With his words, Roelof ten Napel creates rooms in which it is nice to stay ★★★★☆

In 1508 Albrecht Dürer drew two praying hands on a blue background. Betende Handel is a work of a rare iconic force. You can say that now that they are on countless postcards, wall hangings, toilet paper holders and even on Andy Warhol’s grave. With all that kitsch you would almost forget that it is an extraordinarily precise and soft scene. ‘The fingertips are brought together’, Roelof ten Napel writes fondly about this work, ‘as you might move an injured bird’.

There is a remarkable connection between prayer and poetry. Poems don’t even have to take the form of a prayer, not even be addressed to an invisible god, to have that function. Creating is possible, according to Henri Brémond, who Prière et poetry (1926) wrote a still readable study on this theme, are themselves seen as a form of prayer. The poet empties himself so that something higher can pour into him. Or he folds his hands into a bowl, into which words are poured and undergo a magical revolution.

Roelof ten Napel, perhaps the most exciting author of his generation, seems like such a poet for whom this applies. Ten Napel grew up in a Reformed family, once discovered that he no longer believed, went to study mathematics and now has a number of impressive collections of poetry and novels to his name. Last but not least there was his previous book, In the flesh, a breathtaking collection of sonnets. Of Days at home he now adds a remarkably modest, very pleasant collection. With a lot of attention for the hands and praying.

something to hide

In any case, Dürer’s praying hands reflect care, hands that do not want to hurt the wounded bird any further, but neither do they want to let it go free. Praying hands, prayed if you will, have something to hide. In another poem, Ten Napel writes: ‘To hide is to find/ a self-hidden place,/ and I would not be the first to make prayer/ such a place, an inside/ that cannot be spied on. ‘

Perhaps it is a coincidence, but whoever wants to can hear an echo in these lines of that other praying poet, Joost Baars, in whose Courtyard a much more explicit outward prayer can be found. For the latter, prayer is a form of self-manifestation. While the ego turns to another, it makes itself known. At Ten Napel, everything seems much more inward-looking, without becoming solipsistic or private. With his words he creates rooms where it is probably just as pleasant for himself as it is for the reader.

Many questions, few answers

To pray is to ask questions. And it remains to be seen if there will be an answer. Ten Napel raises many questions and indeed finds few answers. But is that bad? At another time, Ten Napel writes: ‘Perhaps prayer is a name for/which only exists when you do it,/if you happen to succeed.’ A better definition of poetry is almost unthinkable.

In Days at home Fortunately, Ten Napel often succeeds and that is somewhat striking. Because the way he discovered that he could no longer believe was precisely because he started praying less, he once said in an interview with NRC asserted: ‘If a certain place is not pleasant, you go there less, even if you do not actively avoid it. If I did pray again, it felt fake.’ Fortunately, the latter does not apply to Ten Napel’s work. Days at home is a place we want to return to once in a while.