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ARK presenteert met de duo-tentoonstelling Schemergebied van Maartje Korstanje en Vince Donders twee beeldhouwers die ieder vanuit een uitgesproken engagement op poëtische wijze reflecteren op de relatie tussen mens en natuur. Hun werk deelt een fascinatie voor processen van transformatie en beweegt zich tussen groei en verval, constructie en destructie, leven en vergankelijkheid.
Maartje Korstanje (Goes, 1982) maakt sculpturen en installaties van veelal natuurlijke materialen zoals klei, karton en textiel. In haar werk onderzoekt zij hoe organische vormen ontstaan, vergaan en opnieuw gestalte aannemen. Haar sculpturen lijken het tastbare eindpunt van een groeiproces — kwetsbaar, maar vitaal en resoneren met het denken rond het symbioceen, waarin samenwerking tussen mens en andere levensvormen centraal staat.
Vince Donders (Tilburg, 1991) construeert installaties van afval en industrieel rest- en constructiemateriaal. Thema’s als overconsumptie, ecologische uitputting en veerkracht vormen zijn uitgangspunt. Zijn werken zijn onheilspellend, dystopisch van aard en balanceren tussen postindustriële archeologie en sciencefiction.
In deze duo-presentatie ontmoeten hun werelden elkaar: beide kunstenaars bewegen zich op het grensvlak van ecologie en verbeelding. Samen creëren zij bij PARK een gelaagde omgeving waarin synthetisch en organisch, heden en toekomst, afbraak en schepping in elkaars verlengde liggen. Hun werk nodigt uit tot reflectie op de rol van de mens binnen een voortdurend veranderende wereld.
SCHEMERGEBIED
tentoonstelling Vince Donders en Maartje Korstanje
21.02.2026 tot 05.04 2026
PARK
Wilhelminapark 53, 5041 ED Tilburg
park(at)park013.nl
Facebook.com/Park013
https://www.instagram.com/park_tilburg/
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More in: Archive C-D, Archive K-L, Art & Literature News, Exhibition Archive, Maartje Korstanje, Park
Vachel Lindsay
(1879 – 1931)
My Lady Is Compared to a Young Tree
When I see a young tree
In its white beginning,
With white leaves
And white buds
Barely tipped with green,
In the April weather,
In the weeping sunshine—
Then I see my lady,
My democratic queen,
Standing free and equal
With the youngest woodland sapling
Swaying, singing in the wind,
Delicate and white:
Soul so near to blossom,
Fragile, strong as death;
A kiss from far-off Eden,
A flash of Judgment’s trumpet—
April’s breath.
Vachel Lindsay poetry
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Vachel Lindsay
(1879 – 1931)
To Jane Addams at the Hague
I. SPEAK NOW FOR PEACE
Lady of Light, and our best woman, and queen,
Stand now for peace, (though anger breaks your heart),
Though naught but smoke and flame and drowning is seen.
Lady of Light, speak, though you speak alone,
Though your voice may seem as a dove’s in this howling flood,
It is heard to-night by every senate and throne.
Though the widening battle of millions and millions of men
Threatens to-night to sweep the whole of the earth,
Back of the smoke is the promise of kindness again.
II. TOLSTOI IS PLOWING YET
Tolstoi is plowing yet. When the smoke-clouds break,
High in the sky shines a field as wide as the world.
There he toils for the Kingdom of Heaven’s sake.
Ah, he is taller than clouds of the little earth.
Only the congress of planets is over him,
And the arching path where new sweet stars have birth.
Wearing his peasant dress, his head bent low,
Tolstoi, that angel of Peace, is plowing yet;
Forward, across the field, his horses go.
Vachel Lindsay poetry
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Vachel Lindsay
(1879 – 1931)
The Horrid Voice of Science
“There’s machinery in the
butterfly;
There’s a mainspring to the
bee;
There’s hydraulics to a daisy,
And contraptions to a tree.”
“If we could see the birdie
That makes the chirping sound
With x-ray, scientific eyes,
We could see the wheels go
round.”
And I hope all men
Who think like this
Will soon lie
Underground.
Vachel Lindsay poetry
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The Press
The Soldier may forget his Sword,
The Sailorman the Sea,
The Mason may forget the Word
And the Priest his Litany:
The Maid may forget both jewel and gem,
And the Bride her wedding-dress–
But the Jew shall forget Jerusalem
Ere we forget the Press!
Who once hath stood through the loaded hour
Ere, roaring like the gale,
The Harrild and the Hoe devour
Their league-long paper-bale,
And has lit his pipe in the morning calm
That follows the midnight stress–
He hath sold his heart to the old Black Art
We call the daily Press.
Who once hath dealt in the widest game
That all of a man can play,
No later love, no larger fame
Will lure him long away.
As the war-horse snuffeth the battle afar,
The entered Soul, no less,
He saith: “Ha! Ha!” where the trumpets are
And the thunders of the Press!
