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CLASSIC POETRY

· Laurence Binyon poetry: The Pity of It · Jevgeni Baratynski: Ontgoocheling (vertaling Paul Bezembinder) · Kathryn Harkup: Making the Monster. The Science Behind Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein · Pierre-Jean de Béranger: La double ivresse · G. K. Chesterton: The Strange Music · Richard Burton: Across the Fields to Anne · Thomas Campion: From The Fourth Booke of Ayres · Lydia Maria Child: The New England Boy’s Song About Thanksgiving Day · James Whitcomb Riley: The Bat · Byron Rufus Newton: Owed to New York · Thomas Ashe: Meet We no Angels, Pansie? · The Poet Edgar Allan Poe. Alien Angel by Jerome McGann

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Laurence Binyon poetry: The Pity of It

 

The Pity of It

I walked in loamy Wessex lanes, afar
From rail-track and from highway, and I heard
In field and farmstead many an ancient word
Of local lineage like “Thu bist,” “Er war,”

“Ich woll,” “Er sholl,” and by-talk similar,
Nigh as they speak who in this month’s moon gird
At England’s very loins, thereunto spurred
By gangs whose glory threats and slaughters are.

Then seemed a Heart crying: “Whosoever they be
At root and bottom of this, who flung this flame
Between folk kin tongued even as are we,

“Sinister, ugly, lurid, be their fame;
May their familiars grow to shun their name,
And their brood perish everlastingly.”

Laurence Binyon
(1869 – 1943)
The Pity of It

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, CLASSIC POETRY, WAR & PEACE


Jevgeni Baratynski: Ontgoocheling (vertaling Paul Bezembinder)

 

Ontgoocheling

Laat mij niet almaar zinloos lijden,
Zeg niet dat jij nog van mij houdt,
Wat er ook was in vroeger tijden,
Het laat mijn arme hart nu koud!
Nee, ik geloof niet in jouw liefde,
Nee, ik geloof daar niet meer aan,
Sinds jij mijn arme ziel zo griefde,
Kan ik mij niet meer laten gaan!
Vergeet de uren, thans vervlogen,
Vergroot de blinde wanhoop niet,
Mijn zieke hart, zozeer bedrogen,
Zag graag dat jij het rusten liet!
Ik slaap, ben net in slaap gevallen,
Vergeet jouw dromen van weleer,
Wat er ook was, ‘t is ons ontvallen,
Dit hart krijg jij niet wakker meer.

Jevgeni Baratynski,
(1800 – 1844)
Разуверение,
gedicht 1821,
vertaling Paul Bezembinder, 2016.

(Meer over Paul Bezembinder is te vinden op zijn website: www.paulbezembinder.nl)
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, Baratynski, Bezembinder, Paul, CLASSIC POETRY


Kathryn Harkup: Making the Monster. The Science Behind Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein

The year 1818 saw the publication of one of the most influential science-fiction stories of all time.

Frankenstein: Or, Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley had a huge impact on gothic horror and science-fiction genres, and her creation has become part of our everyday culture, from cartoons to Hallowe’en costumes. Even the name ‘Frankenstein’ has become a by-word for evil scientists and dangerous experiments. How did a teenager with no formal education come up with the idea for an extraordinary novel such as Frankenstein?

Clues are dotted throughout Georgian science and popular culture. The years before the book’s publication saw huge advances in our understanding of the natural sciences, in areas such as electricity and physiology, for example. Sensational science demonstrations caught the imagination of the general public, while the newspapers were full of lurid tales of murderers and resurrectionists.

Making the Monster explores the scientific background behind Mary Shelley’s book. Is there any science fact behind the science fiction? And how might a real-life Victor Frankenstein have gone about creating his monster? From tales of volcanic eruptions, artificial life and chemical revolutions, to experimental surgery, ‘monsters’ and electrical experiments on human cadavers, Kathryn Harkup examines the science and scientists that influenced Shelley, and inspired her most famous creation.

