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Counting Her Dresses
A Play
Part I.
ACT I.
When they did not see me.
I saw them again.
I did not like it.
ACT II.
I count her dresses again.
ACT III.
Can you draw a dress.
ACT IV.
In a minute.
Part II.
ACT I.
Believe in your mistake.
ACT II.
Act quickly.
ACT III.
Do not mind the tooth.
ACT IV.
Do not be careless.
Part III.
ACT I.
I am careful.
ACT II.
Yes you are.
ACT III.
And obedient.
ACT IV.
Yes you are.
ACT V.
And industrious.
ACT VI.
Certainly.
Part IV.
ACT I.
Come to sing and sit.
ACT II.
Repeat it.
ACT III.
I repeat it.
Part V.
ACT I.
Can you speak quickly.
ACT II.
Can you cough.
ACT III.
Remember me to him.
ACT IV.
Remember that I want a cloak.
Part VI.
ACT I.
I know what I want to say. How do you do I forgive you everything and there is nothing to forgive.
Part VII.
ACT I.
The dog. You mean pale.
ACT II.
No we want dark brown.
ACT III.
I am tired of blue.
Part VIII.
ACT I.
Shall I wear my blue.
ACT II.
Do.
Part IX.
ACT I.
Thank you for the cow.
Thank you for the cow.
ACT II.
Thank you very much.
Part X.
ACT I.
Collecting her dresses.
ACT II.
Shall you be annoyed.
ACT III.
Not at all.
Part XI.
ACT I.
Can you be thankful.
ACT II.
For what.
ACT III.
For me.
Part XII.
ACT I.
I do not like this table.
ACT II.
I can understand that.
ACT III.
A feather.
ACT IV.
It weighs more than a feather.
Part XIII.
ACT I.
It is not tiring to count dresses.
Part XIV.
ACT I.
What is your belief.
Part XV.
ACT I.
In exchange for a table.
ACT II.
In exchange for or on a table.
ACT III.
We were satisfied.
Part XVI.
ACT I.
Can you say you like negro sculpture.
Part XVII.
ACT I.
The meaning of windows is air.
ACT II.
And a door.
ACT III.
A door should be closed.
Part XVIII.
ACT I.
Can you manage it.
ACT II.
You mean dresses.
ACT III.
Do I mean dresses.
Part XIX.
ACT I.
I mean one two three.
Part XX.
ACT I.
Can you spell quickly.
ACT II.
I can spell very quickly.
ACT III.
So can my sister-in-law.
ACT IV.
Can she.
Part XXI.
ACT I.
Have you any way of sitting.
ACT II.
You mean comfortably.
ACT III.
Naturally.
ACT IV.
I understand you.
Part XXII.
ACT I.
Are you afraid.
ACT II.
I am not any more afraid of water than they are.
ACT III.
Do not be insolent.
Part XXIII.
ACT I.
We need clothes.
ACT II.
And wool.
ACT III.
And gloves.
ACT IV.
And waterproofs.
Part XXIV.
ACT I.
Can you laugh at me.
ACT II.
And then say.
ACT III.
Married.
ACT IV.
Yes.
Part XXV.
ACT I.
Do you remember how he looked at clothes.
ACT II.
Do you remember what he said about wishing.
ACT III.
Do you remember all about it.
Part XXVI.
ACT I.
Oh yes.
ACT II.
You are stimulated.
ACT III.
And amused.
ACT IV.
We are.
Part XXVII.
ACT I.
What can I say that I am fond of.
ACT II.
I can see plenty of instances.
ACT III.
Can you.
Part XXVIII.
ACT I.
For that we will make an arrangement.
ACT II.
You mean some drawings.
ACT III.
Do I talk of art.
ACT IV.
All numbers are beautiful to me.
Part XXIX.
ACT I.
Of course they are.
ACT II.
Thursday.
ACT III.
We hope for Thursday.
ACT IV.
So do we.
Part XXX.
ACT I.
Was she angry.
ACT II.
Whom do you mean was she angry.
ACT III.
Was she angry with you.
Part XXXI.
ACT I.
Reflect more.
ACT II.
I do want a garden.
ACT III.
Do you.
ACT IV.
And clothes.
ACT V.
I do not mention clothes.
ACT VI.
No you didn’t but I do.
ACT VII.
Yes I know that.
Part XXXII.
ACT I.
He is tiring.
ACT II.
He is not tiring.
ACT III.
No indeed.
ACT IV.
I can count them.
ACT V.
You do not misunderstand me.
ACT VI.
I misunderstand no one.
Part XXXIII.
ACT I.
Can you explain my wishes.
ACT II.
In the morning.
ACT III.
To me.
ACT IV.
Yes in there.
ACT V.
Then you do not explain.
ACT VI.
I do not press for an answer.
Part XXXIV.
ACT I.
Can you expect her today.
ACT II.
We saw a dress.
