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Leonard Norman Cohen (21 September 1934 – 7 November 2016)
De Canadese schrijver, dichter en zanger Leonard Cohen is op 7 november overleden in Los Angeles USA, waar hij de laatste jaren woonde. Hij trok zich regelmatig terug in een boeddhistisch klooster in de buurt. Cohen was al enige tijd ziek, hij is 82 jaar oud geworden.
Leonard Cohen trad in 2013 voor de laatste keer op in Nederland. You Want It Darker, zijn laatste album, verscheen nog maar enkele weken geleden. Dit album werd met groot enthousiasme en veel respect ontvangen. Het wordt algemeen beschouwd als zijn beste album.
ALBUMS
Songs of Leonard Cohen (1967)
Songs from a Room (1969)
Songs of Love and Hate (1971)
New Skin for the Old Ceremony (1974)
Death of a Ladies’ Man (1977)
Recent Songs (1979)
Various Positions (1984)
I’m Your Man (1988)
The Future (1992)
Ten New Songs (2001)
Dear Heather (2004)
Old Ideas (2012)
Popular Problems (2014)
You Want It Darker (2016)
POETRY
– Let Us Compare Mythologies. Montreal: Contact Press [McGill Poetry Series], 1956. reissued 2007
– The Spice-Box of Earth. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1961.
– Flowers for Hitler. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1964.
– Parasites of Heaven. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1966.
– Selected Poems 1956–1968. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1968.
– The Energy of Slaves. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart, 1972. New York: Viking, 1973.
– Death of a Lady’s Man. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1978. London, New York: Viking, Penguin, 1979. – reissued 2010
– Book of Mercy. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1984. – reissued 2010
– Stranger Music: Selected Poems and Songs. London, New York, Toronto: Cape, Pantheon, McClelland & Stewart, 1993.
– Book of Longing. London, New York, Toronto: Penguin, Ecco, McClelland & Stewart, 2006. (poetry, prose, drawings)
– The Lyrics of Leonard Cohen. London: Omnibus Press, 2009.
– Poems and Songs. New York: Random House (Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets), 2011.
– Fifteen Poems. New York: Everyman’s Library/Random House, 2012. (eBook)
NOVELS
– The Favorite Game. London, New York, Toronto: Secker & Warburg, Viking P, McClelland & Stewart, 1963. Reissued as The Favourite Game. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart [New Canadian Library], 1994.
– Beautiful Losers. New York, Toronto: Viking Press, McClelland & Stewart, 1966. Toronto: McClelland & Stewart [New Canadian Library], 1991, 2003.
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More in: Archive C-D, In Memoriam, Leonard Cohen
Hart Crane
(1889 – 1932)
Forgetfulness
Forgetfulness is like a song
That, freed from beat and measure, wanders.
Forgetfulness is like a bird whose wings are reconciled,
Outspread and motionless, —
A bird that coasts the wind unwearyingly.
Forgetfulness is rain at night,
Or an old house in a forest, — or a child.
Forgetfulness is white, — white as a blasted tree,
And it may stun the sybil into prophecy,
Or bury the Gods.
I can remember much forgetfulness.
Hart Crane poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine
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Hart Crane
(1889 – 1932)
At Melville’s Tomb
Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge
The dice of drowned men’s bones he saw bequeath
An embassy. Their numbers as he watched,
Beat on the dusty shore and were obscured.
And wrecks passed without sound of bells,
The calyx of death’s bounty giving back
A scattered chapter, livid hieroglyph,
The portent wound in corridors of shells.
Then in the circuit calm of one vast coil,
Its lashings charmed and malice reconciled,
Frosted eyes there were that lifted altars;
And silent answers crept across the stars.
Compass, quadrant and sextant contrive
No farther tides . . . High in the azure steeps
Monody shall not wake the mariner.
This fabulous shadow only the sea keeps.
Hart Crane poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive C-D, Crane, Hart, Herman Melville
The Nobel Prize in Literature 2016
Bob Dylan
The Nobel Prize in Literature for 2016 is awarded to Bob Dylan: “for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition”.
