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Lord Byron
I Watched Thee
I watched thee when the foe was at our side
Ready to strike at him, or thee and me
Were safety hopeless rather than divide
Aught with one loved, save love and liberty.
I watched thee in the breakers when the rock
Received our prow and all was storm and fear
And bade thee cling to me through every shock
This arm would be thy bark or breast thy bier.
I watched thee when the fever glazed thine eyes
Yielding my couch, and stretched me on the ground
When overworn with watching, ne’er to rise
From thence, if thou an early grave hadst found.
The Earthquake came and rocked the quivering wall
And men and Nature reeled as if with wine
Whom did I seek around the tottering Hall
For thee, whose safety first provide for thine.
And when convulsive throes denied my breath
The faintest utterance to my fading thought
To thee, to thee, even in the grasp of death
My spirit turned. Ah! oftener than it ought.
Thus much and more, and yet thou lov’st me not,
And never wilt, Love dwells not in our will
Nor can I blame thee, though it be my lot
To strongly, wrongly, vainly, love thee still.
Lord George Gordon Noel Byron (1788 – 1824)
I Watched Thee
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Byron, Lord
Robert Bridges
My delight and thy delight
My delight and thy delight
Walking, like two angels white,
In the gardens of the night:
My desire and thy desire
Twinning to a tongue of fire,
Leaping live, and laughing higher;
Thro’ the everlasting strife
In the mystery of life.
Love, from whom the world begun,
Hath the secret of the sun.
Love can tell and love alone,
Whence the million stars are strewn,
Why each atom knows its own,
How, in spite of woe and death,
Gay is life, and sweet is breath:
This he taught us, this we knew,
Happy in his science true,
Hand in hand as we stood
‘Neath the shadows of the wood,
Heart to heart as we lay
In the dawning of the day.
Robert Seymour Bridges (1844 – 1930)
My delight and thy delight
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Bridges, Robert
INCUBATE ♦ cutting edge festival in Tilburg ♦ will not continue in 2017
Incubate is heavily disappointed by the decision of the Municipality of Tilburg to not provide any more funding in 2017. This news comes after the Province of Noord-Brabant already cut funding for the coming four years. The organisation finds it financially irresponsible to continue and will therefore cease its activities.
“Incubate is proud to have been able to create a festival with exciting, creative, cutting-edge arts in the past 13 years, together with its 500+ volunteers and partners. We have thus inspired many other musicians, artists, organisers and other festivals, and we hope that they use some of that impact for their own future,” said Miriam van Ommeren and Arthur Janssen on behalf of Incubate.
13 years of Incubate
Over the past 13 years, Incubate has become one of the leading multidisciplinary festivals in Europe. It was and still is internationally acclaimed by press, artists and visitors. Incubate was the first Dutch festival to bring artists such as Psychic TV, Pauline Oliveros, Sun Ra Arkestra, Fields of the Nephilim, James Blake and Cabaret Voltaire to the Netherlands and to create a platform for themes such as piracy in the arts, public participation, and innovation. It was the first to invite speakers like Charles Leadbeater, Simon Reynolds and Andrew Keen and internationally renowned artists such as Hermann Nitsch, Santiago Sierra, Wendy White and Ryan Trecartin to Tilburg, connecting them with local emerging artists.
Social impact
The festival instigated both social and artistic debate. Throughout the years, it provided a space for thousands of artists and tens of thousands of visitors from more than 48 countries. Many of them visited Tilburg for the very first time, and kept coming back. The wider public has become acquainted with the festival through remarkable projects in public spaces, for instance the more than hundred pianos from British artist Luke Jerram, the thousands of portraits of mothers in the city in cooperation with French artist JR and the activities around Iconostase 180, a sculpture by renowned architect Yona Friedman, which took place last Summer. These projects brought the entire city into contact with avant-garde art and culture.
New model in 2016
In 2015, a financial deficit was supplemented by the Province of Noord-Brabant and the Municipality of Tilburg, on specific conditions to the organisation. All these conditions have been met in 2016: three successful editions of Incubate took place in this year, with good results on an artistic, organisational and financial level. Both audience and press were positive about the new direction: just this week, the festival was added to the list of 50 most important festivals of the Netherlands by 3voor12, a Dutch music platform.
