had fun making the site but didn’t really feel like keeping it up to date. And I do love humour and find it very important. I take my work seriously, but do not always take myself so seriously. In my work it is also a way of bringing some variety and keeping it light. Some of the themes I write about are pretty heavy. I find it meaningful you can also laugh every once and awhile.

Are you your work? Or do you consciously try not to be?

I don’t think I am my work. But I do feel that if work doesn’t go to well, I am personally not doing great either. Maybe that means I am my work in a way. It is the only thing I am certain is always there. It gives me a lot of self-worth. To me, it is a way to determine what parts of my life, besides work, are good for me. If I’m in a relationship and my work suffers from it, then I know: I need to end it.

Is there a fear that this sense of certainty in writing ever ends?

That has been a true fear. But the fear is under control, now I know I can also write non-fiction. I want to continue with the form I have found. In the future I want to pick out one specific theme again, or continue to write about climate change or the oil industry. In the outside world there’s so much you can relate to and write about. It never ends. That is why I am less afraid, because I really enjoy making non-fiction work as well. It is not a plan b.

Interview + English translation: Lynn Elshof and Han Spauwen

English editor: Nour-Lise Valette

Photography: Eva Beeftink