Bob Dylan Albums
Bob Dylan (1962)
The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan (1963)
The Times They Are A-Changin’ (1964)
Another Side Of Bob Dylan (1964)
Bringing It All Back Home (1965)
Highway 61 Revisited (1965)
Blonde On Blonde (1966)
Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits (1967)
John Wesley Harding (1968)
Nashville Skyline (1969)
Self Portrait (1970)
New Morning (1970)
Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits Vol. 2 (1971)
Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid (1973)
Dylan (1973)
Planet Waves (1974)
Before The Flood (1974)
Blood On The Tracks (1975)
The Basement Tapes (1975)
Desire (1976)
Hard Rain (1976)
Street Legal (1978)
Bob Dylan At Budokan (1978)
Slow Train Coming (1979)
Saved (1980)
Shot Of Love (1981)
Infidels (1983)
Real Live (1984)
Empire Burlesque (1985)
Biograph (1985)
Knocked Out Loaded (1986)
Down In The Groove (1988)
Dylan & The Dead (1989)
Oh Mercy (1989)
Under The Red Sky (1990)
The Bootleg Series Vols. 1-3: Rare And Unreleased 1961-1991 (1991)
Good As I Been to You (1992)
World Gone Wrong (1993)
Bob Dylan’s Greatest Hits Vol. 3 (1994)
MTV Unplugged (1995)
The Best Of Bob Dylan (1997)
The Songs Of Jimmie Rodgers: A Tribute (1997)
Time Out Of Mind (1997)
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 4: Bob Dylan Live 1966: The ’Royal Albert Hall’ Concert (1998)
The Essential Bob Dylan (2000)
”Love And Theft” (2001)
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 5: Live 1975: The Rolling Thunder Revue (2002)
Masked And Anonymous: The Soundtrack (2003)
Gotta Serve Somebody: The Gospel Songs Of Bob Dylan (2003)
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 6: Live 1964: Concert At Philharmonic Hall (2004)
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 7: No Direction Home: The Soundtrack (2005)
Live At The Gaslight 1962 (2005)
Live At Carnegie Hall 1963 (2005)
Modern Times (2006)
The Traveling Wilburys Collection (2007)
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 8: Tell Tale Signs: Rare And Unreleased, 1989-2006 (2008)
Together Through Life (2009)
Christmas In The Heart (2009)
The Original Mono Recordings (2010)
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 9: The Witmark Demos: 1962-1964 (2010)
Good Rockin’ Tonight: The Legacy Of Sun (2011)
Timeless (2011)
Tempest (2012)
The Lost Notebooks Of Hank Williams (2011)
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 10: Another Self Portrait (2013)
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 11: The Basement Tapes Complete (2014)
The Bootleg Series, Vol. 12: The Cutting Edge 1965-1966 (2015)
Shadows In The Night (2015)
Fallen Angels (2016)
fleursdumal.nl magazine
13 oct. 2016
More in: Archive C-D, Art & Literature News, Awards & Prizes, Bob Dylan, Dylan, Bob, Literary Events
Abraham Cowley
(1618-1667)
Against Hope
Hope, whose weak Being ruin’d is,
Alike if it succeed, and if it miss;
Whom Good or Ill does equally confound,
And both the Horns of Fates Dilemma wound.
Vain shadow! which dost vanish quite,
Both at full Noon, and perfect Night!
The Stars have not a possibility
Of blessing Thee;
If things then from their End we happy call,
’Tis Hope is the most Hopeless thing of all.
Hope, thou bold Taster of Delight,
Who whilst thou shouldst but tast, devour’st it quite!
Thou bringst us an Estate, yet leav’st us Poor,
By clogging it with Legacies before!
The Joys which we entire should wed,
Come deflowr’d Virgins to our bed;
Good fortunes without gain imported be,
Such mighty Custom’s paid to Thee.
For Joy, like Wine, kept close does better tast;
If it take air before, its spirits wast.
Hope, Fortunes cheating Lottery!
Where for one prize an hundred blanks there be;
Fond Archer, Hope, who tak’st thy aim so far,
That still or short, or wide thine arrows are!
Thin, empty Cloud, which th’eye deceives
With shapes that our own Fancy gives!
A Cloud, which gilt and painted now appears,
But must drop presently in tears!
When thy false beams o’re Reasons light prevail,
By Ignes fatui for North-Stars we sail.
Brother of Fear, more gaily clad!
The merr’ier Fool o’th’ two, yet quite as Mad:
Sire of Repentance, Child of fond Desire!
That blow’st the Chymicks, and the Lovers fire!
Leading them still insensibly’on
By the strange witchcraft of Anon!
