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*War Poetry Archive

· I saw a man pursuing the horizon by Stephen Crane · Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind by Stephen Crane · Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele: Gedicht über Nachtwirkungen · Behold, the grave of a wicked man by Stephen Crane · Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt: Hearing the Battle. (July 21, 1861) · Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele: Der Dichter · Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele: Schwermütig kam die Nacht . . · Kunstenfestival Watou 2023 nog tot en met 3 september · Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele: Von des Daseins körperlicher Schwere . . . · The Selected Poems of Clive Branson · Love In A Mist by Jessie Pope · Captive Conquerors by Jessie Pope

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I saw a man pursuing the horizon by Stephen Crane

 

I saw a man
pursuing the horizon

I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
“It is futile,” I said,
“You can never —”

“You lie,” he cried,
And ran on.

Stephen Crane
(1871 – 1900)
I saw a man pursuing the horizon

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive C-D, Archive C-D, Stephen Crane


Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind by Stephen Crane

 

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind

Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom—
A field where a thousand corpses lie.

Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Swift, blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.

Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.

Stephen Crane
(1871 – 1900)
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind
from: War is Kind

•fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive C-D, Archive C-D, Stephen Crane


Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele: Gedicht über Nachtwirkungen

 

Gedicht über Nachtwirkungen

Noch nicht Tag! Die fratzenhafte Nacht
hat mich Stück für Stück entzweigerissen.
Wehe Striemen drücken mir die Kissen,
jede Falte hat mich wund gemacht.

Und der Träume quälerische Schwere:
Wollust, Ekel, Schmerzen, Tränen, Mord,
treibt mein Herz auf einem dunklen Meere
wie ein purpurrotes Segel fort.

Bin ein zitternd Geflecht von Nerven,
allem Bösen in die Hand gegeben,
Und die Schatten sind wie Messerschärfen,
die von meinem Zucken trunken leben.

Und ich möchte in das Dunkel schrein.
Aber meine Stimme ist nicht mehr.
Wilder Bilder ewige Wiederkehr,
stumm, gestaltlos, haltlos muss ich sein!

Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele
(1889 – 1915)
Gedicht über Nachtwirkungen

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: #Experimental Poetry Archive, *War Poetry Archive, - Archive Tombeau de la jeunesse, Archive E-F, Archive E-F, Expressionism, Modernisme


Behold, the grave of a wicked man by Stephen Crane

 

Behold, the grave of a wicked man

Behold, the grave of a wicked man,
And near it, a stern spirit.
There came a drooping maid with violets,
But the spirit grasped her arm.
“No flowers for him,” he said.
The maid wept:
“Ah, I loved him.”
But the spirit, grim and frowning:
“No flowers for him.”

Now, this is it —
If the spirit was just,
Why did the maid weep?

Stephen Crane
(1871 – 1900)
Behold, the grave of a wicked man

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive C-D, Archive C-D, Stephen Crane


Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt: Hearing the Battle. (July 21, 1861)

 

Hearing the Battle

July 21, 1861

One day in the dreamy summer,
On the Sabbath hills, from afar
We heard the solemn echoes
Of the first fierce words of war.

Ah, tell me, thou veilèd Watcher
Of the storm and the calm to come,
How long by the sun or shadow
Till these noises again are dumb.

And soon in a hush and glimmer
We thought of the dark, strange fight,
Whose close in a ghastly quiet
Lay dim in the beautiful night.

Then we talk’d of coldness and pallor,
And of things with blinded eyes
That stared at the golden stillness
Of the moon in those lighted skies;

And of souls, at morning wrestling
In the dust with passion and moan,
So far away at evening
In the silence of worlds unknown.

But a delicate wind beside us
Was rustling the dusky hours,
As it gather’d the dewy odors
Of the snowy jessamine-flowers.

And I gave you a spray of the blossoms,
And said: “I shall never know
How the hearts in the land are breaking,
My dearest, unless you go.”

