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Archive K-L

«« Previous page · Gedicht: Märchen von Gertrud Kolmar · Jenny Kiss’d Me by James Henry Leigh Hunt · The Arrow and the Song by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow · Emma Lazarus: Age and Death · Michail Lermontov: Mijn dolk (Vertaling Paul Bezembinder) · Emma Lazarus: Work · Freda kamphuis: ontrecht · African Dream · freda kamphuis: gekantelde horizon · D. H. Lawrence: Winter-Lull · Freda Kamphuis: Intrede (Gedicht) · freda kamphuis: mens met witte pet

»» there is more...

Gedicht: Märchen von Gertrud Kolmar

Märchen

Ich hab vor deinem Hause still gestanden
In einer Nacht.
Und hatte ganz dich lieb und ohne Maßen;
Ich wies zu dir den Sternen goldne Straßen
Und habe selig stumm gelacht.

Ob meinem losen Haar hob ich die Arme
Wie Zweige, schlank und rund.
Da stürzte Regen in das Mainachtschweigen
Und rief sich zage Blüten aus den Zweigen,
Und jede war ein blasser Mund.

Du aber kamst nicht.
So streute ich mit lächelndem Verschwenden
Dem Mond die Blumen her.
Und spürte Treiben herber, dunkler Kräfte,
Mir ward die Frucht voll süßer, süßer Säfte;
Schon fiel sie, duftend, weich und schwer.

Du aber kamst nicht.
Eishagel tanzte höhnend auf den Steinen.
Da klaffte schwarz ein Schacht.
Drein ließ ich die zerbrochnen Arme hangen. –
Geblüht und Frucht getragen – und vergangen
In einer Nacht.

Gertrud Kolmar
(1894 – 1943)
Märchen

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More in: #Editors Choice Archiv, Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Grimm, Andersen e.o.: Fables, Fairy Tales & Stories, Holocaust, Kolmar, Gertrud


Jenny Kiss’d Me by James Henry Leigh Hunt

Jenny kiss’d Me

Jenny kiss’d me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief, who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in!
Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,
Say that health and wealth have miss’d me,
Say I’m growing old, but add,
Jenny kiss’d me.

James Henry Leigh Hunt
(1784 – 1859)
Jenny kiss’d Me

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More in: # Classic Poetry Archive, Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Hunt, Leigh


The Arrow and the Song by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Arrow and the Song

I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.

I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong,
That it can follow the flight of song?

Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
(1807–1882)
The Arrow and the Song

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More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth


Emma Lazarus: Age and Death

 

Age and Death

Come closer, kind, white, long-familiar friend,
Embrace me, fold me to thy broad, soft breast.
Life has grown strange and cold, but thou dost bend
Mild eyes of blessing wooing to my rest.
So often hast thou come, and from my side
So many hast thou lured, I only bide
Thy beck, to follow glad thy steps divine.
Thy world is peopled for me; this world’s bare.
Through all these years my couch thou didst prepare.
Thou art supreme Love—kiss me—I am thine!

Emma Lazarus
(1849 – 1887)
Age and Death
From: Selected Poems

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More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Lazarus, Emma


Michail Lermontov: Mijn dolk (Vertaling Paul Bezembinder)

 

Mijn dolk

Ik sloot jou in mijn hart, mijn maat, mijn dolk,
Sinds jaar en dag mijn onderkoelde kameraad,
Gesmeed werd jij door vrijgevochten ruitervolk,
Geslepen door een christenhart vervuld van haat.

Door lelieblanke hand wist jij jouw heft omvat,
Als aandenken aan wat – aan wíe – ik achterliet,
In plaats van bloed vergleed er langs jouw blad
Een opgewelde traan – een parel van verdriet.

Haar rokerige ogen vast op mijn persoon gericht,
Vervuld van onbenoembaar, onuitspreekbaar leed,
Verschoten, vlamden dan weer op, in haar gezicht,
Zoals jouw kling dat in het laaiend kampvuur deed.

Zij maakte jou mijn metgezel, haar liefdespand,
De vagebond in mij volgt steeds jouw wijze raad,
Ja, trouw ben ik haar, ik doe mijn woord gestand,
En jij, jij houdt mij bij de les, mijn kille kameraad!

Michail Lermontov,
Mijn dolk, Кинжал (1838)
(1814 – 1841)
Vertaling Paul Bezembinder

Paul Bezembinder studeerde theoretische natuurkunde in Nijmegen. In zijn poëzie zoekt hij vooral in klassieke versvormen en thema’s naar de balans tussen serieuze poëzie, pastiche en smartlap. Bij uitgeverij Leeuwenhof (Oostburg) verschenen de bundels Gedichten (2020), Parkzicht (2020) en Duizelingen (2022). Website: www.paulbezembinder.nl

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More in: - Archive Tombeau de la jeunesse, Archive A-B, Archive A-B, Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Bezembinder, Paul, Lermontov, Lermontov, Mikhail


Emma Lazarus: Work

Work

Yet life is not a vision nor a prayer,
But stubborn work; she may not shun her task.
After the first compassion, none will spare
Her portion and her work achieved, to ask.
She pleads for respite,—she will come ere long
When, resting by the roadside, she is strong.