The organisation deeply regrets that, through this decision, Tilburg will lose a unique festival of international standing. This will certainly have an adverse effect on the conditions and opportunities in Tilburg for young artists, emerging bands, recently graduated filmmakers and game developers and progressive, culture-loving citizens. The organisation entreats that the Municipality of Tilburg will use the now available funds as designated; to provide substantial and accessible art and culture in the city and the wider region. Although there will no longer be a festival held by the organisation, the foundation will continue to exist for now.
February 23, 2017
Stadsdichter van Tilburg =
Martin Beversluis: Requiem
Aan Incubate
We reden op fietsen van licht
en geluid door de stad we gaven
onze varkens een S van stro
vlekkie en spekkie aten het gulzig
we koesterden de foto’s van onze
moeders die niet weg mochten
waaien nooit weg konden waaien
een festival werd langzaamaan
gesloopt door bureaucraten er
stonden piano’s op straat die
zeiden bespeel me want ik ben
van jou er was controverse
zoals er ook altijd ontroering
was er waren polsbandjes er
was een stad voor vriendelijke
mensen van heinde en verre
waar je broedplaatsen moest
koesteren want die waren je
toekomst stad van makers in
een land van slopers die hun
mouwen stropen en opgaan
voor moord de raad vraagt
om een nekschot maar de
wethouder zegt ik wurg
de makers zien de leegte
komen en benoemen deze
stad heet vanaf nu Stilburg
Martin Beversluis
Feb. 2017
# Meer info op website incubate
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: # Music Archive, Archive A-B, Art & Literature News, Beversluis, Martin, MUSIC, THEATRE
William Blake
The Tiger
Tiger Tiger. burning bright,
In the forests of the night;
What immortal hand or eye.
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies.
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand, dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat.
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain,
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp.
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears
And watered heaven with their tears:
Did he smile His work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger Tiger burning bright,
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye,
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
William Blake (1757 – 1827)
The Tiger
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Blake, William
Lord Byron
She Walks In Beauty like the night
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Lord George Gordon Noel Byron (1788 – 1824)
She Walks In Beauty like the night
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Byron, Lord
Robert Bridges
I love all beauteous things
I love all beauteous things,
I seek and adore them;
God hath no better praise,
And man in his hasty days
Is honoured for them.
I too will something make
And joy in the making!
Altho’ tomorrow it seem’
Like the empty words of a dream
Remembered, on waking.
Robert Seymour Bridges (1844 – 1930)
I love all beauteous things
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Bridges, Robert
William Blake
The Chimney Sweeper
When my mother died I was very young,
And my father sold me while yet my tongue,
Could scarcely cry weep weep weep weep,
So your chimneys I sweep & in soot I sleep.
Theres little Tom Dacre, who cried when his head
That curled like a lambs back was shav’d, so I said.
Hush Tom never mind it, for when your head’s bare,
You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair
And so he was quiet. & that very night.
As Tom was a sleeping he had such a sight
That thousands of sweepers Dick, Joe, Ned, & Jack
Were all of them lock’d up in coffins of black,
And by came an Angel who had a bright key
And he open’d the coffins & set them all free.
Then down a green plain leaping laughing they run
And wash in a river and shine in the Sun.
Then naked & white, all their bags left behind.
They rise upon clouds, and sport in the wind.
And the Angel told Tom, if he’d be a good boy,
He’d have God for his father & never want joy.
And so Tom awoke and we rose in the dark
And got with our bags & our brushes to work.
Tho’ the morning was cold, Tom was happy & warm
So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.
William Blake (1757 – 1827)
Poem: The Chimney Sweeper
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Blake, William
Bachten de Kupe
Je kunt wel putten in de aarde vloeken
omdat gebeden schaars zijn en schuren
als zand, maar beter is het trots te zijn
omdat je ergens gebleven bent. Waar je
dolend wakker kunt worden uit gemelijk
genot, geschaakte dromen, verzakende
grenzen. Waar je een vogel van vele lentes
herkent als jezelf. Toen ik ontwaakte wist
ik loepzuiver weer hoe gisteren voor me
een meisje huppelend riep: “Een olm is
een iep! Een olm is een iep! Een olm is
een iep!” Het is hier niet druk, maar kijk:
hier loopt niet ieder in zijn eigen ochtend.
