In this category:

Or see the index

All categories

  1. AUDIO, CINEMA, RADIO & TV
  2. DANCE
  3. DICTIONARY OF IDEAS
  4. EXHIBITION – art, art history, photos, paintings, drawings, sculpture, ready-mades, video, performing arts, collages, gallery, etc.
  5. FICTION & NON-FICTION – books, booklovers, lit. history, biography, essays, translations, short stories, columns, literature: celtic, beat, travesty, war, dada & de stijl, drugs, dead poets
  6. FLEURSDUMAL POETRY LIBRARY – classic, modern, experimental & visual & sound poetry, poetry in translation, city poets, poetry archive, pre-raphaelites, editor's choice, etc.
  7. LITERARY NEWS & EVENTS – art & literature news, in memoriam, festivals, city-poets, writers in Residence
  8. MONTAIGNE
  9. MUSEUM OF LOST CONCEPTS – invisible poetry, conceptual writing, spurensicherung
  10. MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY – department of ravens & crows, birds of prey, riding a zebra
  11. MUSEUM OF PUBLIC PROTEST
  12. MUSIC
  13. PRESS & PUBLISHING
  14. REPRESSION OF WRITERS, JOURNALISTS & ARTISTS
  15. STORY ARCHIVE – olv van de veestraat, reading room, tales for fellow citizens
  16. STREET POETRY
  17. THEATRE
  18. TOMBEAU DE LA JEUNESSE – early death: writers, poets & artists who died young
  19. ULTIMATE LIBRARY – danse macabre, ex libris, grimm & co, fairy tales, art of reading, tales of mystery & imagination, sherlock holmes theatre, erotic poetry, ideal women
  20. WAR & PEACE
  21. ·




  1. Subscribe to new material:
    RSS     ATOM

Dickinson, Emily

· Emily Dickinson: My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun · Emily Dickinson: A Day · Emily Dickinson: Because I could not stop for Death · Emily Dickinson: Wild nights – Wild nights! · Emily Dickinson: The Outlet · Emily Dickinson: I’m Nobody! Who are you? · Poems About Sculpture by Robert Pinsky and Murray Dewart · EMILY DICKINSON: ONE YEAR AGO · EMILY DICKINSON: THE MARTYR POETS (vertaling Cornelis W. Schoneveld) · Emily Dickinson: I Died For Beauty · Emily Dickinson: The Last Night That She Lived · Emily Dickinson: Death Is a Dialogue

»» there is more...

Emily Dickinson: My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun


My Life had stood –
a Loaded Gun

My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun –
In Corners – till a Day
The Owner passed – identified –
And carried Me away –

And now We roam in Sovreign Woods –
And now We hunt the Doe –
And every time I speak for Him
The Mountains straight reply –

And do I smile, such cordial light
Opon the Valley glow –
It is as a Vesuvian face
Had let it’s pleasure through –

And when at Night – Our good Day done –
I guard My Master’s Head –
’Tis better than the Eider Duck’s
Deep Pillow – to have shared –

To foe of His – I’m deadly foe –
None stir the second time –
On whom I lay a Yellow Eye –
Or an emphatic Thumb –

Though I than He – may longer live
He longer must – than I –
For I have but the power to kill,
Without – the power to die –

 

Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)
My Life had stood – a Loaded Gun
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Dickinson, Emily


Emily Dickinson: A Day

 

A Day

I’ll tell you how the sun rose, —
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.

The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
“That must have been the sun!”

But how he set, I know not.
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while

Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.

Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)
A Day
• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Dickinson, Emily


Emily Dickinson: Because I could not stop for Death

 

Because I could not
stop for Death

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – ’tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses’ Heads
Were toward Eternity –

Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)
Because I could not stop for Death

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Archive E-F, Dickinson, Emily


Emily Dickinson: Wild nights – Wild nights!

 

Wild nights – Wild nights!

Wild nights – Wild nights!
Were I with thee
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile – the winds –
To a Heart in port –
Done with the Compass –
Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden –
Ah – the Sea!
Might I but moor – tonight –
In thee!

Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)
Wild nights – Wild nights!

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Archive C-D, Dickinson, Emily


Emily Dickinson: The Outlet

The Outlet

My river runs to thee:
Blue sea, wilt welcome me?

My river waits reply.
Oh sea, look graciously!

I’ll fetch thee brooks
From spotted nooks,—

Say, sea,
Take me!

 

Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)
The Outlet, 1860

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Dickinson, Emily


Emily Dickinson: I’m Nobody! Who are you?

 

I’m Nobody! Who are you?

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog! 

Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Archive C-D, Dickinson, Emily


Poems About Sculpture by Robert Pinsky and Murray Dewart

Poems About Sculpture

Foreword by Robert Pinsky & Edited by Murray Dewart

Poems About Sculpture is a unique anthology of poems from around the world and across the ages about our most enduring art form.

About Poems
About Sculpture

Sculpture has the longest memory of the arts: from the Paleolithic era, we find stone carvings and clay figures embedded with human longing. And poets have long been fascinated by the idea of eternity embodied by the monumental temples and fragmented statues of ancient civilizations. From Keats’s Grecian urn and Shelley’s “Ozymandias” to contemporary verse about Maya Lin’s Vietnam Veterans Memorial and Janet Echelman’s wind-borne hovering nets, the pieces in this collection convert the physical materials of the plastic arts—clay, wood, glass, marble, granite, bronze, and more—into lapidary lines of poetry. Whether the sculptures celebrated here commemorate love or war, objects or apparitions, forms human or divine, they have called forth evocative responses from a wide range of poets, including Homer, Ovid, Shakespeare, Baudelaire, Rilke, Dickinson, Yeats, Auden, and Plath. A compendium of dazzling examples of one art form reflecting on another, Poems About Sculpture is a treat for art lovers of all kinds.

 

 

Dare You See A Soul At The White Heat?

Dare you see a Soul at the White Heat?
Then crouch within the door—
Red—is the Fire’s common tint—
But when the vivid Ore
Has vanquished Flame’s conditions,
It quivers from the Forge
Without a color, but the light
Of unanointed Blaze.
Least Village has its Blacksmith
Whose Anvil’s even ring
Stands symbol for the finer Forge
That soundless tugs—within—
Refining these impatient Ores
With Hammer, and with Blaze
Until the Designated Light
Repudiate the Forge—

Emily Dickinson
(1830 – 1886)

 

La Beauté

Je suis belle, ô mortels! comme un rêve de pierre,
Et mon sein, où chacun s’est meurtri tour à tour,
Est fait pour inspirer au poète un amour
Eternel et muet ainsi que la matière.

Je trône dans l’azur comme un sphinx incompris;
J’unis un coeur de neige à la blancheur des cygnes;
Je hais le mouvement qui déplace les lignes,
Et jamais je ne pleure et jamais je ne ris.

Les poètes, devant mes grandes attitudes,
Que j’ai l’air d’emprunter aux plus fiers monuments,
Consumeront leurs jours en d’austères études;

Car j’ai, pour fasciner ces dociles amants,
De purs miroirs qui font toutes choses plus belles:
Mes yeux, mes larges yeux aux clartés éternelles!

Charles Baudelaire
(1821 – 1867)

 

Poems About Sculpture
Foreword by Robert Pinsky
Edited by Murray Dewart
Hardcover, 256 p.
ISBN 9781101907757
Publ. by Everyman’s Library, 2016

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: - Book News, Art & Literature News, Baudelaire, Charles, Dickinson, Emily, Museum of Literary Treasures, POETRY ARCHIVE, Sculpture


EMILY DICKINSON: ONE YEAR AGO

poetryarchive116

One Year ago

One Year ago — jots what?
God — spell the word! I — can’t —
Was’t Grace? Not that —
Was’t Glory? That — will do —
Spell slower — Glory —

Such Anniversary shall be —
Sometimes — not often — in Eternity —
When farther Parted, than the Common Woe —
Look — feed upon each other’s faces — so —
In doubtful meal, if it be possible
Their Banquet’s true —