Sarah Morgan Bryan Piatt
(1836–1919)
Hearing the Battle.
(July 21, 1861)
Poem

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: # Classic Poetry Archive, #Editors Choice Archiv, *War Poetry Archive, Archive O-P, Archive O-P, WAR & PEACE


Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele: Der Dichter

 

Der Dichter

Es neigte sich die Schar der jungen Knechte
Dem wirren Haar und dem zerschlißnen Rock.
Die Straße weiter taperte die Rechte,
Die Linke hielt sich krampfig fest am Stock.

Scham schlug ihm rot empor: er war betrunken
Und rang mit seinem Weg; und jäh erblaßt
War er im Rinnstein stolpernd hingesunken
Und raffte sich empor in wirrer Hast.

Da kam’s, daß er den Blick nach innen schlug,
Wo er, buntwechselnd wie Geleucht der Meere,
Wuchernder Blumen Fülle in sich trug.
Und atemraubend gab der süße, schwere

Duft seinem Sinn, der wie ein großer Falter
In ihre tiefen Rätselkelche sank,
Seltsamen Traum und schuf ihn zum Gestalter,
Der Lust und Qual in seine Lieder zwang.

So ging er, in sein Fühlen tief versunken,
Betäubt von Fiebern, Künder schwüler Nächte.
Man wich ihm schonend aus: er war betrunken.
Es neigte sich die Schar der jungen Knechte.

Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele
(1889 – 1915)
Der Dichter
Aus: Versensporn

•fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: #Experimental Poetry Archive, *War Poetry Archive, - Archive Tombeau de la jeunesse, Archive E-F, Archive E-F, Expressionism, Expressionisme, Modernisme


Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele: Schwermütig kam die Nacht . .

 

Schwermütig kam die Nacht …

Schwermütig kam die Nacht. Ich bin allein.
Rings wuchern Bücher, Möbel und Tapeten
Im gelben Licht der Lampe fremd und kalt.

Wie weh tun Sehnsucht, Nacht und Einsamsein!
Still möcht ich in dein junges Leben treten
Wie eine Wanderschaft durch einen grünen Wald.

Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele
(1889 – 1915)
Schwermütig kam die Nacht …

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: #Experimental Poetry Archive, *War Poetry Archive, - Archive Tombeau de la jeunesse, Archive E-F, Archive E-F, Expressionism


Kunstenfestival Watou 2023 nog tot en met 3 september

 

Kunstenfestival Watou vindt plaats van 1 juli tot en met 3 september 2023 en krijgt de slagzin /kom.po’zi.ci.o:/ mee. Dertig kunstenaars en twintig dichters ‘componeren’ nieuw in situ werk.

Het kunstenfestival pakt dit jaar ook uit met enkele nieuwe locaties, een podcast met Jelle Van Riet en een poëziefietsroute met oorlogsgedichten.

Het startschot van het kunstenfestival werd gegeven met de lancering van een open call in de lente van 2022. 170 kunstenaars uit binnen- en buitenland stelden zich vorig jaar kandidaat voor Patchwwwork.

Een interdisciplinaire en internationale jury selecteerde dertig kunstenaars die in de zomer van 2022 in het dorp kampeerden. Ze gingen in dialoog met de inwoners, voelden het landschap en dompelden zich onder in het festival dat die zomer plaatsvond. Op basis van hun ervaringen, werkten ze projectvoorstellen uit voor nieuwe installaties. Uit deze voorstellen selecteerde de jury 19 projecten die te zien zijn op Kunstenfestival Watou 2023.