Kathryn Harkup is a chemist and author. Kathryn completed a PhD then a postdoc at the University of York before realising that talking, writing and demonstrating science appealed far more than spending hours slaving over a hot fume-hood. Kathryn went on to run outreach in engineering, computing, physics and maths at the University of Surrey, which involved writing talks on science and engineering topics that would appeal to bored teenagers, and she is now a science communicator delivering talks and workshops on the quirky side of science.

Making the Monster
The Science Behind Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein
By: Kathryn Harkup
Published: 08-02-2018
Format: Hardback
Edition: 1st
Extent: 304 pp
ISBN: 9781472933737
Imprint: Bloomsbury Sigma
Illustrations: 11 black and white illustrations
Dimensions: 216 x 135 mm
£16.99

new books
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: - Book News, Archive G-H, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Art & Literature News, Mary Shelley, Natural history, Percy Byssche Shelley, Shelley, Mary, Shelley, Percy Byssche, Tales of Mystery & Imagination


Pierre-Jean de Béranger: La double ivresse

 

La double ivresse

Je reposais sous l’ombrage,
Quand Nœris vint m’éveiller :
Je crus voir sur son visage
Le feu du désir briller.
Sur son front Zéphyr agite
La rose et le pampre vert ;
Et de son sein qui palpite
Flotte le voile entrouvert.

Un enfant qui suit sa trace
(Son frère, si je l’en crois)
Presse pour remplir sa tasse
Des raisins entre ses doigts.
Tandis qu’à mes yeux la belle
Chante et danse à ses chansons,
L’enfant, caché derrière elle,
Mêle au vin d’affreux poisons.

Nœris prend la tasse pleine,
Y goûte, et vient me l’offrir.
Ah ! dis-je, la ruse est vaine :
Je sais qu’on peut en mourir.
Tu le veux, enchanteresse !
Je bois, dussé-je en ce jour
Du vin expier l’ivresse
Par l’ivresse de l’amour.

Mon délire fut extrême :
Mais aussi qu’il dura peu !
Ce n’est plus Nœris que j’aime,
Et Nœris s’en fait un jeu.
De ces ardeurs infidèles
Ce qui reste, c’est qu’enfin,
Depuis, à l’amour des belles
J’ai mêlé le goût du vin.

 

Pierre-Jean de Béranger
(1780-1857)
La double ivresse
Toutes les chansons de Béranger (1843)

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, Béranger, Pierre-Jean de


G. K. Chesterton: The Strange Music

 

The Strange Music

Other loves may sink and settle, other loves may loose and slack,
But I wander like a minstrel with a harp upon his back,
Though the harp be on my bosom, though I finger and I fret,
Still, my hope is all before me : for I cannot play it yet.

In your strings is hid a music that no hand hath e’er let fall,
In your soul is sealed a pleasure that you have not known at all;
Pleasure subtle as your spirit, strange and slender as your frame,
Fiercer than the pain that folds you, softer than your sorrow’s name.

Not as mine, my soul’s annointed, not as mine the rude and light
Easy mirth of many faces, swaggering pride of song and fight;
Something stranger, something sweeter, something waiting you afar,
Secret as your stricken senses, magic as your sorrows are.

But on this, God’s harp supernal, stretched but to be stricken once,
Hoary time is a beginner, Life a bungler, Death a dunce.
But I will not fear to match them—no, by God, I will not fear,
I will learn you, I will play you and the stars stand still to hear.

G. K. Chesterton
(1874-1936)
The Strange Music

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: # Music Archive, Archive C-D, Archive C-D, Chesterton, Gilbert Keith


Richard Burton: Across the Fields to Anne

 

Across the Fields to Anne

How often in the summer-tide,
His graver business set aside,
Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed,
As to the pipe of Pan,
Stepped blithesomely with lover’s pride
Across the fields to Anne.

It must have been a merry mile,
This summer stroll by hedge and stile,
With sweet foreknowledge all the while
How sure the pathway ran
To dear delights of kiss and smile,
Across the fields to Anne.

The silly sheep that graze to-day,
I wot, they let him go his way,
Nor once looked up, as who should say:
“It is a seemly man.”
For many lads went wooing aye
Across the fields to Anne.

The oaks, they have a wiser look;
Mayhap they whispered to the brook:
“The world by him shall yet be shook,
It is in nature’s plan;
Though now he fleets like any rook
Across the fields to Anne.”