By Thee the one does changing Nature through
Her endless Labyrinths pursue,
And th’ other chases Woman, whilst She goes
More ways and turns than hunted Nature knows.
Abraham Cowley poetry
fleursdumal.nl
More in: Archive C-D, CLASSIC POETRY
Zwarte Venus
Vijftig gedichten uit Les Fleurs du Mal van Charles Baudelaire
Met Les Fleurs du Mal (1857) van Charles Baudelaire blies er een nieuwe wind door de Franse poëzie. Zijn bloemen van het kwaad wasemden schoonheid en verderf uit. Voor zijn Zwarte Venus, de mulattin Jeanne Duval, trok de dichter alle erotische registers open. Thema’s als prostitutie, sadisme en fetisjisme schokten de goegemeente zozeer dat een Parijse rechtbank hem prompt veroordeelde.
Deze bloemlezing biedt de vijftig beste verzen uit de bundel. Meestervertaler Paul Claes brengt een eerbetoon aan de volmaakte versvorm, de suggestieve klankeffecten en de associatieve beeldspraak van het origineel. De uitwaaierende symboliek maakt elk gedicht volgens de criticus Lloyd James Austin ‘een raam dat uitzicht biedt op het oneindige’.
Een inleiding, een biografie en een commentaar vervolledigen deze poëtische presentatie van de grootste Franse symbolist.
Auteur: Charles Baudelaire
Vertaler: Paul Claes
Uitgeverij: Athenaeum
Paperback, 176 pagina’s
ISBN: 9789025303952
Prijs: € 17,50
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: - Book News, Archive A-B, Archive C-D, Art & Literature News, Les Fleurs du Mal, TRANSLATION ARCHIVE
Isabella Valancy Crawford
(1850-1887)
His Wife And Baby
In the lone place of the leaves,
Where they touch the hanging eaves,
There sprang a spray of joyous song
that sounded sweet and sturdy;
And the baby in the bed
Raised the shining of his head,
And pulled the mother’s lids apart
to wake and watch the birdie.
She kissed lip-dimples sweet,
The red soles of his feet,
The waving palms that patted hers
as wind-blown blossoms wander;
He twined her tresses silk
Round his neck as white as milk
‘Now, baby, say what birdie sings
upon his green spray yonder.’
‘He sings a plenty things
Just watch him wash his wings!
He says Papa will march to-day
with drums home through the city.
Here, birdie, here’s my cup.
You drink the milk all up;
I’ll kiss you, birdie,
now you’re washed like baby
clean and pretty.’
She rose, she sought the skies
With the twin joys of her eyes;
She sent the strong dove
of her soul up through
the dawning’s glory;
She kissed upon her hand
The glowing golden band
That bound the fine scroll
of her life and clasped
her simple story.
Isabella Valancy Crawford poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive C-D, CLASSIC POETRY
William Collins
(1721 – 1759)
How Sleep The Brave
How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country’s wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow’d mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy’s feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung;
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there!
William Collins poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive C-D, CLASSIC POETRY
Thomas Carew
(1594-1640)
Another Epitaph
This little vault, this narrow room,
Of Love and Beauty is the tomb;
The dawning beam, that ‘gan to clear
Our clouded sky, lies darken’d here,
For ever set to us: by Death
Sent to enflame the World Beneath.
’Twas but a bud, yet did contain
More sweetness than shall spring again;
A budding Star, that might have grown
Into a Sun when it had blown.
This hopeful Beauty did create
New life in Love’s declining state;
But now his empire ends, and we
From fire and wounding darts are free;
His brand, his bow, let no man fear:
The flames, the arrows, all lie here.
Thomas Carew poetry
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More in: Archive C-D, CLASSIC POETRY
Abraham Cowley
(1618-1667)
Beauty
after the Anacreontea
Liberal Nature did dispence
To all things Arms for their defence;
And some she arms with sin’ewy force,
And some with swiftness in the course;
Some with hard Hoofs, or forked claws,
And some with Horns, or tusked jaws.
And some with Scales, and some with Wings,
And some with Teeth, and some with Stings.
Wisdom to Man she did afford,
Wisdom for Shield, and Wit for Sword.
What to beauteous Woman-kind,
What Arms, what Armour has she’assigne’d?
Beauty is both; for with the Faire
What Arms, what Armour can compare?
What Steel, what Gold, or Diamond,
More Impassible is found?