Nay, for the hurrying throng of passers-by
Will crush her with their onward-rolling stream.
Much must be done before the brief light die;
She may not loiter, rapt in the vain dream.
With unused trembling hands, and faltering feet,
She staggers forth, her lot assigned to meet.

But when she fills her days with duties done,
Strange vigor comes, she is restored to health.
New aims, new interests rise with each new sun,
And life still holds for her unbounded wealth.
All that seemed hard and toilsome now proves small,
And naught may daunt her,—she hath strength for all.

Emma Lazarus
(1849 – 1887)
Work

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More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Lazarus, Emma


Freda kamphuis: ontrecht

ontrecht

 

uitgescheurde

horizon

hangt

scheef

 

boven

bloeddoorlopen

bloemen

 

roodzon

zonloos

doodzon

zonlood

 

dwingt

ons

achteruit

 

onder

wortels door

terug

 

tot

koude zee

klauw

 

gras

huilt grijs

rauwe hemel

blues

 

 

freda kamphuis
ontrecht
#  https://fredaxblog.blogspot.com

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More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Freda Kamphuis, Kamphuis, Freda


African Dream

Poem

African Dream

(meeting Alf Khumalo:
“call me Alf” he said with a wink)

take of in Cape Town at dawn
the horizon is an oyster
the mountain table
is ready for breakfast

next to me an elderly man
sits with his camera
adjusting different lenses
– he looks happy

I open my lab top
to type a few words trying
to catch the peacefulness
of this early morning flight

above Kimberley we fly
through various cumuli
he lifts his camera – I ask
“What are you doing sir?”

he explains the softness & asks
“What are you doing lady?”
I put what you see
through your lens in words

like the mushrooms on our plates
he looks surprised asks when & where
he can buy my first collection
there is none so far & he has left me

leaving his work in my heart

c.w.

 

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More in: # Archive S.A. literature, #Editors Choice Archiv, Archive K-L, Archive W-X, Carina van der Walt, FDM in Africa, Photography


freda kamphuis: gekantelde horizon

 

gekantelde horizon

akkers
ver na tijd van oogst
vol zware, zwarte klei
liggen
volledig opengereten
van onder naar boven
tot aan horizon doorkliefd
ruw ontbloot, groots
in winterkaal
aan elementen
overgeleverd landschap
waar nu zelfs vogels
hard
en grimmig ogen, ons beloeren
solitaire bomen
grommen tegen harde wind
boeren, koeien
uit het beeld zijn weggekropen

dapper, onverstoorbaar
rijdt ons treintje
verder langs de open wond
immuun voor taferelen buiten
hangen bijna alle hoofden
richting lichtend, lokkend
landschap beneden,
smartphones

freda kamphuis
gekantelde horizon
wintergedicht

          https://fredaxblog.blogspot.com

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More in: 4SEASONS#Winter, Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Freda Kamphuis, Kamphuis, Freda


D. H. Lawrence: Winter-Lull

Winter-Lull

Because of the silent snow, we are all hushed
Into awe.
No sound of guns, nor overhead no rushed
Vibration to draw
Our attention out of the void wherein we are crushed.

A crow floats past on level wings
Noiselessly.
Uninterrupted silence swings
Invisibly, inaudibly
To and fro in our misgivings.

We do not look at each other, we hide
Our daunted eyes.
White earth, and ruins, ourselves, and nothing beside.
It all belies
Our existence; we wait, and are still denied.

We are folded together, men and the snowy ground
Into nullity.
There is silence, only the silence, never a sound
Nor a verity
To assist us; disastrously silence-bound!

D. H. Lawrence
(1885 –1930)
Winter-Lull

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More in: 4SEASONS#Winter, Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Lawrence, D.H.


Freda Kamphuis: Intrede (Gedicht)

Intrede

As van kerstdromen
dwarrelt door de lucht
naast spokend karkas van
te jong gestorven boom.

Afvallige dozen, groot
fladderen over de weg
als losgebroken vogels
een paard zonder toom.

Aan slierten rouw klampt
oude jaar zich nog vast
gelijk geest die vergaat
het aanzien niet waard.

Rode ogen hoog boven
zwarte regenjassen staren
ins graue hinein tot de
eerste schok is bedaard.

Freda Kamphuis
Intrede

Gedicht uit poëziebundel :
TITEL, Uitgeverij Voetnoot, Antwerpen, 2014

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More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Kamphuis, Freda


freda kamphuis: mens met witte pet

freda kamphuis

mens met witte pet

 

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Freda Kamphuis, Kamphuis, Freda, Photography


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