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The first critical edition of the complete poems of Basil Bunting (1900 – 1985), published on the fiftieth anniversary of his masterpiece, Briggflatts.
Basil Bunting is one of the most important British poets of the twentieth century, admired early on by Ezra Pound and Louis Zukofsky, and acknowledged since the 1930s as a major figure in the Modernist movement. Faber published a selection of his early work in Pound’sActive Anthology (1933), but Bunting’s reputation was not confirmed until decades later with the publication of his masterpiece, Briggflatts, by Fulcrum Press in 1966.
Bunting’s work was published throughout most of his life in editions from Oxford University Press, Bloodaxe Books, New Directions and various small presses. This is the first critical edition of the complete poems, and offers an accurate text with variants from all printed sources. Don Share annotates Bunting’s often complex and allusive verse, with much illuminating quotation from his prose writings, interviews and correspondence. He also examines Bunting’s sources (including Persian literature and classical mythology), and explores the Northumbrian roots of Bunting’s poetic vocabulary and use of dialect.
This important work of literary scholarship offers, for the first time, an edition commensurate with the achievement of this neglected Modernist master.
(…)
Night, float us.
Offshore wind, shout,
ask the sea
what’s lost, what’s left,
what horn sunk,
what crown adrift.
(Fragment from: Coda by Basil Bunting)
The first critical edition of the complete poems of Basil Bunting, published on the fiftieth anniversary of his masterpiece, Briggflatts. Basil Bunting is one of the most important British poets of the twentieth century, admired early on by Ezra Pound and Louis Zukofsky, and acknowledged since the 1930s as a major figure in the Modernist movement.
Faber published a selection of his early work in Pound’sActive Anthology (1933), but Bunting’s reputation was not confirmed until decades later with the publication of his masterpiece, Briggflatts, by Fulcrum Press in 1966. Bunting’s work was published throughout most of his life in editions from Oxford University Press, Bloodaxe Books, New Directions and various small presses.
This first critical edition of the complete poems offers an accurate text with variants from all printed sources. Don Share annotates Bunting’s often complex and allusive verse, with much illuminating quotation from his prose writings, interviews and correspondence. He also examines Bunting’s sources (including Persian literature and classical mythology), and explores the Northumbrian roots of Bunting’s poetic vocabulary and use of dialect.
This important work of literary scholarship offers, for the first time, an edition commensurate with the achievement of this neglected Modernist master.
The Poems of Basil Bunting
Basil Bunting
Hardcover
624 pages
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Main edition (2016)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 057123500X
ISBN-13: 978-0571235001
£30.00
Books That Everyone Should Read
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: - Book Stories, Archive A-B, EDITOR'S CHOICE
Die Ersten
Die Ersten sinds, sie sind im besten Zug
Vom willenlosen Haufen sich zu lösen.
Erkennend eitel Schimmer, seichten Trug
Der großen Reden abgenützte Blößen,
Klangvolle Phrasen, ein vereinter Schwall
Der überflutet Erdehöhen und Täler,
Allüberall der gleiche Wiederhall,
Der gleiche Köder und der gleiche Wähler.
Wohl wächst der Massen Schrei nach Glück und Brot
Doch übertönt er nicht die Worte der Vertreter,
Es fallen Opfer tiefster Seelennot,
Die Masse fällt dein Zeichen der Verräter.
So lausch ich freudig, wenn mit wildem Schrei
Die Brust erfüllt von froher Zukunft ahnen
Sich einer ringt vom Heerdentaumel frei
Kraftvoll empor auf selbstgewollten Bahnen.
Hugo Ball
(1886 – 1927)
Erstdruck in:
Der Revoluzzer (Zürich),
2. Jg., Nr. 4/5, Mai 1916.
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DE ENGEL
Ik had een Droom, die uitleg vraagt!
’k Was een Prinses en was een maagd,
Door een Engel mild bewaakt:
Dwaas verdriet werd nooit gelaakt!
En ik huilde dag en nacht,
En mijn wee werd steeds verzacht,
En ik huilde nacht en dag
En verborg mijn blijde lach.
Dus hij vluchtte op wieken heen;
Toen de dag met blos verscheen
Stelde ik mij, traan droog, te weer
Duizendvoud met schild en speer.
En mijn Engel keerde weer,
Maar mijn wapen sloeg hem neer;
Want mijn jeugdtijd was voorbij,
En grijs hoofdhaar tooide mij
William Blake
vertaald door: Dr. Cornelis W. Schoneveld
THE ANGEL
I Dreamt a Dream! what can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen:
Guarded by an Angel mild;
Witless woe, was neer beguil’d!