And yet what Flame, what Lightning ere
So great an Active force did bear?
They are all weapon, and they dart
Like Porcupines from every part.
Who can, alas, their strength express,
Arm’d when they themselves undress,
Cap a pe with Nakedness?
Abraham Cowley poetry
fleursdumal.nl
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Isabella Valancy Crawford
(1850-1887)
The Ghosts Of The Trees
The silver fangs of the mighty axe,
Bit to the blood of our giant boles;
It smote our breasts and smote our backs,
Thunder’d the front-cleared leaves–
As sped in fire,
The whirl and flame of scarlet leaves
With strong desire
Leaped to the air our captive souls.
While down our corpses thunder’d,
The air at our strong souls gazed and wondered
And cried to us, ‘Ye
Are full of all mystery to me!
I saw but thy plumes of leaves,
Thy strong, brown greaves;
The sinewy roots and lusty branches,
And fond and anxious,
I laid my ear and my restless breast
By each pride-high crest;
And softly stole
And listen’d by limb and listen’d by bole,
Nor ever the stir of a soul,
Heard I in ye–
Great is the mystery!’
The strong, brown eagle plung’d from his peak,
From the hollow iron of his beak;
The wood pigeon fell; its breast of blue
Cold with sharp death all thro’ and thro’,
To our ghosts he cried.
‘With talons of steel,
I hold the storm;
Where the high peaks reel,
My young lie warm.
In the wind-rock’d spaces of air I bide;
My wings too wide–
Too angry-strong for the emerald gyves,
Of woodland cell where the meek dove thrives.
And when at the bar,
Of morn I smote with my breast its star,
And under–
My wings grew purple, the jealous thunder,
With the flame of the skies
Hot in my breast, and red in my eyes;
From peak to peak of sunrise pil’d
That set space glowing,
With flames from air-based crater’s blowing–
I downward swept, beguiled
By the close-set forest gilded and spread
A sea for the lordly tread,
Of a God’s wardship–
I broke its leafy turf with my breast;
My iron lip
I dipp’d in the cool of each whispering crest;
From thy leafy steeps,
I saw in my deeps,
Red coral the flame necked oriole–
But never the stir of a soul
Heard I in ye–
Great is the mystery!’
From its ferny coasts,
The river gazed at our strong, free ghosts,
And with rocky fingers shed
Apart the silver curls of its head;
Laid its murmuring hands,
On the reedy bands;
And at gaze
Stood in the half-moon’s of brown, still bays;
Like gloss’d eyes of stags
Its round pools gaz’d from the rusty flags,
At our ghostly crests
At the bark-shields strong on our phantom breasts;
And its tide
Took lip and tongue and cried.
‘I have push’d apart
The mountain’s heart;
I have trod the valley down;
With strong hands curled,
Have caught and hurled,
To the earth the high hill’s crown!
My brow I thrust,
Through sultry dust,
That the lean wolf howl’d upon;
I drove my tides,
Between the sides,
Of the bellowing canon.
From chrystal shoulders,
I hurled my boulders,
On the bridge’s iron span.
When I rear’d my head
From its old time bed,
Shook the pale cities of man!
I have run a course
With the swift, wild horse;
I have thunder’d pace for pace,
With the rushing herds–
I have caught the beards
Of the swift stars in the race!
Neither moon nor sun
Could me out-run;
Deep cag’d in my silver bars,
I hurried with me,
To the shouting sea,
Their light and the light of the stars!
The reeling earth
In furious mirth
With sledges of ice I smote.
I whirled my sword
Where the pale berg roar’d,
I took the ship by the throat!
With stagnant breath
I called chill Death
My guest to the hot bayou.
I built men’s graves,
With strong thew’d waves
That thing that my strength might do.
I did right well–
Men cried ‘From Hell
The might of Thy hand is given!’
By loose rocks stoned
The stout quays groaned,
Sleek sands by my spear were riven.
O’er shining slides,
On my gloss’d tides,
The brown cribs close woven roll’d;
The stout logs sprung,
Their height among
My loud whirls of white and gold!
The great raft prest,
My calm, broad breast–
A dream thro’ my shady trance,
The light canoe–
A spirit flew–
The pulse of my blue expanse.
Wing’d swift the ships.
My foaming lips
Made rich with dewy kisses,
All night and morn,
Field’s red with corn,
And where the mill-wheel hisses.
