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Hans Hermans photos: Tower Bridge London

Rudyard Kipling

(1865-1936)

The River’s Tale

Prehistoric

Twenty bridges from Tower to Kew–
(Twenty bridges or twenty-two)–
Wanted to know what the River knew,
For they were young, and the Thames was old
And this is the tale that River told:–

“I walk my beat before London Town,
Five hours up and seven down.
Up I go till I end my run
At Tide-end-town, which is Teddington.
Down I come with the mud in my hands
And plaster it over the Maplin Sands.
But I’d have you know that these waters of mine
Were once a branch of the River Rhine,
When hundreds of miles to the East I went
And England was joined to the Continent.

“I remember the bat-winged lizard-birds,
The Age of Ice and the mammoth herds,
And the giant tigers that stalked them down
Through Regent’s Park into Camden Town.
And I remember like yesterday
The earliest Cockney who came my way,
When he pushed through the forest that lined the Strand,
With paint on his face and a club in his hand.
He was death to feather and fin and fur.
He trapped my beavers at Westminster.
He netted my salmon, he hunted my deer,
He killed my heron off Lambeth Pier.
He fought his neighbour with axes and swords,
Flint or bronze, at my upper fords,
While down at Greenwich, for slaves and tin,
The tall Phoenician ships stole in,
And North Sea war-boats, painted and gay,
Flashed like dragon-flies, Erith way;
And Norseman and Negro and Gaul and Greek
Drank with the Britons in Barking Creek,
And life was gay, and the world was new,
And I was a mile across at Kew!
But the Roman came with a heavy hand,
And bridged and roaded and ruled the land,
And the Roman left and the Danes blew in–
And that’s where your history-books begin!”

Hans Hermans photos

Poem Rudyard Kipling

kempis poetry magazine

More in: Archive K-L, CLASSIC POETRY, FDM in London, Hans Hermans Photos, Kipling, Rudyard

Hans Hermans photos – Willem Kloos gedicht

Willem Kloos

(1859-1938)

Van De Zee

Aan Frederik van Eeden

De Zee, de Zee klotst voort in eindelooze deining,
De Zee waarin mijn ziel zichzelf weerspiegeld ziet;
De Zee is als mijn Ziel in wezen en verschijning,
Zij is een levend Schoon en kent zichzelve niet.

Zij wischt zich zelven af in eeuwige verreining,
En wendt zich altijd om en keert weer waar zij vliedt,
Zij drukt zichzelven uit in duizenderlei lijning
En zingt een eeuwig-blij en eeuwig-klagend lied.

O, Zee was Ik als Gij in al Uw onbewustheid,
Dan zou ik eerst gehéél en gróót-gelukkig zijn;

Dan had ik eerst geen lust naar menschlijke belustheid
Op menschelijke vreugd en menschelijke pijn;

Dan wás mijn Ziel een Zee, en hare zelfgerustheid,
Zou, wijl Zij grooter is dan Gij, nóg grooter zijn.

Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek – maart 2010

► Website Hans Hermans fotografie

Willem Kloos poetry

kempis poetry magazine

More in: Hans Hermans Photos, Kloos, Willem

Hans Hermans photos – W.B. Yeats poem

William Butler Yeats

(1865-1939)

The Meditation Of The Old Fisherman

YOU waves, though you dance by my feet like children at play,
Though you glow and you glance, though you purr and you dart;
In the Junes that were warmer than these are, the waves were more gay,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.
The herring are not in the tides as they were of old;
My sorrow! for many a creak gave the creel in the-cart
That carried the take to Sligo town to be sold,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.
And ah, you proud maiden, you are not so fair when his oar
Is heard on the water, as they were, the proud and apart,
Who paced in the eve by the nets on the pebbly shore,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.

Natuurdagboek Februari 2010

Hans Hermans photos

W.B. Yeats poem

► Website Hans Hermans Fotografie

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Hans Hermans Photos, Yeats, William Butler

Hans Hermans photos: Paris 2009 – 2

H a n s H e r m a n s p h o t o s

P a r i s 2 0 0 9 – 2

k e m p i s p o e t r y m a g a z i n e

More in: FDM in Paris, Hans Hermans Photos

Hans Hermans photos: Paris 2009 – 1

H a n s H e r m a n s p h o t o s

P a r i s 2 0 0 9 – 1

k e m p i s p o e t r y m a g a z i n e

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Hans Hermans photos – Rudyard Kipling poem

Rudyard Kipling

(1865-1936)

The White Seal

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o’er the combers, looks downward to find us
At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow;
Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,
Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.

