Poem by the Dutch writer Ruben van Gogh

amerongen manor

How to set foot in this manor? The bridges

lie more or less interlocked, underneath

the one the other runs, in strictly segregated courses.

The higher you were, the higher you gained access:

grand as an invited guest or belonging to the family

you took the eleven steps of elevation and traversed

the height, directly into the entrance hall

which led to the very finest rooms, where you

were scrutinised by former residents.

If you were of the common people and had a situation

you went down to the lower bridge, entered the porch

of the cellars, the kitchens and the workrooms.

Down there even the cats had their own entrance,

like the rank and file, and their own flaps and hatches.

For each and everyone use had to be made of a bridge.

Today the castle lies there as an impenetrable fortress,

the gates hermetically sealed because of alterations,

the manor now out of sight for some duration.

Occasionally though the doors above the balcony

are briefly opened, and from the salon there come

the sounds of original instruments: a new entrance

is then opened up by shimmering harmonies,

the trio of the bridges lying atop each other,

and everyone with eyes shut floats above inside.