Arvid V.O.
Writer and poet
based in The Hague
Published works (Dutch)
Golven van Maanlicht
Roman, 2025
In een afgelegen kustplaatsje zoeken drie vrienden een liefde. In hun dromen zoeken ze het onmogelijke. Al snel leren ze dat ze onscheidbaar zijn: de liefde, het onmogelijke, en zij.
En de wereld vloog voorbij
Verhalenbundel, 2024
Zeven korte verhalen en sporadische poëzie. Een verzameling van wonderlijke momenten uit verschillende levens en werelden.
Chiaroscuro
Roman, 2027
Coming soon . . .
Poetry (Dutch/English)
OoitEn ooit was begonnen te worden, en op een gegeven moment zou het zijn.The end of the day, a dream on a thin, silver line. The horizon shimmering, stars reflected in waves, millions of pearls dancing on the water. Beauty on earth futile, fleeting. The stars rocked by the steady hand of their mother. The inertia of infinity. Because what is the universe, if not an act of love? And what is love, if not an act of creation? Existence an act of kindness—futile, fleeting, forsaken. The last dawn of the old sun shimmers silver in the distance. A thin line on which I perch between forgiveness and what cannot be known. The rocking hands of the mother. To nurture life on the final day. The forsaken act shall always be forgiven, even when the act of forgiving is forgotten. For we shall all be. We shall all be.En ooit was begonnen te worden, en op een gegeven moment zou het zijn.The pearls dancing with a magic known only to life—futile, fleeting—reminders of all that shall be forgotten; had been forgotten—had been remembered, for to all that would be lost the love still clung desperately. And so there they were—memories of a life—millions of lights dancing before their origin—my eyes all red with fatigue—dusk would soon come—but silver was the dawn. All colour had drained out of the world, but there was still a glow, and it would shimmer until I drew my last breath. I was becoming part of it. The red dusk, but the dawn still silver. The magic would die with the last breath—it could not be any other way—it was her who had always kept us alive—providing the subjects of creation with reason—the antidote to arbitrariness—solace. Solace. The sun was breaking apart in the heavens. Solace. So let us cherish her—the magic—the memories—solace. Solace. Solitude.En ooit was begonnen te worden, en op een gegeven moment zou het zijn.The way in which the light shone through the trees. Millions of pearls dancing, dancing. I shall never forget the way she—please, remember me . . . I shall never forget the way in which the light shone through the trees; the way in which she danced beneath them—careless and free as only the magic of life could be, her—you, please, remember me—dancing beneath—golden memories, weightless, flowing beneath the life of the trees—bouncing off her—your—shoulders—solace—solace—you—remember me—please—and direct me, once again, as you did then, my eyes following your light into the years, into the night.En ooit was begonnen te worden—and here in the final dream, the light may be fleeting, but you are dancing, the magic of life—en op een gegeven moment zou het zijn.
Contact: [email protected]
© 2026 Arvid V.O.