And shivers and sobs,
With lab’ring throbs,
With its whirls my strong palms play’d.
I parted my flags,
For thirsty stags,
On the necks of arches laid.
To the dry-vined town
My tide roll’d down–
Dry lips and throats a-quiver,
Rent sky and sod
With shouts ‘From God
The strength of the mighty river!’
I, list’ning, heard
The soft-song’d bird;
The beetle about thy boles.
The calling breeze,
In thy crests, O Trees–
Never the voices of souls!’
* * * * *
We, freed souls, of the Trees look’d down
On the river’s shining eyes of brown;
And upward smiled
At the tender air and its warrior child,
The iron eagle strong and wild.
* * * * *
‘No will of ours,
The captive souls of our barky tow’rs;
‘His the deed
Who laid in the secret earth the seed;
And with strong hand
Knitted each woody fetter and band.
Never, ye
Ask of the tree,
The ‘Wherefore’ or ‘Why’ the tall trees stand,
Built in their places on the land
Their souls unknit;
With any wisdom or any wit,
The subtle ‘Why,’
Ask ye not of earth or sky–
But one command it.
Isabella Valancy Crawford poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive C-D, CLASSIC POETRY
William Collins
(1721 – 1759)
Ode On The Poetical Character
As once, if not with light regard,
I read aright that gifted bard,
(Him whose school above the rest
His loveliest Elfin Queen has blest,)
One, only one, unrival’d fair,
Might hope the magic girdle wear,
At solemn tourney hung on high,
The wish of each love-darting eye;
Lo! to each other nymph in turn applied,
As if, in air unseen, some hov’ring hand,
Some chaste and angel-friend to virgin-fame,
With whisper’d spell had burst the starting band,
It left unblest her loath’d dishonour’d side;
Happier, hopeless fair, if never
Her baffled hand with vain endeavour
Had touch’d that fatal zone to her denied!
Young Fancy thus, to me divinest name,
To whom, prepar’d and bath’d in Heav’n,
The cest of amplest pow’r is giv’n:
To few the god-like gift assigns,
To gird their blest prophetic loins,
And gaze her visions wild, and feel unmix’d her flame!
The band, as fairy legends say,
Was wove on that creating day,
When He, who call’d with thought to birth
Yon tented sky, this laughing earth,
And dress’d with springs, and forests tall,
And pour’d the main engirting all,
Long by the lov’d enthusiast woo’d,
Himself in some diviner mood,
Retiring, sate with her alone,
And plac’d her on his sapphire throne,
The whiles, the vaulted shrine around,
Seraphic wires were heard to sound,
Now sublimest triumph swelling,
Now on love and mercy dwelling;
And she, from out the veiling cloud,
Breath’d her magic notes aloud:
And thou, thou rich-hair’d youth of morn,
And all thy subject life was born!
The dang’rous Passions kept aloof,
Far from the sainted growing woof:
But near it sate ecstatic Wonder
List’ning the deep applauding thunder:
And Truth, in sunny vest array’d,
By whose the tarsel’s eyes were made
All the shad’wy tribes of mind,
In braided dance their murmurs join’d,
And all the bright uncounted Pow’rs
Who feed on Heav’n’s ambrosial flow’rs.
Where is the bard, whose soul can now
Its high presuming hopes avow?
Where he who thinks, with rapture blind,
This hallow’d work for him design’d?
High on some cliff, to Heav’n up-pil’d,
Of rude access, of prospect wild,
Where, tangled round the jealous steep,
Strange shades o’erbrow the valleys deep,
And holy genii guard the rock,
Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock,
While on its rich ambitious head,
An Eden, like his own, lies spread.
I view that oak, the fancied glades among,
By which as Milton lay, his ev’ning ear,
From many a cloud that dropp’d ethereal dew,
Nigh spher’d in Heav’n its native strains could hear:
On which that ancient trump he reach’d was hung;
Thither oft his glory greeting,
From Waller’s myrtle shades retreating,
With many a vow from Hope’s aspiring tongue,
My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue;
In vain—such bliss to one alone,
Of all the sons of soul was known,
And Heav’n, and Fancy, kindred pow’rs,
Have now o’erturn’d th’ inspiring bow’rs,
Or curtain’d close such scene from ev’ry future view.
William Collins poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive C-D, CLASSIC POETRY
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