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Archive A-B

· Lord BYRON: Darkness · Innokenti ANNENSKI: Mijn ideaal · William BLAKE: The Lamb · Wim BRANDS: Verzamelde gedichten · Robert BRIDGES: A Toast to our Native Land · Robert BRIDGES: For beauty being the best of all we know · Robert BRIDGES: The Evening Darkens Over · William BLAKE: A Poison Tree · Bert BEVERS: Vastenavend · Guillaume APOLLINAIRE: La fumée de la cantine · William BLAKE: London · Bert BEVERS: Wakker

»» there is more...

Lord BYRON: Darkness

Lord Byron
Darkness

I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this desolation; and all hearts
Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires – and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings, the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gathered round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other’s face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain’d;
Forest were set on fire but hour by hour
They fell and faded and the crackling trunks
Extinguish’d with a crash and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and looked up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash’d their teeth and howl’d: the wild birds shriek’d,
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremolous; and vipers crawl’d
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless, they were slain for food:
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again; a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought and that was death,
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devoured,
Even dogs assail’d their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corpse, and kept
The birds and beasts and famish’d men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answered not with a caress, he died.
The crowd was famish’d by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies; They met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap’d a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Wich was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and
Each other’s aspects. saw, and shriek’d, and died, beheld
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump,
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,
A lump of death, a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and ocean stood still,
And nothing stirred within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp’d
They slept on the abyss without a surge
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon their mistress had expired before;
The winds were withered in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need
Of aid from them. She was the universe.

Lord George Gordon Noel Byron (1788 – 1824)
Poem: Darkness
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Byron, Lord


Innokenti ANNENSKI: Mijn ideaal

Innokenti Annenski
(1855–1909)

Mijn ideaal

Het ruisen van ontstoken gaslicht
Boven het grauw en grijs bezoek,
De stille weemoed in het aanzicht
Van een terloops vergeten boek,

En dat ik daar dan, onbewogen,
Als ging het immer wonderwel,
Over vergeeld papier gebogen,
Die irritante zijnsvraag stel.

 

Innokenti Annenski, Идеал, 1904
Vertaling Paul Bezembinder, 2016

 

Paul Bezembinder studeerde theoretische natuurkunde in Nijmegen. In zijn poëzie zoekt hij in vooral klassieke versvormen en thema’s naar de balans tussen serieuze poëzie, pastiche en smartlap. Zijn gedichten (Nederlands) en vertalingen (Russisch-Nederlands) verschenen in verschillende (online) literaire tijdschriften. Voor­beelden van zijn werk zijn te vinden op zijn website, www.paulbezembinder.nl

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Annenski, Annenski, Innokenti, Archive A-B


William BLAKE: The Lamb

William Blake
The Lamb

Little Lamb, who made thee
Does thou know who made thee
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing woolly bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice.
Making all the vales rejoice:
Little Lamb who made thee
Does thou know who made thee

Little Lamb I’ll tell thee,
Little Lamb I’ll tell thee;
He is called by thy name,
For he calls himself a Lamb:
He is meek & he is mild,
He became a little child
I a child & thou a lamb,
We are called by His name,
Little Lamb God bless thee,
Little Lamb God bless thee.

William Blake (1757 – 1827)
Poem: The Lamb
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Blake, William


Wim BRANDS: Verzamelde gedichten

Wim Brands schreef in 2010 op het blog van Tirade: ‘Er werd mij gevraagd of er iemand is die ik me wil blijven herinneren. Ik mocht maar één persoon kiezen. Ik koos mijn grootvader. Aan wie ik wel eens een gedicht heb gewijd dat begon met de regel: “Hij had een bokkenwagen en een kraai.”‘

Veel van Wim Brands’ anekdotes waren aanleiding tot poëzie. In zes bundels en heel veel tijdschriftpublicaties veroverde Brands zijn plek als dichter, naast zijn groeiende statuur als anchorman van VPRO Boeken, of eigenlijk – bij uitbreiding – als de belangrijke televisiepersoonlijkheid die kunst en literatuur hoog in het vaandel had.

