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On Seeing a Piece of Our Artillery Brought into Action
Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm,
Great gun towering towards Heaven, about to curse;
Sway steep against them, and for years rehearse
Huge imprecations like a blasting charm!
Reach at that Arrogance which needs thy harm,
And beat it down before its sins grow worse;
Spend our resentment, cannon,–yea, disburse
Our gold in shapes of flame, our breaths in storm.
Yet, for men’s sakes whom thy vast malison
Must wither innocent of enmity,
Be not withdrawn, dark arm, thy spoilure done,
Safe to the bosom of our prosperity.
But when thy spell be cast complete and whole,
May God curse thee, and cut thee from our soul!
Wilfred Owen
(1893 – 1918)
On Seeing a Piece of Our Artillery Brought into Action
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More in: Archive O-P, Owen, Wilfred, WAR & PEACE
W is de hoofdpersoon in de gedichten van De jongenskamer die samen één verhalend gedicht vormen.
Het begint in de jaren voor de Tweede Wereldoorlog en eindigt in de onherkenbaar veranderde wereld van nu – maar wel met een liefdesgedicht.
De kamer achter de werkplaats van W’s vader, een kleermaker, is de plek waar onder invloed van de tijd en de geschiedenis de eerste ideeën van W en zijn broers ontstaan over liefde, vriendschap, kunst en sport – én over de politieke en sociale werkelijkheid en de rol die het individu daarin kan spelen.
Al de liefdeservaringen, de vriendschappen, de boeken, de reizen die het leven van W bepalen, lijken toch altijd met onzichtbare draden verbonden met de eerste waarnemingen uit de jongenskamer.
Willem van Toorn (Amsterdam, 1935) is dichter, schrijver en vertaler. Hij publiceerde een groot aantal romans en verhalen- en gedichtenbundels, en was redacteur van het literair tijdschrift Raster.
Willem van Toorn
De jongenskamer.
Een gedicht
Uitgeverij: Querido
Paperback
ISBN: 9789021409351
Prijs: € 17,99
Publicatiedatum: 13-02-2018
new poetry
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More in: - Book News, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Art & Literature News, LITERARY MAGAZINES, Willem van Toorn
Die Sonne
Zwischen meinen Augenlidern fährt ein Kinderwagen.
Zwischen meinen Augenlidern geht ein Mann mit einem Pudel.
Eine Baumgruppe wird zum Schlangenbündel und zischt in den Himmel.
Ein Stein hält eine Rede. Bäume in Grünbrand. Fliehende Inseln.
Schwanken und Muschelgeklingel und Fischkopf wie auf dem Meeresboden.
Meine Beine strecken sich aus bis zum Horizont. Eine Hofkutsche knackt
Drüber weg. Meine Stiefel ragen am Horizont empor wie die Türme einer
Versinkenden Stadt. Ich bin der Riese Goliath. Ich verdaue Ziegenkäse.
Ich bin ein Mammuthkälbchen. Grüne Grasigel schnüffeln an mir.
Gras spannt grüne Säbel und Brücken und Regenbögen über meinen Bauch.
Meine Ohren sind rosa Riesenmuscheln, ganz offen. Mein Körper schwillt an
Von Geräuschen, die sich gefangen haben darin.
Ich höre das Meckern
Des großen Pan. Ich höre die zinnoberrote Musik der Sonne. Sie steht
Links oben. Zinnoberrot sprühen die Fetzen hinaus in die Weltnacht.
Wenn sie herunterfällt, zerquetscht sie die Stadt und die Kirchtürme
Und alle Vorgärten voll Krokus und Hyazinthen, und wird einen Schall geben
Wie Blech von Kindertrompeten.
Aber es ist in der Luft ein Gegeneinanderwehen von Purpur und Eigelb
Und Flaschengrün: Schaukeln, die eine orangene Faust festhält an langen Fäden,
Und ist ein Singen von Vogelhälsen, die über die Zweige hüpfen.
Ein sehr zartes Gestänge von Kinderfahnen.