And I wept both night and day
And he wip’d my tears away
And I wept both day and night
And hid from him my hearts delight
So he took his wings and fled:
Then the morn blush’d rosy red:
I dried my tears & armd my fears,
With ten thousand shields and spears.
Soon my Angel came again;
I was arm’d, he came in vain:
For the time of youth was fled
And grey hairs were on my head
William Blake (1757 – 1827)
Poem: The Angel
Vertaling uit:
Verzen van Onschuld en van Ervaring
William Blake
vertaald door: Dr. Cornelis W. Schoneveld
paperback
gebrocheerd
€ 20,00
ISBN: 978-90-824288-1-0
geïllustreerd
116 blz.
mei 2017
Uitgeverij De Wilde Tomaat
new translations
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: - Book Stories, Archive A-B, Blake, Blake, William, TRANSLATION ARCHIVE
La Chanson Du Malaime
Un soir de demi-brume à Londres
Un voyou qui ressemblait à
Mon amour vint à ma rencontre
Et le regard qu’il me jeta
Me fit baisser les yeux de honte
Je suivis ce mauvais garçon
Qui sifflotait mains dans les poches
Nous semblions entre les maisons
Onde ouverte de la mer Rouge
Lui les Hébreux moi Pharaon
Qui tombent ces vagues de briques
Si tu ne fus pas bien aimée
Je suis le souverain d’Egypte
Sa sœur-épouse son armée
Si tu n’es pas l’amour unique.
Guillaume Apollinaire
(1880 – 1918)
La Chanson Du Malaime
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When we two parted
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.
Lord George Gordon Noel Byron
(1788 – 1824)
When we two are parted
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Byron, Lord
La Dame
Toc toc Il a fermé sa porte
Les lys du jardin sont flétris
Quel est donc ce mort qu’on emporte
Tu viens de toquer à sa porte
Et trotte trotte
Trotte la petite souris
Guillaume Apollinaire
(1880 – 1918)
La Dame
Alcools – poèmes 1898-1913
Paris : Éditions de la Nouvelle Revue française,
troisième édition, 1920
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Apollinaire, Guillaume, Archive A-B, Guillaume Apollinaire
More in: - Book News, - Fantom Ebooks, Archive A-B, Art & Literature News, Bezembinder, Paul, PRESS & PUBLISHING
Caprice
Een gedicht zwicht niet voor het schuurpapier
van de logica en dus spoed ik mij op de cadans
van een stencilmachine in dromen door een stad
die het Milaan van Ermanno Olmi moet zijn.
Hoe er oogharen van Lombarden in hun keramiek
zijn beland, er verraad à gogo wordt gepleegd.
Beloftes aan het verleden hebben geen zin.
Bert Bevers
Gedicht: Caprice
Uit Andere taal, Uitgeverij Litera Este, Borgerhout, 2010
Bert Bevers is a poet and writer who lives and works in Antwerp (Be)
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, Bevers, Bert
Vandaag verschijnt het nieuwste deel in de reeks digitale publicaties van fleursdumal.nl, Fantom Ebooks. Fantom Ebooks nummer 2 is een werk van de Eindhovense dichter, schrijver en vertaler Paul Bezembinder, getiteld ‘Kwatrijnen. Filosofische Verkenningen’. De e-bundel omvat achttien filosofische en absurdistische kwatrijnen.
Bezembinder (1961) studeerde theoretische natuurkunde in Nijmegen. In zijn poëzie zoekt hij in vooral klassieke versvormen en thema’s naar de balans tussen serieuze poëzie, pastiche en smartlap. Zijn gedichten (Nederlands) en vertalingen (Russisch- Nederlands) verschenen in verschillende (online) literaire tijdschriften, waaronder fleursdumal.nl. Voorbeelden van zijn werk zijn ook te vinden op zijn website: www.paulbezembinder.nl
Fantom Ebooks is een uitgave van Art Brut Digital Editions en publiceert onregelmatig bijzondere kunst- en literatuurprojecten. Deel 3 verschijnt eind 2018. Fantom Ebooks nummer 1 is de bundel OVERVLOED van dichter Bert Bevers. Deze bevat tien verschillende vertalingen van het gedicht ‘Overvloed’ van Bert Bevers.