And I am sure, that on some hour
Coquetting soft ‘twixt sun and shower,
He stooped and broke a daisy-flower
With heart of tiny span,
And bore it as a lover’s dower
Across the fields to Anne.

While from her cottage garden-bed
She plucked a jasmine’s goodlihede,
To scent his jerkin’s brown instead;
Now since that love began,
What luckier swain than he who sped
Across the fields to Anne?

The winding path whereon I pace,
The hedgerow’s green, the summer’s grace,
Are still before me face to face;
Methinks I almost can
Turn poet and join the singing race
Across the fields to Anne!

Richard Burton
(1861-1940)

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, CLASSIC POETRY


Thomas Campion: From The Fourth Booke of Ayres

  

From The Fourth Booke of Ayres  -VII-

There is a Garden in her face,
Where Roses and white Lillies grow;
A heav’nly paradice is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits doe flow.
There Cherries grow, which none may buy
Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.

Those Cherries fayrely doe enclose
Of Orient Pearle a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter showes,
They look like Rose-buds fill’d with snow.
Yet them nor Peere nor Prince can buy,
Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.

Her Eyes like Angels watch them still;
Her Browes like bended bowes doe stand,
Threatning with piercing frownes to kill
All that attempt with eye or hand
Those sacred Cherries to come nigh,
Till Cherry ripe themselves doe cry.

Thomas Campion
(1567-1620)
From The Fourth Booke of Ayres
VII

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: # Music Archive, Archive C-D, Archive C-D, CLASSIC POETRY


Lydia Maria Child: The New England Boy’s Song About Thanksgiving Day

  

The New England Boy’s Song
About Thanksgiving Day

Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather’s house we go;
The horse knows the way,
To carry the sleigh,
Through the white and drifted snow .

Over the river, and through the wood,
To grandfather’s house away !
We would not stop
For doll or top,
For ‘t is Thaksgiving day .

Over the river, and through the wood,
Oh, how the wind does blow !
It stings the toes,
And bites the nose,
As over the ground we go .

Over the river, and through the wood,
With a clear blue winter sky,
The dogs do bark,
And children hark,
As we go jingling by .

Over the river, and through the wood,
To have a first-rate play—
Hear the bells ring
Ting a ling ding,
Hurra for Thanksgiving day !

Over the river, and through the wood—
No matter for winds that blow;
Or if we get
The sleigh upset,
Into a bank of snow .

Over the river, and through the wood,
To see little John and Ann;
We will kiss them all,
And play snow-ball
And stay as long as we can .

Over the river, and through the wood,
Trot fast, my dapple grey !
Spring over the ground,
Like a hunting hound,
For ‘t is Thanksgiving day !

Over the river, and through the wood,
And straight through the barn-yard gate;
We seem to go
Extremely slow,
It is so hard to wait .

Over the river, and through the wood—
Old Jowler hears our bells;
He shakes his pow,
With a loud bow wow,
And thus the news he tells .

Over the river, and through the wood—
When grandmother sees us come,
She will say, Oh dear,
The children are here,
Bring a pie for every one .

Over the river, and through the wood—
Now grandmother’s cap I spy !
Hurra for the fun !
Is the pudding done ?
Hurra for the pumpkin pie !

Lydia Maria Child
(1802-1880)
The New England Boy’s Song About Thanksgiving Day

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Archive C-D, CLASSIC POETRY


James Whitcomb Riley: The Bat

 

The Bat

I
Thou dread, uncanny thing,
With fuzzy breast and leathern wing,
In mad, zigzagging flight,
Notching the dusk, and buffeting
The black cheeks of the night,
With grim delight!

II

What witch’s hand unhasps
Thy keen claw-cornered wings
From under the barn roof, and flings
Thee forth, with chattering gasps,
To scud the air,
And nip the ladybug, and tear
Her children’s hearts out unaware?

III

The glowworm’s glimmer, and the bright,
Sad pulsings of the firefly’s light,
Are banquet lights to thee.
O less than bird, and worse than beast,
Thou Devil’s self, or brat, at least,
Grate not thy teeth at me!