Canst thou number the days that we fulfill,
Or the Times that we bring forth?
Canst thou send the lightnings to do thy will,
And cause them reign on earth?
Hast thou given a peacock goodly wings,
To please his foolishness?
Sit down at the heart of men and things,
Companion of the Press!
The Pope may launch his Interdict,
The Union its decree,
But the bubble is blown and the bubble is pricked
By Us and such as We.
Remember the battle and stand aside
While Thrones and Powers confess
That King over all the children of pride
Is the Press–the Press–the Press!
Rudyard Kipling
(1865 – 1936)
The Press
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Verlorenes Lied
Ich bin arm und habe nichts.
Nichts! Garnichts!
Nichts als lange Haare –
Bin zweiundzwanzig Jahre –
Sind rotes Gold, meine Haare,
Sagen die Kaufleut’ mir.
Ich bin arm und habe nichts.
Nichts! Garnichts!
Nichts als gemalte Brauen –
Fluch den ehrbaren Frauen! –
Sind tintenschwarz, meine Brauen,
Sagen die Schreiber mir.
Ich bin arm und habe nichts.
Nichts! Garnichts!
Nichts als kecke Blicke –
Weißt du, wem ich sie schicke ? –
Sind scharfes Schrot, meine Blicke,
Sagen die Jäger mir.
Ich bin arm und habe nichts.
Nichts! Garnichts!
Nichts als reife Lippen –
Tugend fährt über Klippen –
Sind kirschensüß, meine Lippen,
Sagen die Gärtner mir.
Ich bin arm und habe nichts.
Nichts! Garnichts!
Nichts als geschmeidige Sohlen –
Ei, in der Schenke das Johlen! –
Sind zum Tanzen gemacht, meine Sohlen,
Sagen die Spielleut’ mir.
Ich bin arm und habe nichts.
Nichts! Garnichts!
Nichts als weiße Glieder –
Blankes Gold lockert mein Mieder –
Sind Flammen der Lust, meine Glieder,
Sagst heute nacht du mir.
Ich bin arm und habe nichts.
Nichts! Garnichts!
Nichts als ein Leben in Schande,
Einen Tod am Straßenrande –
Einst in zerlumptem Gewande
Scharrt man mich ein im Sande.
Wo ? Sagt keiner mir.
Ich bin arm und habe nichts.
Nichts! Garnichts!
Nichts als die heimliche Zähre –
Daß ich so arm nicht wäre! –
Nur meine Dirnenehre!
Vom Strauch fällt die tausendste Beere;
Fault sie, wer sucht nach ihr ?
Sterb’ ich, wer weint nach mir?
Gertrud Kolmar
(1894 – 1943)
Verlorenes Lied
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Rachel Long’s much-anticipated debut collection of poems, My Darling from the Lions, explores shame, love and healing through her intimate poetic voice.
Shortlisted for the Rathbones Folio Prize / the Costa Poetry Award / the Forward Prize for Best First Collection / the Jhalak Prize
British poet Rachel Long’s poems are so razor-sharp and witty that they stand out from the first line. Long is also founder of the Octavia Collective for Womxn of Colour (a ‘community-minded’ collective where women of color can safely (learn to) write poetry, a response to the lack of inclusivity within literature and the academy).
She debuted two years ago with the impressive collection My darling from the lions. This collection was nominated for five different poetry awards and was named one of the 100 must-read books of 2021 by TIME.
There is a vibrancy to her narrative poems that is extraordinary to find in a text; with dizzying precision, Long describes humorous, sensual and surreal scenes.
Sometimes, as a reader, you recognize yourself in the candid, uncomfortable moments Long shares; sometimes, on the contrary, the scenes are alienating. However, Long has a talent for making that alienation come across naturally nonetheless.
The collection can be described as a coming-of-age story, in which the speaker survives a tumultuous childhood and adolescence only to find himself in the confusing maze called adulthood.
Rachel Long creates relatable, human work that is sure to leave an impression that is sure to leave an impression long after she has once again traded the Rotterdam stage of Poetry International for her native London.
Long reveals herself as a razor-sharp and original voice on the issues of sexual politics and cultural inheritance that polarize our current moment. But it’s her refreshing commitment to the power of the individual poem that will leave the reader turning each page in eager anticipation: here is an immediate, wide-awake poetry that entertains royally, without sacrificing a note of its urgency or remarkable skill.
OPEN
This morning she told me
I sleep with my mouth open
and my hands in my hair.
I say, What, Mum, like screaming?
She says, No, baby, like abandon.
Rachel Long is a poet and the founder of Octavia Poetry Collective for Women of Colour, which is housed at Southbank Centre in London. My Darling from the Lions, first published by Picador in 2020, is her debut collection. She was born in London, and resides there today.