Morgen wird man die Sonne auf einen großrädrigen Wagen laden
Und in die Kunsthandlung Caspari fahren. Ein viehköpfiger Neger
Mit wulstigein Nacken, Blähnase und breitem Schritt wird fünfzig weiß-
Juckende Esel halten, die vor den Wagen gespannt sind beim Pyramidenbau.
Eine Menge blutbunten Volks wird sich stauen:
Kindsbetterinnen und Ammen,
Kranke im Fahrstuhl, ein stelzender Kranich, zwei Veitstänzerinnen.
Ein Herr mit einer Ripsschleifenkrawatte und ein rotduftender Schutzmann.
Ich kann mich nicht halten: Ich bin voller Seligkeit. Die Fensterkreuze
Zerplatzen. Ein Kinderfräulein hängt bis zum Nabel aus einem Fenster heraus.
Ich kann mir nicht helfen: Die Dome zerplatzen mit Orgelfugen. Ich will
Eine neue Sonne schaffen. Ich will zwei gegeneinanderschlagen
Wie Zymbeln, und meiner Dame die Hand hinreichen. Wir werden entschweben
In einer violetten Sänfte über die Dächer euerer
Hellgelben Stadt wie Lampenschirme aus Seidenpapier im Zugwind.
Hugo Ball
(1886 – 1927)
Erstdruck in:
Die Aktion (Berlin),
4. Jg., Nr. 22, Mai 1914
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More in: Archive A-B, Ball, Hugo, DADA, Dada, Dadaïsme
The Outlaw’s Song
The chough and crow to roost are gone,
The owl sits on the tree,
The hush’d wind wails with feeble moan,
Like infant charity.
The wild-fire dances on the fen,
The red star sheds its ray;
Uprouse ye then, my merry men!
It is our op’ning day.
Both child and nurse are fast asleep,
And closed is every flower,
And winking tapers faintly peep
High from my lady’s bower;
Bewilder’d hinds with shorten’d ken
Shrink on their murky way;
Uprouse ye then, my merry men!
It is our op’ning day.
Nor board nor garner own we now,
Nor roof nor latched door,
Nor kind mate, bound by holy vow
To bless a good man’s store;
Noon lulls us in a gloomy den,
And night is grown our day;
Uprouse ye then, my merry men!
And use it as ye may.
Joanna Baillie
(1762-1851)
The Outlaw’s Song
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More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, CLASSIC POETRY
Here, for the first time, is a volume that gathers the published verse of Allen Ginsberg in its entirety, a half century of brilliant work from one of America’s great poets.
As the chief figure among the Beats, Ginsberg changed the course of American poetry, liberating it from closed academic forms with the creation of open, vocal, spontaneous, and energetic postmodern verse. Ginsberg’s raw tones and attitudes of spiritual liberation also helped catalyze a psychological revolution that has become a permanent part of our cultural heritage, profoundly influencing not only poetry, popular song, and speech but also our view of the world.
Allen Ginsberg (1926 – 1997) was the son of Naomi Ginsberg, Russian émigré, and Louis Ginsberg, lyric poet and school teacher, in Paterson, N.J. To these facts Ginsberg adds: “High school in Paterson till 17, Columbia College, merchant marine, Texas and Denver copyboy, Times Square, amigos in jail, dishwashing, book reviews, Mexico City, market research, Satori in Harlem, Yucatan and Chiapas 1954, West Coast 3 years. Later Arctic Sea trip, Tangier, Venice, Amsterdam, Paris, read at Oxford Harvard Columbia Chicago, quit, wrote “Kaddish” 1959, made tape to leave behind & fade in Orient awhile. Carl Solomon to whom “Howl” is addressed, is a intuitive Bronx dadaist and prose-poet.”