 

Deelnemende kunstenaars
Beatrijs Albers en Reggy Timmermans (BE) – Niels Albers (NL) – Funda Zeynep Ayguler (DE) – Iwert Bernakiewicz (BE) – Sven Boel (BE) – Cloé Decroix (FR) – Alexandra Dementieva (BE) – Niel de Vries (NL) – Griet Dobbels (BE) – Philippe Druez (BE) – Juls Gabs (UK) – Benoît Géhanne (FR) – Marilyne Grimmer (FR) – Marc Hamandjian (FR) – Nathalie Hunter (BE) – Maarten Inghels (BE) – Pierre Mertens (BE) – Charlotte Mumm (DE) – Öznur Özturk (BE) – Alain Platel en Berlinde De Bruyckere (BE) – Jiajia Qi (NL) – Henk Schut (NL) – Robert Ssempijja (UG) – Joris Vermassen (BE) – Koen Vanmechelen (BE) – Louisiana Van Onna (NL) – Wouter Vanderstede en Peter Simon (BE) – Various Artists – Esther Venrooij (NL) – ZONDERWERK (BE)

& Dichters
Alara Adilow (NL) – Anna Broeksma (NL) – Joost Decorte (BE) – Lotte Dodion (BE) – Radna Fabias (NL) – Marie Ginet (FR) – Max Greyson (BE) – Luuk Gruwez (BE) – Maarten Inghels (BE) – Ilya Kaminsky (US/UKR) – Mustafa Kör (BE) – Caroline Lamarche (BE) – Marije Langelaar (NL) – Delphine Lecompte (BE) – Lisette Lombé (BE) – Gerry Loose (UK) – Nisrine Mbarki (NL) – Tijl Nuyts (BE) – Johanna Pas (BE) – Siel Verhanneman (BE)

Kunstenfestival Watou 2023

More on website:
https://www.kunstenfestivalwatou.be/
& https://www.poperinge.be/

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: # Music Archive, #Modern Poetry Archive, *War Poetry Archive, AUDIO, CINEMA, RADIO & TV, DANCE & PERFORMANCE, Exhibition Archive, Land Art, THEATRE, Watou Kunstenfestival


Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele: Von des Daseins körperlicher Schwere . . .

 

Von des Daseins körperlicher Schwere …

Von des Daseins körperlicher Schwere
Überfallen, bedrückt und tief gehemmt,
Dürstet mein Gemüt nach einer Leere.
Draußen haben blasse Abendmeere
Straßen trüb und traurig überschwemmt.
Und die Stadt sinkt wie verwest und grau
In den Schoß der mütterlichen Nacht.

Tief in meiner Seele weint und wacht
Die Erinnerung an eine Frau,
An ein Lied, ein Buch, an Sonne, Blau,
An viel Not, an manche Lust und Pracht.
Schwach durchzittert vom Geläut der Qual
Treibt mein Tag in eine ernste Stille.

Dunklen Himmels glanzlose Pupille
Starrt durchs Fenster hoffnungsblind und fahl.

Hans Ehrenbaum-Degele
(1889 – 1915)
Von des Daseins körperlicher Schwere …

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: #Experimental Poetry Archive, *War Poetry Archive, - Archive Tombeau de la jeunesse, Archive E-F, Archive E-F, Expressionism, Modernisme


The Selected Poems of Clive Branson

Clive Branson (1907–1944) was born in Ahmednagar, India, the son of a major in the Indian army.

He studied at the Slade School of Art and exhibited at the Royal Academy when he was just 23. Five of his paintings are today in the Tate. His daughter is the painter Rosa Branson.

In 1932 Branson joined the Communist Party. He taught for the National Council of Labour Colleges, spoke at weekly open-air meetings on Clapham Common and with his wife Noreen managed a Party bookshop. He took a leading role in driving Mosley’s British Union of Fascists out of Battersea, was responsible for the formation of a local Aid Spain Committee and fought with the International Brigades in Spain.

Taken prisoner at Calaceite, he spent eight months in Franco’s prison camps. After he was repatriated, Branson toured Britain raising money and support for the Spanish Republic. During the Blitz he painted Battersea street-scenes for the Artists International Association. Conscripted in 1941, he served as a tank commander in the Royal Armoured Corps. He was killed in action in Burma, aged just 36.