You mustn’t swim till you’re six weeks old,
Or your head will be sunk by your heels;
And summer gales and Killer Whales
Are bad for baby seals.
Are bad for baby seals, dear rat,
As bad as bad can be.
But splash and grow strong,
And you can’t be wrong,
Child of the Open Sea!

Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek – January 2010

Poem: Rudyard Kipling

Photos: Hans Hermans

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Hans Hermans Photos, Kipling, Rudyard, MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY - department of ravens & crows, birds of prey, riding a zebra, spring, summer, autumn, winter

Hans Hermans photos: Musée du Louvre Paris

H a n s H e r m a n s p h o t o s

M u s é e d u L o u v r e P a r i s

k e m p i s p o e t r y m a g a z i n e

More in: FDM in Paris, Hans Hermans Photos

Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek: Le Hibou van Victor Hugo

V i c t o r H u g o

L e h i b o u

Et je vis au-dessus de ma tête un point noir.
Et ce point noir semblait une mouche dans l’ombre.

Et rien n’avait de borne et rien n’avait de nombre ;
Et tout se confondait avec tout ; l’aquilon
Et la nuit ne faisaient qu’un même tourbillon.
Quelques formes sans nom, larves exténuées
Ou souffles noirs, passaient dans les sourdes nuées ;
Et tout le reste était immobile et voilé.

Alors, montant, montant, montant, je m’envolai
Vers ce point qui semblait reculer dans la brume,
Car c’est la loi de l’être en qui l’esprit s’allume
D’aller vers ce qui fuit et vers ce qui se tait.
Or ce que j’avais pris pour une mouche était
Un hibou, triste, froid, morne, et de sa prunelle
Il tombait moins de jour que de nuit de son aile. […]

N a t u u r d a g b o e k D e c e m b e r 2 0 0 9

Photos: Hans Hermans ©

Poem by Victor Hugo (1802-1885)

kempis poetry magazine

More in: Department of Birds of Prey, Hans Hermans Photos, Hugo, Victor

Hans Hermans natuurdagboek: ‘Herfst’ van J.H. Leopold

J. H. L e o p o l d

(1865-1925)

H e r f s t

De blaren laten los en op de wind
drijven ze donker langs de grijze lucht,
alsof een vlucht verlate vogels wegtrok.
Onder de bomen hangt een scherpe geur
van vochte grond en van doorweekte blaren;
geen leven, geen geluid in ‘t grille licht,
dat gul door de ijle takken binnenvliet,
en eenzaam valt een schot, een verre knal,
die heel het woud vult, als waar’ ‘t de eigen stem
van ‘t bos, dat in sonore toon verkondigt,
dat ergens op een dichte plek een vogel
getroffen hortend door de takken zakt
en naar beneden ploft, terwijl het bloed
rood langs de bruine veren op de grond drupt.

Uit de bundel: Verzen uit de nalatenschap

Natuurdagboek Hans Hermans: November 2009

foto’s: Hans Hermans – gedicht: J.H. Leopold

k e m p i s p o e t r y m a g a z i n e

More in: Hans Hermans Photos, Leopold, J.H., MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY - department of ravens & crows, birds of prey, riding a zebra, spring, summer, autumn, winter

Hans Hermans photos: La Seine dans Paris

H a n s H e r m a n s p h o t o s

L a S e i n e d a n s P a r i s

k e m p i s p o e t r y m a g a z i n e

More in: FDM in Paris, Hans Hermans Photos

Hans Hermans photos: La Tour Eiffel Paris

H a n s H e r m a n s p h o t o s

L a T o u r E i f f e l P a r i s

Hans Hermans photos: La Tour Eiffel Paris

k e m p i s p o e t r y m a g a z i n e

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Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek: To Autumn van John Keats

J o h n K e a t s

(1795-1821)

T o A u t u m n

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,–
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.