Er is dan ook geen betere manier om kennis te nemen van wat en wie Wim Brands allemaal was dan door lezing van deze Verzamelde gedichten. In de geest van Brands zijn we met de keuze overigens soepel omgesprongen. Er staat een stripverhaal in deze bundel, en er zijn blogs en brieven in te vinden. Voor Brands zijn gedichten verhalen, en hij maakt van verhalen poëzie,steeds door heel goed over de vorm na te denken, door in te dikken en te schrappen – want het kon altijd preciezer.

Deze verzameling toont wat een geweldig dichter Wim Brands was. De bundel bestaat uit zijn verschenen bundels plus veel ongepubliceerd materiaal. Thomas Verbogt schreef een nawoord.

Wim Brands (1959-2016) was een Nederlands dichter, journalist en presentator. Hij publiceerde acht dichtbundels, werkte jarenlang voor de VPRO-radio en presenteerde van 2005 tot 2016 het televisieprogramma Boeken.

Wim Brands schreef in 2010: ‘Er werd mij gevraagd of er iemand is die ik me wil blijven herinneren. Ik mocht maar één persoon kiezen. Ik koos mijn grootvader. Aan wie ik wel eens een gedicht heb gewijd dat begon met de regel: “Hij had een bokkenwagen en een kraai.”’

Veel van Brands’ anekdotes waren aanleiding tot poëzie. Met zijn bundels en vele tijdschriftpublicaties veroverde Brands zijn plek als dichter, naast zijn groeiende statuur als anchorman van VPRO Boeken. Er is dan ook geen betere manier om kennis te nemen van wat en wie Wim Brands allemaal was dan door lezing van deze Verzamelde gedichten. In de geest van Brands is er met de keuze soepel omgesprongen; de verzameling bevat zijn bundels, maar ook niet eerder gepubliceerd werk, blogs, brieven en zelfs een stripverhaal.

Over de poëzie van Wim Brands:
‘De gedichten zijn romantisch van inhoud en nuchter van toon. Ze openen op een haast vanzelfsprekende manier duistere gebieden en dieptes in de geest.’ – De Volkskrant (*****)

‘Mooie gedichten, die op een terloopse manier een raadselachtigheid behouden.’ – Het Parool

Wim Brands
Verzamelde gedichten
ISBN 9789028261921
Van Oorschot 2017, € 27,50

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: - Book News, Archive A-B, Art & Literature News, Brands, Wim, CINEMA, RADIO & TV


Robert BRIDGES: A Toast to our Native Land

Robert Bridges
A Toast to our Native Land

Huge and alert, irascible yet strong,
We make our fitful way ‘mid right and wrong.
One time we pour out millions to be free,
Then rashly sweep an empire from the sea!
One time we strike the shackles from the slaves,
And then, quiescent, we are ruled by knaves.
Often we rudely break restraining bars,
And confidently reach out toward the stars.

Yet under all there flows a hidden stream
Sprung from the Rock of Freedom, the great dream
Of Washington and Franklin, men of old
Who knew that freedom is not bought with gold.
This is the Land we love, our heritage,
Strange mixture of the gross and fine, yet sage
And full of promise destined to be great.
Drink to Our Native Land! God Bless the State!

Robert Seymour Bridges (1844 – 1930)
A Toast to our Native Land
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Bridges, Robert


Robert BRIDGES: For beauty being the best of all we know

Robert Bridges
For beauty being the best of all we know

For beauty being the best of all we know
Sums up the unsearchable and secret aims
Of nature, and on joys whose earthly names
Were never told can form and sense bestow;
And man has sped his instinct to outgo
The step of science; and against her shames
Imagination stakes out heavenly claims,
Building a tower above the head of woe.
Nor is there fairer work for beauty found
Than that she win in nature her release
From all the woes that in the world abound;
Nay with his sorrow may his love increase,
If from man’s greater need beauty redound,
And claim his tears for homage of his peace.