My Darling from the Lions:
Poems
by Rachel Long (Author)
Publisher: Tin House Books
Publication date: September 21, 2021
Language: English
Print length: 88 pages
ISBN-10: 1951142713
ISBN-13: 978-1951142711
Paperback
$14.98
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Soldatenmädchen
Und wenn du Männer zwingen willst,
So mußt du rasch dich rüsten
Und, eh’ im West der Schnee noch schmilzt,
Marschier’n nach Frankreichs Küsten.
Und wenn du Mädchen zwingen willst,
So weck’ nur dein Gelüsten,
Und ruh’ heut’ nacht, daß du es stillst,
An meinen weißen Brüsten.
Und was der Leute Mund drob’ red’t,
Den Spott will ich ertragen;
Wenn dir der Feind nicht widersteht,
Wie sollt’s dein Lieb wohl wagen ?
Ein heißes Herz ist noch kein Fehl,
Ein’ tapfre Seel’ kein Schaden,
Und wenn sich fanden Herz und Seel’,
Wird uns der Himmel gnaden.
Denn so ist dein und mein Geschick:
Dir schuf der Schmied die Waffen;
Den ros’gen Mund, den dunklen Blick,
Die hat mir Gott geschaffen.
Der Schuster hat die Schuh’ gemacht,
Die deinen Weg betraten,
Vom Schneider hab’ ich meine Tracht,
Mein Kindlein vom Soldaten.
Gertrud Kolmar
(1894 – 1943)
Soldatenmädchen
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Der Brief
Ein Fetzen Weh, vom Wind daher gefegt,
Das war er nun.
Ich hab’ ihn still ins heil’ge Buch gelegt,
Zu ruhn – zu ruhn—–
Und die vergilbten Blätter schlössen ihn
So linde ein,
Wie Totenhülle, weißer denn Jasmin,
Der braune Schrein.
So fern der Unrast, die da draußen tost,
Hat er geruht.
Und war der Klage voll und gab mir Trost
Er war so gut—–
Gertrud Kolmar
(1894 – 1943)
Der Brief
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One woman, the performance of a lifetime. Or two.
An exhilarating, destabilizing Möbius strip of a novel that asks whether we ever really know the people we love.
Two people meet for lunch in a Manhattan restaurant.
She’s an accomplished actress in rehearsals for an upcoming premiere.
He’s attractive, troubling, young—young enough to be her son.
Who is he to her, and who is she to him?
In this compulsively readable, brilliantly constructed novel, two competing narratives unspool, rewriting our understanding of the roles we play every day – partner, parent, creator, muse – and the truths every performance masks, especially from those who think they know us most intimately.
Taut and hypnotic, Audition is Katie Kitamura at her virtuosic best.
Katie Kitamura is the author of four previous novels, most recently A Separation and Intimacies, which was longlisted for the National Book Award and the PEN/Faulkner Award and was a finalist for a Joyce Carol Oates Prize. She is a recipient of the Rome Prize in Literature, a Lannan fellowship, and many other honors, and her work has been translated into twenty-one languages. She teaches in the creative writing program at New York University.
Audition: A Novel
by Katie Kitamura (Author)
Language: English
Paperback
April 8, 2025
Publisher: Riverhead Books
EAN: 9798217045839
21,95 euro
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The daring and deeply sexy poems in Lonely Women Make Good Lovers are bold with the embodied, earthy, and startlingly sensual.
These unforgettable love poems—queer, complicated, and almost always compromised—engage a poetics of humility, leaning into the painful tendernesses of unbridgeable distance. As Kuipers writes, love is a question “defined not by what we / cannot know of the world but what we cannot know of ourselves.” These poems write into that intricate webbing between us, holding space for an “I” that is permeable, that can be touched and changed by those we make our lives with.
In this book, astonishingly intimate poems of marriage collide with the fetishization of freedom and the terror of desire. At times valiant and at others self-excoriating, they are flush with the hard-won knowledge of the difficulties and joys of living in relation.
Keetje Kuipers’ newest collection of poetry, Lonely Women Make Good Lovers, was the recipient of the Isabella Gardner Award. Her poetry and prose have appeared in The New York Times Magazine, The American Poetry Review, and POETRY, and have been honored by publication in The Pushcart Prize and Best American Poetry anthologies. She has been a Stegner Fellow, Bread Loaf Fellow, and the Margery Davis Boyden Wilderness Writing Resident. Kuipers lives with her wife and children in Montana, where she is editor of Poetry Northwest.
Lonely Women Make Good Lovers
Poems
By Keetje Kuipers
Publisher: BOA Editions Ltd.
April 8, 2025
Language: English
Paperback : 96 pages
ISBN-10: 1960145452
ISBN-13: 978-1960145451
Regular price €17,95
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Gij deed van alle mensen
Gij deed van alle mensen mij
De zwaarste pijn,
Van alle mensen zult ge mij
De liefste zijn.
J.H. Leopold
(1865-1925)
Gij deed van alle mensen
Vroege gedichten
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