Title: Collected Poems 1947-1997
Author: Allen Ginsberg
Publisher: Harper Perennial Modern Classics
Title First Published: 2007
Format: Paperback
ISBN-10 0061139750
ISBN-13 9780061139758
1216 pages
$25.99
poetry books
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More in: #Beat Generation Archives, - Book News, Archive G-H, Archive G-H, Ginsberg, Allen
De laatste s
Het hart zij zuiver binnenin, niet meer door
dwaze trots verteerd, het lichaam matig,
afgekeerd van overdaad en rein van zin. Sint
pura cordis íntima, absístat et vecórdia: carnis
terat supérbiam potus cibíque párcitas. Hij houdt
van het doorsissen van de laatste s, van geloven
tegen de draad in. Hij ziet zijn mensen graag.
De hostie kleeft hen in de mond. Ze zijn zo zeker
dat ze niet meer weten van welke parochie ze zijn.
Bert Bevers
Gedicht: De laatste s
Uit Andere taal, Uitgeverij Litera Este, Borgerhout, 2010
Bert Bevers is a poet and writer who lives and works in Antwerp (Be)
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More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, Bevers, Bert
From the self-illustrated, unpublished work written in 1947 to hardboiled contributions to 1980s adult magazines, The Bells Tolls for No One presents the entire range of Bukowski’s talent as a short story writer, from straight-up genre stories to postmodern blurring of fact and fiction.
An informative introduction by editor David Stephen Calonne provides historical context for these seemingly scandalous and chaotic tales, revealing the hidden hand of the master at the top of his form.
Born in Andernach, Germany, and raised in Los Angeles, Charles Bukowski published his first story when he was twenty-four and began writing poetry at the age of thirty-five. His first book of poetry was published in 1959; he would eventually publish more than forty-five books of poetry and prose. He died of leukemia in San Pedro, California on March 9, 1994.
David Stephen Calonne is the author of several books and has edited three previous collections of the uncollected work of Charles Bukowski for City Lights: Absence of the Hero, Portions from a Wine-Stained Notebook, and More Notes of a Dirty Old Man.
The Paris Review:
“Bukowski’s The Bell Tolls for No One, recently released in a comic-book-like paperback, follows the hardboiled genre bent that reached its surreal apotheosis in his final novel, Pulp. The obvious influence is to Hemingway—see: the title—but perhaps more interestingly, the editor David Stephen Calonne notes Bukowski’s debt to the crime writer James M. Cain, who had also, unbeknownst to me, shaped the style of Camus’s The Stranger. The book includes some of Bukowski’s roughly drawn illustrations, which fall somewhere close to pornographic Ziggy or adult-themed New Yorker cartoons. One features an asthmatic customer at an adult bookstore asking the cashier to inflate his blow-up doll for him; another shows an expressionistically drawn party girl surrounded by gawking men with the caption “God, a woman could get bored.” The subject matter is a more amplified version of the usual Bukowski fare—stalwart, sleazebag protagonists; spectral, deathly women with emphatically described upper legs. As always, the most one can hope for in Bukowski’s universe is “a grim yet comfortable isolation.”—Casey Henry in The Paris Review
“He had a good wife. I remember one time they cleaned
up my face with cotton and some kind of sterilizer when
it was all smashed-in from a bad night out. They seemed
very tender and concerned and serious about my smashed-
in face, and it was a very odd feeling to me, that care.
Anyhow, the drinking got to Mick, and it gets to each
of us differently. With him, the body swelled up, doubled,
tripled in size in various places. He couldn’t zip his pants
and had to cut slits in the pant legs. His story was that they
didn’t have a bed for him in the vet’s hospital. My feeling
was that he didn’t want to go there. Anyhow, one day he
made a foolish move and tried the General Hospital.
After a couple of days he phoned me. “Jesus Christ,
they’re killing me! I’ve never seen a place like this. No doc-
tors anywhere and nurses don’t give a damn and just these
fruit orderlies running around like snobs and happy that
everybody’s sick and dying. What the fuck is this place?
They’re carrying the dead out by the dozens!”