Robert Seymour Bridges (1844 – 1930)
For beauty being the best of all we know
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Bridges, Robert


Robert BRIDGES: The Evening Darkens Over

Robert Bridges
The Evening Darkens Over

The evening darkens over
After a day so bright,
The windcapt waves discover
That wild will be the night.
There’s sound of distant thunder.

The latest sea-birds hover
Along the cliff’s sheer height;
As in the memory wander
Last flutterings of delight,
White wings lost on the white.

There’s not a ship in sight;
And as the sun goes under,
Thick clouds conspire to cover
The moon that should rise yonder.
Thou art alone, fond lover

Robert Seymour Bridges (1844 – 1930)
The Evening Darkens Over
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Bridges, Robert


William BLAKE: A Poison Tree

William Blake
A Poison Tree
 

I was angry with my friend;
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I waterd it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears:
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole.
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see,
My foe outstretchd beneath the tree.

 
William Blake (1757 – 1827)
Poem: A Poison Tree
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Blake, William


Bert BEVERS: Vastenavend

Vastenavend

Wij verjagen het boze en begroeten het licht
met deinende joelfeesten. Hardvochtige preken
laten we achterwege vandaag en verdriet evenzo.
Laat ons de nakende lente besprenkelen, vrienden:
Neem ruim, eerbiedige drinkers, neem ruim!

Voor huizen met grijnzende vensters bonkende
trommen. Pas op de plaats. Op dansen alle kans.

Bert Bevers

Bert Bevers gedichten
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Bevers, Bert


Guillaume APOLLINAIRE: La fumée de la cantine

  apolinnaire102

Guillaume Apollinaire
(1880 – 1918)

La fumée de la cantine

La fumée de la cantine est comme la nuit qui vient
Voix hautes ou graves le vin saigne partout
Je tire ma pipe libre et fier parmi mes camarades
Ils partirons avec moi pour les champs de bataille
Ils dormirons la nuit sous la pluie ou les étoiles
Ils galoperont avec moi portant en croupe des victoires
Ils obéiront avec moi aux mêmes commandements
Ils écouteront attentifs les sublimes fanfares
Ils mourront près de moi et moi peut-être près d’eux
Ils souffriront du froid et du soleil avec moi
Ils sont des hommes ceux-ci qui boivent avec moi
Ils obéissent avec moi aux lois de l’homme
Ils regardent sur les routes les femmes qui passent
Ils les désirent mais moi j’ai des plus hautes amours
Qui règnent sur mon coeur mes sens et mon cerveau
Et qui sont ma patrie ma famille et mon espérance
À moi soldat amoureux soldat de la douce France

Guillaume Apollinaire Poèmes à Lou
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: *War Poetry Archive, Apollinaire, Guillaume, Archive A-B, Archive Concrete + Visual Poetry - Ready-mades


William BLAKE: London

William Blake
London

I wander thro’ each charter’d street,
Near where the charter’d Thames does flow,
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant’s cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg’d manacles I hear.

How the Chimney-sweeper’s cry
Every black’ning Church appalls;
And the hapless Soldier’s sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.

But most thro’ midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot’s curse
Blasts the new born Infant’s tear,
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

William Blake (1757 – 1827)
Poem: London
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Blake, William


Bert BEVERS: Wakker

Wakker

Met verbazing werden ze wakker na een gebed
met een end. Hoe makkelijk raadselen zich
laten vinden. In petto oud Latijn voor trage
jarentellers, dagbelevers, slapers in de lange,
lange heuvelnachten. Natuurlijk passen ze

op het huis van vrienden. Braaf is het. Graag
vertellen ze over bomen prachtige verhalen.

Bert Bevers

 

Uit Andere taal, Uitgeverij Litera Este, Borgerhout, 2010
Bert Bevers gedichten
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Bevers, Bert


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