Bert Bevers
Bert Bevers, gedichten
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Bevers, Bert
Haarscherp
O ja, Nel is zichzelf terug gaan zien. Een dikke
halve eeuw overleefde ze haar lieve Rik. Maar
ze ís zichzelf als Grande Dame als Dwaze Maagd
terug gaan zien. Met haar linkerhand raakte ze
haar eigen jonge rechterbil van brons lichtjes
grijnzend aan, eerder onbeholpen blikkend in
een andere lens. Wat zagen ze elkaar graag
in zot geweld. O, wat was ze destijds nog strak
toch. Toen hij haar zo vereeuwigde klonken er
lichte liederen waarin bloed zong. Aan hun lippen
kleefden jonge woorden. Dauwzoet als regen
rustte trouw in hun hart. Hij droeg de dood
reeds in zich, maar die dag rook alles naar vers
brood alom. Dat wist ze nog goed. Haarscherp.
Bert Bevers
Bij Rik Wouters’ beeld Het zotte geweld. Verschenen in Dichter bij beeld – Poëtische wandeling door het Middelheimmuseum (samenstelling Richard Foqué), vzw Middelheimpromotors, Antwerpen, 2014
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Bevers, Bert
Guillaume Apollinaire
(1880 – 1918)
Au lac de tes yeux
Au lac de tes yeux très profond
Mon pauvre cœur se noie et fond
Là le défont
Dans l’eau d’amour et de folie
Souvenir et Mélancolie
Guillaume Apollinaire Poèmes à Lou
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: #Archive Concrete & Visual Poetry, *War Poetry Archive, Apollinaire, Guillaume, Archive A-B
Buiten konvooi
Laat koel van hoofd en kalm van hart
de nacht de nacht. Er kraakt niets zacht.
Vreemde liederen schuren in oren,
spannen weemoed over afvaart.
Altijd op zoek naar wat verdwijnen
gaat ben je met oude woorden. Ze
weerspiegelen gewiste schaduw.
Bedaar de golven, stil de stem. Maak
voort, stuurman. En zwijg maar over
golving. Zet geen spie tussen de uren.
Doe de avond leunen op het kompas.
Boots: laat oorlammen aanrukken!
Bert Bevers
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Bevers, Bert
Guillaume Apollinaire
(1880 – 1918)
Mon Lou la nuit descend
Mon Lou la nuit descend tu es à moi je t’aime
Les cyprès ont noirci le ciel a fait de même
Les trompettes chantaient ta beauté mon bonheur
De t’aimer pour toujours ton cœur près de mon cœur
Je suis revenu doucement à la caserne
Les écuries sentaient bon la luzerne
Les croupes des chevaux évoquaient ta force et ta grâce
D’alezane dorée ô ma belle jument de race
La tour Magne tournait sur sa colline laurée
Et dansait lentement lentement s’obombrait
Tandis que des amants descendaient de la colline
La tour dansait lentement comme une sarrasine
Le vent souffle pourtant il ne fait pas du tout froid
Je te verrai dans deux jours et suis heureux comme un roi
Et j’aime de t’y aimer cette Nîmes la Romaine
Où les soldats français remplacent l’armée prétorienne
Beaucoup de vieux soldats qu’on n’a pu habiller
Ils vont comme des bœufs tanguent comme des mariniers
Je pense à tes cheveux qui sont mon or et ma gloire
Ils sont toute ma lumière dans la nuit noire
Et tes yeux sont les fenêtres d’où je veux regarder
La vie et ses bonheurs la mort qui vient aider
Les soldats las les femmes tristes et les enfants malades
Des soldats mangent près d’ici de l’ail dans la salade
L’un a une chemise quadrillée de bleu comme une carte
Je t’adore mon Lou et sans te voir je te regarde
Ça sent l’ail et le vin et aussi l’iodoforme
Je t’adore mon Lou embrasse-moi avant que je ne dorme
Le ciel est plein d’étoiles qui sont les soldats
Morts ils bivouaquent là-haut comme ils bivouaquaient là-bas
Et j’irai conducteur un jour lointain t’y conduire
Lou que de jours de bonheur avant que ce jour ne vienne luire
Aime-moi mon Lou je t’adore Bonsoir
Je t’adore je t’aime adieu mon Lou ma gloire
Guillaume Apollinaire Poèmes à Lou
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: #Archive Concrete & Visual Poetry, *War Poetry Archive, Apollinaire, Guillaume, Archive A-B
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