-Charles Bukowski
Title: The Bell Tolls for No One
Author: Charles Bukowski
Edited by David Stephen Calonne
Publisher City Lights Publishers
Format Paperback
ISBN-10 0872866823
ISBN-13 9780872866829
Publication Date 14 July 2015
308 pages
Price $14.95
short story writer books
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More in: - Book News, Archive A-B, Archive A-B, Art & Literature News, Bukowski, Charles
Nächte
Deine Hände keimen in Finsternissen,
Und ich seh nicht, wie sie blühn,
Atmend aus dem Schnee der Kissen.
Meeresgrün,
Wogengrau verglitzern deine Augen;
Meine Wange leckt ihr Schaum.
Nelkenrote Quallen saugen . . .
Süßes Harz von weißem Birkenbaum
Tropft die Stille goldbraun nieder . . .
O breiter Flügel, zuckender Schulter entstiegen !
O bleicher Schwanenflügel, der mich beschattet!
O Nacken, flaumige Brust, o Leib, den ein Wiegen
Verschilfter Bucht umschläfert, zärtlich ermattet !
Libellensirrendes Wispern . . .
Gertrud Kolmar
(1894-1943)
gedicht: Nächte
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More in: Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Kolmar, Gertrud
In this magisterial study of the relationship between illness and art, the best-selling author of An Unquiet Mind, Kay Redfield Jamison, brings an entirely fresh understanding to the work and life of Robert Lowell (1917-1977), whose intense, complex, and personal verse left a lasting mark on the English language and changed the public discourse about private matters.
In his Pulitzer Prize-winning poetry, Robert Lowell put his manic-depressive illness (now known as bipolar disorder) into the public domain, creating a language for madness that was new and arresting. As Dr. Jamison brings her expertise in mood disorders to bear on Lowell’s story, she illuminates not only the relationships among mania, depression, and creativity but also the details of Lowell’s treatment and how illness and treatment influenced the great work that he produced (and often became its subject).
Lowell’s New England roots, early breakdowns, marriages to three eminent writers, friendships with other poets such as Elizabeth Bishop, his many hospitalizations, his vivid presence as both a teacher and a maker of poems—Jamison gives us the poet’s life through a lens that focuses our understanding of his intense discipline, courage, and commitment to his art. Jamison had unprecedented access to Lowell’s medical records, as well as to previously unpublished drafts and fragments of poems, and she is the first biographer to have spoken with his daughter, Harriet Lowell. With this new material and a psychologist’s deep insight, Jamison delivers a bold, sympathetic account of a poet who was—both despite and because of mental illness—a passionate, original observer of the human condition.
Kay Redfield Jamison is the Dalio Family Professor in Mood Disorders and a professor of psychiatry at the Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine, as well as an honorary professor of English at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland. She is the author of the national best sellers An Unquiet Mind, Night Falls Fast, and Touched with Fire, and is the coauthor of the standard medical text on bipolar disorder, Manic-Depressive Illness: Bipolar Disorders and Recurrent Depression. Dr. Jamison is a Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences and the Royal Society of Edinburgh and is a recipient of the Lewis Thomas Prize, the Sarnat International Prize in Mental Health from the National Academy of Medicine, and a John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Fellowship. She is married to Thomas Traill, a cardiologist at the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine.
Robert Lowell, Setting the River on Fire
A Study of Genius, Mania, and Character
By Kay Redfield Jamison
Literary Figure Biographies & Memoirs
Paperback
Feb 06, 2018
560 Pages
$18.95
Published by Vintage
ISBN 9780307744616
new books
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: - Book News, Archive I-J, Archive K-L, Archive K-L, BIOGRAPHY, DRUGS & DISEASE & MEDICINE & LITERATURE, Robert Lowell
De Amsterdamse schrijver en dichter F.Starik (pseudoniem van Frank von der Möhlen) is vorige week vrijdag (16 maart 2018) overleden aan een hartstilstand. Hij was 59 jaar oud.
Starik schreef tien dichtbundels en was een van de dichters die bij toerbeurt in Amsterdam een speciaal geschreven gedicht voorlazen bij de uitvaart van eenzaam gestorven mensen.