I tasted — careless — then —
I did not know the Wine
Came once a World — Did you?
Oh, had you told me so —
This Thirst would blister — easier — now —
You said it hurt you — most —
Mine — was an Acorn’s Breast —
And could not know how fondness grew
In Shaggier Vest —
Perhaps — I couldn’t —
But, had you looked in —
A Giant — eye to eye with you, had been —
No Acorn — then —

So — Twelve months ago —
We breathed —
Then dropped the Air —
Which bore it best?
Was this — the patientest —
Because it was a Child, you know —
And could not value — Air?

If to be “Elder” — mean most pain —
I’m old enough, today, I’m certain — then —
As old as thee — how soon?
One — Birthday more — or Ten?
Let me — choose!
Ah, Sir, None!

Emily Dickinson

January 1, 2015
HAPPY NEW YEAR!

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Dickinson, Emily


EMILY DICKINSON: THE MARTYR POETS (vertaling Cornelis W. Schoneveld)

dickinsonemily

Emily Dickinson

(1830-1886)

The Martyr Poets

The Martyr Poets did not tell,
But wrought their Pang in syllable:
That, when their mortal name be numb,
Their mortal fate encourage Some.
The Martyr Painters never spoke,
Bequeathing—rather—to their Work:
That when their conscious fingers cease,
Some seek in Art the Art of Peace.

[4-voetige jambische regels, rijmschema aabb, 1 halfrijm]

 

De Dichter Martelaars

De Dichter Martelaars spraken niet,
Hun pijn bleek sprekend uit hun lied:
Dat men, hun naam gedood voorgoed,
Soms uit hun noodlot put voor moed.

De Schilder Martelaars, spraken nooit,
Vermaakten— veeleer—Werk voltooid;
Dat men, hun hand zijn vormkracht kwijt,
Uit Kunst, soms Vredeskunst bereidt.

Vertaling Cornelis W. Schoneveld

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Dickinson, Dickinson, Emily, TRANSLATION ARCHIVE


Emily Dickinson: I Died For Beauty

Emily Dickinson

(1830-1886)

I Died For Beauty

 

I died for beauty, but was scarce

Adjusted in the tomb,

When one who died for truth was lain

In an adjoining room.

 

He questioned softly why I failed?

“For beauty,” I replied.

“And I for truth, — the two are one;

We brethren are,” he said.

 

And so, as kinsmen met a night,

We talked between the rooms,

Until the moss had reached our lips,

And covered up our names.

 

Emily Dickinson poetry

kempis.nl poetry magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Dickinson, Emily


Emily Dickinson: The Last Night That She Lived

Emily Dickinson

(1830-1886)

The Last Night That She Lived

 

The last night that she lived,

It was a common night,

Except the dying; this to us

Made nature different.

 

We noticed smallest things, —

Things overlooked before,

By this great light upon our minds

Italicized, as ‘t were.

 

That others could exist

While she must finish quite,

A jealousy for her arose

So nearly infinite.

 

We waited while she passed;

It was a narrow time,

Too jostled were our souls to speak,

At length the notice came.

 

She mentioned, and forgot;

Then lightly as a reed

Bent to the water, shivered scarce,

Consented, and was dead.

 

And we, we placed the hair,

And drew the head erect;

And then an awful leisure was,

Our faith to regulate.

 

Emily Dickinson poetry

kempis.nl poetry magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Dickinson, Emily


Emily Dickinson: Death Is a Dialogue

Emily Dickinson

(1830-1886)

Death Is a Dialogue

 

Death is a dialogue between

The spirit and the dust.

“Dissolve,” says Death. The Spirit, “Sir,

I have another trust.”

 

Death doubts it, argues from the ground.

The Spirit turns away,

Just laying off, for evidence,

An overcoat of clay.

 

Emily Dickinson poetry

kempis.nl poetry magazine

More in: Archive C-D, Dickinson, Emily


Older Entries »

Thank you for reading FLEURSDUMAL.NL - magazine for art & literature