PAUL BEZEMBINDER
KWATRIJNEN
Filosofische Verkenningen
FANTOM EBOOKS
Art Brut Digital Editions
Series Fantom Ebooks
www.fleursdumal.nl
FANTOM 2
Fantom Ebooks 2018
ISBN: 978-90-76326-10-8
NUR 306
1ste PDF-uitgave FANTOM2, Juni 2018
GRATIS te downloaden via onderstaande LINK
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: - Book Lovers, - Book News, - Fantom Ebooks, Archive A-B, Art & Literature News, Bezembinder, Paul, PRESS & PUBLISHING
Growing Old
But now at thirty years my hair is grey—
(I wonder what it will be like at forty ?
I thought of a peruke the other day—)
My heart is not much greener ; and, in short, I
Have squandered my whole summer while ’twas May,
And feel no more the spirit to retort ; I
Have spent my life, both interest and principal,
And deem not, what I deemed, my soul invincible.
No more—no more—Oh ! never more on me
The freshness of the heart can fall like dew,
Which out of all the lovely things we see
Extracts emotions beautiful and new ;
Hived in our bosoms like the bag o’ the bee.
Think’st thou the honey with those objects grew ?
Alas ! ’twas not in them, but in thy power
To double even the sweetness of a flower.
No more—no more—Oh! never more my heart,
Canst thou be my sole world, my universe !
Once all in all, but now a thing apart,
Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse :
The illusion’s gone for ever, and thou art
Insensible, I trust, but none the worse,
And in thy stead I’ve got a deal of judgement,
Thou Heaven knows how it ever found a lodgement.
My days of love are over ; me no more
The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow,
Can make the fool of which they made before,—
In short, I must not lead the life I did do ;
The credulous hope of mutual minds is o’er,
The copious use of claret is forbid too,
So for a good old-gentlemanly vice,
I think I must take up with avarice.
Ambition was my idol, which was broken
Before the shrines of Sorrow, and of Pleasure ;
And the two last have left me many a token
O’er which reflection may be made at leisure :
Now, like Friar Bacon’s Brazen Head, I’ve spoken,
‘Time is, Time was, Time’s past’ : a chymic treasure
Is glittering Youth, which I have spent betimes—
My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.
What is the end of Fame ? ’tis but to fill
A certain portion of uncertain paper :
Some liken it to climbing up a hill,
Whose summit, like all hills, is lost in vapour ;
For this men write, speak, preach, and heroes kill,
And bards burn what they call their ‘midnight taper’,
To have, when the original is dust,
A name, a wretched picture and worse bust.
What are the hopes of man ? Old Egypt’s King
Cheops erected the first Pyramid
And largest, thinking it was just the thing
To keep his memory whole, and mummy hid ;
But somebody or other rummaging,
Burglariously broke his coffin’s lid :
Let not a monument give you or me hopes,
Since not a pinch of dust remains of Cheops.
But I, being fond of true philosophy,
Say very often to myself, ‘Alas!
All things that have been born were born to die,
And flesh (which Death mows down to hay) is grass ;
You’ve passed your youth not so unpleasantly,
And if you had it o’er again—’twould pass—
So thank your stars that matters are no worse,
And read your Bible, sir, and mind your purse.’
Lord Byron (1788-1824)
Growing Old
fleursdumal.nl magazine
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Bagatelle
Vor meinem Fenster,
Im Sonnenschein
Sitzen Engelein.
Eins, zwei, drei Engelein
Und äugeln herein.
Sie hauchen an die Scheiben
Und kichern sich an,
Und schreiben
Deinen Namen hin.
Und kichern sich an
Und verwischen ihn.
Und blinzeln gar boshaft
Und neckisch herein,
Und flattern fort
Die drei Engelein.
Hugo Ball
(1886-1927)
Bagatelle
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Ball, Hugo, DADA, Dada, Dadaïsme
In de doorslaap
Vriendelijk verwant zoals het werkwoord gapen
dat met slapen is liggen wij stilletjes hand in hand.
De hele nacht door sliep je lekker maar tegen
de ochtend werd je steeds weer van een piepje
wakker. Het leek of je keek naar de klei die ik kneed
alsof je weet dat het andere wolken zijn dan van donker:
in de doorslaap kerven zich de klamste dromen.
Bert Bevers
Gedicht: In de doorslaap
Uit Andere taal, Uitgeverij Litera Este, Borgerhout, 2010
Bert Bevers is a poet and writer who lives and works in Antwerp (Be)
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, Bevers, Bert
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