James Whitcomb Riley
(1849-1916)
The Bat

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive Q-R, Archive Q-R, CLASSIC POETRY, Natural history


Byron Rufus Newton: Owed to New York


Owed to New York

Vulgar of manner, overfed,
Overdressed and underbred,
Heartless, Godless, hell’s delight,
Rude by day and lewd by night;
Bedwarfed the man, o’ergrown the brute,
Ruled by boss and prostitute:
Purple-robed and pauper-clad,
Raving, rotting, money-mad;
A squirming herd in Mammon’s mesh,
A wilderness of human flesh;
Crazed by avarice, lust and rum,
New York, thy name’s “Delirium.”

Byron Rufus Newton
(1861-1938)
Owed to New York

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive M-N, Archive M-N, CLASSIC POETRY


Thomas Ashe: Meet We no Angels, Pansie?

 

Meet We no Angels, Pansie?

Came, on a Sabbath noon, my sweet,
In white, to find her lover;
The grass grew proud beneath her feet,
The green elm-leaves above her:–
Meet we no angels, Pansie?

She said, ‘We meet no angels now’;
And soft lights stream’d upon her;
And with white hand she touch’d a bough;
She did it that great honour:–
What! meet no angels, Pansie?

O sweet brown hat, brown hair, brown eyes,
Down-dropp’d brown eyes, so tender!
Then what said I? Gallant replies
Seem flattery, and offend her:–
But–meet no angels, Pansie?

Thomas Ashe
(1836-1889)
Meet We no Angels, Pansie?

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, CLASSIC POETRY


The Poet Edgar Allan Poe. Alien Angel by Jerome McGann

The poetry of Edgar Allan Poe has had a rough ride in America, as Emerson’s sneering quip about “The Jingle Man” testifies.

That these poems have never lacked a popular audience has been a persistent annoyance in academic and literary circles; that they attracted the admiration of innovative poetic masters in Europe and especially France—notably Baudelaire, Mallarmé, and Valéry—has been further cause for embarrassment. Jerome McGann offers a bold reassessment of Poe’s achievement, arguing that he belongs with Whitman and Dickinson as a foundational American poet and cultural presence.

Not all American commentators have agreed with Emerson’s dim view of Poe’s verse. For McGann, a notable exception is William Carlos Williams, who said that the American poetic imagination made its first appearance in Poe’s work. The Poet Edgar Allan Poe explains what Williams and European admirers saw in Poe, how they understood his poetics, and why his poetry had such a decisive influence on Modern and Post-Modern art and writing. McGann contends that Poe was the first poet to demonstrate how the creative imagination could escape its inheritance of Romantic attitudes and conventions, and why an escape was desirable. The ethical and political significance of Poe’s work follows from what the poet takes as his great subject: the reader.

The Poet Edgar Allan Poe takes its own readers on a spirited tour through a wide range of Poe’s verse as well as the critical and theoretical writings in which he laid out his arresting ideas about poetry and poetics.

Jerome McGann is University Professor and John Stewart Bryan Professor of English at the University of Virginia.

“McGann succeeds in forcing us to rethink Poe’s poetry… Poe’s sound experiments, especially his strange variations on meter, deserve, as McGann shows by citing numerous rhythmic anomalies, to be taken seriously… In an age of predominantly, and purposely, flat and prosaic ‘free verse,’ mnemonic patterning is perhaps re-emerging as the emblem of poetic power. In this sense, Poe is once again Our Contemporary… In making the case for the close link between the poetry and the aesthetic theory, [McGann] succeeds admirably: Poe’s reputation as poete maudit belies the fact that here was a poet who knew exactly what he was doing.”   — Marjorie Perloff, The Times Literary Supplement

Jerome McGann
The Poet Edgar Allan Poe
Alien Angel
256 pages
2014
Hardcover
Harvard University Press
€23.00
ISBN 9780674416666

literary criticism books
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: - Book Stories, Archive O-P, Archive O-P, Art & Literature News, Edgar Allan Poe, Poe, Edgar Allan, Poe, Edgar Allan, Tales of Mystery & Imagination


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