The Selected Poems of Clive Branson brings together, for the first time, the best of his surviving poetry. Passionate and committed, it’s a first-hand account of the most violent years of the twentieth-century – Britain in the Slump, Spain during the civil-war, Fascist prisons, the London Blitz, the cultural shock of India and its poverty, the war against Japan – recorded with a painterly eye and a communist faith in the power of the people.

Richard Knott (Editor) is a writer and poet. He has written extensively on aspects of modern history, including the experience of war artists (The Sketchbook War); war correspondents (The Trio); and most recently the surveillance of writers and artists by the Security Services over three decades: (The Secret War Against the Arts). He has also published two collections of poetry.

 

On Being Questioned After Capture: Alcaniz

I stood before my questioner who asked
‘Why leave home?
Why have you come?
Why?’ He must have guessed
‘Because he is a Communist.’

I thought of all the answers I could give
whether death is correct or whether to save
life for a rainy day
and told a lie to cheat his bullet with a word
to use a bullet afterward

On him the bigger lie – a conscript
‘volunteer’ to rape Spain where she slept
to save his own skin
he had come when he sought ‘The Leader’ on his hands and
knees
To crush a thousand years in half an hour
To make Guernica
a wilderness.

I could wait and so could lie
for adjournment to another court
meanwhile to live on my bended knee
to make occasion for another start.
I could imitate the victor, cringe
till I and the world beyond
take our revenge.

1939
Clive Branson
(1907–1944)

 

Selected Poems of Clive Branson
Edited by Richard Knott
Paperback
Release date: 01 May, 2023
Publisher: ‎Smokestack Books
Language: ‎English
122 pages
ISBN-10:1739173007
ISBN-13:978-1739173005
Price: £8.99

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: #Editors Choice Archiv, *War Poetry Archive, - Book News, - Bookstores, Archive A-B


Love In A Mist by Jessie Pope


Love In A Mist

Beneath an Ilfracombe machine,
While thunderstorms were raging,
Strephon and Chloe found the scene
Exceedingly engaging;
Though Mother Earth reproached the skies
With flinging pailfuls at her,
When Strephon looked in Chloe’s eyes
The weather didn’t matter.

When ‘Arry up on ‘Ampstead ‘Eath
Performed a double shuffle,
The rain above, the mud beneath,
His spirits failed to ruffle;
For ‘Arriet was by his side
In maddened mazes whirling
And little cared his promised bride
To see her plumes uncurling.

For one resplendent Summer morn
Young Edwin fondly waited,
Till Angelina grew forlorn
And quite emaciated.
When Hampton Court was like a sponge,
With mists their way beguiling,
He seized her hand and took the plunge,
And came up wet and smiling.

Jessie Pope
(1868 – 1941)
Love In A Mist
From: War Poems

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive O-P, Pope, Jessie, WAR & PEACE


Captive Conquerors by Jessie Pope

 

Captive Conquerors

OH! Stuttgart Frauleins, and capacious Fraus,
What shocking news is this that filters through?
Have you been fostering domestic rows
By casting, naughtily, glad eyes of blue
At poor old Tommy in his prison-house?
Tut! tut! This is a pretty how-d’ye do!

Anna and Gretchen, where’s your strength of mind?
Think of that khaki crowd whose force of arms
Bustles your goose-step legions from behind ;
These very captives should inspire alarms.
You are indeed disloyal and unkind .

To fall a prey to their dishevelled charms.
The gods have come among you, I admit,
To make your jealous Herren fume and fuss.
Unkempt, unshaven, rather short of kit,
The prisoners attract you even thus.
But, Fraus and Frauleins, what’s the use of it?
Their hearts, please understand, belong to us !

Jessie Pope
(1868 – 1941)
Captive Conquerors
From: War Poems

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive O-P, Pope, Jessie, WAR & PEACE


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