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Archive A-B

· 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 · Lord BYRON: I Watched Thee · Robert BRIDGES: My delight and thy delight · INCUBATE WILL NOT CONTINUE IN 2017 · William BLAKE: The Tiger · Lord BYRON: She Walks In Beauty like the night

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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 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 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 magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Blake, William

Bert BEVERS: 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 magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Bevers, Bert

Guillaume APOLLINAIRE: La fumée de la cantine


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 magazine

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

William BLAKE: London

William Blake

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 magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Blake, William

Bert BEVERS: 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 magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Bevers, Bert

Lord BYRON: I Watched Thee

Lord Byron
I Watched Thee

I watched thee when the foe was at our side
Ready to strike at him, or thee and me
Were safety hopeless rather than divide
Aught with one loved, save love and liberty.

I watched thee in the breakers when the rock
Received our prow and all was storm and fear
And bade thee cling to me through every shock
This arm would be thy bark or breast thy bier.

I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes
Yielding my couch, and stretched me on the ground
When overworn with watching, ne’er to rise
From thence, if thou an early grave hadst found.

The Earthquake came and rocked the quivering wall
And men and Nature reeled as if with wine
Whom did I seek around the tottering Hall
For thee, whose safety first provide for thine.

And when convulsive throes denied my breath
The faintest utterance to my fading thought
To thee, to thee, even in the grasp of death
My spirit turned. Ah! oftener than it ought.

Thus much and more, and yet thou lov’st me not,
And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will
Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot
To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still.

Lord George Gordon Noel Byron (1788 – 1824)
I Watched Thee magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Byron, Lord

Robert BRIDGES: My delight and thy delight

Robert Bridges
My delight and thy delight

My delight and thy delight
Walking, like two angels white,
In the gardens of the night:

My desire and thy desire
Twinning to a tongue of fire,
Leaping live, and laughing higher;
Thro’ the everlasting strife
In the mystery of life.

Love, from whom the world begun,
Hath the secret of the sun.

Love can tell and love alone,
Whence the million stars are strewn,
Why each atom knows its own,
How, in spite of woe and death,
Gay is life, and sweet is breath:

This he taught us, this we knew,
Happy in his science true,
Hand in hand as we stood
‘Neath the shadows of the wood,
Heart to heart as we lay
In the dawning of the day.

Robert Seymour Bridges (1844 – 1930)
My delight and thy delight magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Bridges, Robert



INCUBATE ♦ cutting edge festival in Tilburg ♦ will not continue in 2017

Incubate is heavily disappointed by the decision of the Municipality of Tilburg to not provide any more funding in 2017. This news comes after the Province of Noord-Brabant already cut funding for the coming four years. The organisation finds it financially irresponsible to continue and will therefore cease its activities.

“Incubate is proud to have been able to create a festival with exciting, creative, cutting-edge arts in the past 13 years, together with its 500+ volunteers and partners. We have thus inspired many other musicians, artists, organisers and other festivals, and we hope that they use some of that impact for their own future,” said Miriam van Ommeren and Arthur Janssen on behalf of Incubate.

13 years of Incubate
Over the past 13 years, Incubate has become one of the leading multidisciplinary festivals in Europe. It was and still is internationally acclaimed by press, artists and visitors. Incubate was the first Dutch festival to bring artists such as Psychic TV, Pauline Oliveros, Sun Ra Arkestra, Fields of the Nephilim, James Blake and Cabaret Voltaire to the Netherlands and to create a platform for themes such as piracy in the arts, public participation, and innovation. It was the first to invite speakers like Charles Leadbeater, Simon Reynolds and Andrew Keen and internationally renowned artists such as Hermann Nitsch, Santiago Sierra, Wendy White and Ryan Trecartin to Tilburg, connecting them with local emerging artists.

Social impact
The festival instigated both social and artistic debate. Throughout the years, it provided a space for thousands of artists and tens of thousands of visitors from more than 48 countries. Many of them visited Tilburg for the very first time, and kept coming back. The wider public has become acquainted with the festival through remarkable projects in public spaces, for instance the more than hundred pianos from British artist Luke Jerram, the thousands of portraits of mothers in the city in cooperation with French artist JR and the activities around Iconostase 180, a sculpture by renowned architect Yona Friedman, which took place last Summer. These projects brought the entire city into contact with avant-garde art and culture.

New model in 2016
In 2015, a financial deficit was supplemented by the Province of Noord-Brabant and the Municipality of Tilburg, on specific conditions to the organisation. All these conditions have been met in 2016: three successful editions of Incubate took place in this year, with good results on an artistic, organisational and financial level. Both audience and press were positive about the new direction: just this week, the festival was added to the list of 50 most important festivals of the Netherlands by 3voor12, a Dutch music platform.

The organisation deeply regrets that, through this decision, Tilburg will lose a unique festival of international standing. This will certainly have an adverse effect on the conditions and opportunities in Tilburg for young artists, emerging bands, recently graduated filmmakers and game developers and progressive, culture-loving citizens. The organisation entreats that the Municipality of Tilburg will use the now available funds as designated; to provide substantial and accessible art and culture in the city and the wider region. Although there will no longer be a festival held by the organisation, the foundation will continue to exist for now.

February 23, 2017

Stadsdichter van Tilburg =
Martin Beversluis: Requiem

Aan Incubate

We reden op fietsen van licht
en geluid door de stad we gaven
onze varkens een S van stro
vlekkie en spekkie aten het gulzig
we koesterden de foto’s van onze
moeders die niet weg mochten
waaien nooit weg konden waaien
een festival werd langzaamaan
gesloopt door bureaucraten er
stonden piano’s op straat die
zeiden bespeel me want ik ben
van jou er was controverse
zoals er ook altijd ontroering
was er waren polsbandjes er
was een stad voor vriendelijke
mensen van heinde en verre
waar je broedplaatsen moest
koesteren want die waren je
toekomst stad van makers in
een land van slopers die hun
mouwen stropen en opgaan
voor moord de raad vraagt
om een nekschot maar de
wethouder zegt ik wurg
de makers zien de leegte
komen en benoemen deze
stad heet vanaf nu Stilburg

Martin Beversluis
Feb. 2017

     # Meer info op website incubate magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Art & Literature News, Beversluis, Martin, MUSIC, THEATRE

William BLAKE: The Tiger

William Blake
The Tiger

Tiger Tiger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

William Blake (1757 – 1827)
The Tiger magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Blake, William

Lord BYRON: She Walks In Beauty like the night

Lord Byron

She Walks In Beauty like the night

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Lord George Gordon Noel Byron (1788 – 1824)
She Walks In Beauty like the night magazine

More in: Archive A-B, Byron, Lord

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