Hij trad regelmatig op, op festivals als Oerol en Lowlands en literaire evenementen als De Nacht van de Poëzie en Crossing Border. Afgelopen zondag was zijn laatste optreden, op het internationale dichtersfestival StAnza, in Schotland.
F. Starik was stadsdichter van Amsterdam van 2010 tot 2012. Bij zijn afscheid als stadsdichter ontving hij van burgemeester Van der Laan het Ereteken van Verdienste.
# meer informatie over Starik is te vinden op de website van zijn uitgeverij Nieuw Amsterdam
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More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Art & Literature News, Galerie des Morts, In Memoriam
Het besluit van president Trump de Amerikaanse ambassade in Israël naar Jeruzalem te verhuizen inspireerde Patti Smith tot het schrijven van een gedicht, The New Jerusalem.
Dit nieuwe, nog ongepubliceerde werk van de beroemde punkpoëet verschijnt exclusief bij Nexus als tweetalige uitgave in de Nexus Bibliotheek. Naast The New Jerusalem zal deze uitgave ook een drietal eerdere gedichten bevatten. De vertaling van de gedichten wordt verzorgd door Onno Kosters. The New Jerusalem wordt gepresenteerd bij het Nexus-symposium ‘An Education in Counterculture’, 26 mei in Amsterdam.
. . .these things we saw written on the immense screen once known as sky. And these things we heard as prophecy’s lullaby. The mountain is the mountain. The Lord is the Lord. The holy city belongs to none. The mountains of Judah belong to none. The yielding seed belongs to none. And we are the new Jerusalem.
Patti Smith, USA 1946, is zangeres en dichteres. Als ‘Godmother of Punk’ protesteerde zij met krachtige, controversiële muziek tegen de gevestigde orde en wezenloze fabrieksarbeid in de vercommercialiseerde wereld. Ze groeide op met de muziek van Bob Dylan, leefde samen met fotograaf Robert Mapplethorpe en werd een bekend gezicht in de turbulente New Yorkse kunstscene.
In 1974 begon Smith op te treden met gitarist Lenny Kaye, met wie ze nog steeds de kern van de band The Patti Smith Group vormt. Haar debuutalbum Horses (1975) wordt gezien als een van de invloedrijkste albums in de geschiedenis van de rockmuziek. Samen met Bruce Springsteen schreef ze Because the Night, haar grootste hit. Naast vele albums schreef Smith ook dichtbundels en boeken, waaronder Just Kids (2010), haar bekroonde autobiografie over het leven in New York in de jaren zeventig en haar relatie met Mapplethorpe.
Nexus Bibliotheek
Patti Smith:
The New Jerusalem (mei 2018)
Nexus Bibliotheek deel XII,
tweetalige,
gebonden editie
Patti Smith
Spreker bij:
An Education in Counterculture
Nexus-symposium
26 mei 2018
13.30 – 17.30
DeLaMar Theater Amsterdam
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More in: #Editors Choice Archiv, - Book Lovers, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Art & Literature News, Bob Dylan, Literary Events, LITERARY MAGAZINES, Nexus Instituut, Patti Smith, Smith, Patti
The Voice
Atoms as old as stars,
Mutation on mutation,
Millions and millions of cells
Dividing yet still the same,
From air and changing earth,
From ancient Eastern rivers,
From turquoise tropic seas,
Unto myself I came.
My spirit like my flesh
Sprang from a thousand sources,
From cave-man, hunter and shepherd,
From Karnak, Cyprus, Rome;
The living thoughts in me
Spring from dead men and women,
Forgotten time out of mind
And many as bubbles of foam.
Here for a moment’s space
Into the light out of darkness,
I come and they come with me
Finding words with my breath;
From the wisdom of many life-times
I hear them cry: ‘Forever
Seek for Beauty, she only
Fights with man against Death!’
Sara Teasdale
(1884 – 1933)
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More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
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