ACT III.
We saw a man.
ACT IV.
Sarcasm.
Part XXXV.
ACT I.
We can be proud of tomorrow.
ACT II.
And the vests.
ACT III.
And the doors.
ACT IV.
I always remember the roads.
Part XXXVI.
ACT I.
Can you speak English.
ACT II.
In London.
ACT III.
And here.
ACT IV.
With me.
Part XXXVII.
ACT I.
Count her dresses.
ACT II.
Collect her dresses.
ACT III.
Clean her dresses.
ACT IV.
Have the system.
Part XXXVIII.
ACT I.
She polished the table.
ACT II.
Count her dresses again.
ACT III.
When can you come.
ACT IV.
When can you come.
Part XXXIX.
ACT I.
Breathe for me.
ACT II.
I can say that.
ACT III.
It isn’t funny.
ACT IV.
In the meantime.
Part XL.
ACT I.
Can you say.
ACT II.
What.
ACT III.
We have been told.
ACT IV.
Oh read that.
Part XLI.
ACT I.
I do not understand this home-coming.
ACT II.
In the evening.
ACT III.
Naturally.
ACT IV.
We have decided.
ACT V.
Indeed.
ACT VI.
If you wish.
Gertrude Stein
(1874-1946)
Counting Her Dresses.
A Play
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Gertrude Stein, Stein, Gertrude, THEATRE
Erfüllung
Meine Sporen frechzen deine Spitzen!
Bläulich kichern die Aederchen fort
In Sicherheit höhnisch
Im
Schimmrigen Weich
Bebige Hügel wiegen Verlangen
Köpfchen rosen empor und steilen Gewähr.
Die Lippe zerfrißt sich!
Golden ringeln Würger hinunter
Und schnüren den Hals zu
Nach meinen Fingern tastet dein Blut
Und siedet den Kampf.
Die Seelen ringen und kollern abseit!
Hoch schlagen die Röcke den Blick auf
Goldhellrot
Rotweichrot
Flamme zischt in das Hirn
Und sticht mir das Schaun aus!
Sinken Sinken
Schweben und Sinken
Schwingen im Sturme
Im Sturm
Im schreikrollen Meer!
Ziegelrot
Ueber uns segnet der Tod
Säender Tod!
August Stramm
(1874-1915)
Erfüllung, 1914
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive S-T, Expressionism, Stramm, August
Ich
Du steht! Du steht!
Und ich
Und ich
Ich winge
Raumlos zeitlos wäglos!
Du steht! Du steht!
Und
Rasen bäret mich
Ich
Bär mich selber!
Du!
Du!
Du bannt die Zeit
Du bogt der Kreis
Du seelt der Geist
Du blickt der Blick
Du
Kreist die Welt
Die Welt
Welt!
Ich
Kreis das All!
Und du
Und du
Du
Stehst
Das Ich
Das
Ich!
August Stramm
(1874-1915)
Ich, 1914
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive S-T, Expressionism, Stramm, August
Hannah Sullivan’s debut collection is a revelation – three long poems of fresh ambition, intensity, and substance.
Though each poem stands apart, their inventive and looping encounters make for a compelling unity.
“You, Very Young in New York” captures a great American city, in all its alluring detail. It is a wry and tender study of romantic possibility, disappointment, and the obduracy of innocence.
“Repeat until Time” begins with a move to California and unfolds into an essay on repetition and returning home, at once personal and philosophical.
“The Sandpit after Rain” explores the birth of a child and the loss of a father with exacting clarity.
In Three Poems, readers will experience Sullivan’s work with the same exhilaration as they might the great modernizing poems of Eliot and Pound, but with the unique perspective of a brilliant new female voice.
Hannah Sullivan lives in London with her husband and two sons and is an Associate Professor of English at New College, Oxford. She received her PhD from Harvard in 2008 and taught in California for four years.
She is currently associate professor of English at New College, Oxford. Her study of modernist writing, The Work of Revision, was published in 2013 and awarded the Rose Mary Crawshay Prize by the British Academy. Her debut poetry collection, Three Poems, was published by Faber in 2018 and was awarded the prestigious TS Eliot Prize.
Three Poems
by Hannah Sullivan
Paperback: 80 pages
Publisher: Faber & Faber; Main edition (18 Jan. 2018)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 9780571337675
ISBN-13: 978-0571337675
ASIN: 0571337678
Product Dimensions: 15.9 x 1.3 x 21 cm
# new poetry
Three Poems
by Hannah Sullivan
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: - Book News, - Bookstores, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Art & Literature News, Awards & Prizes
Weltwehe
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Haucht
Nichts
Hauchen
Nichts
Hauch
Wägen
Wägen wegen
Wegen regen
Stauen
Lauen
Weben schweben wallen ballen
Warmen
Biegen bogen
Wärmen
Drehen drehen
Dunsten
Streifen glimmen
Fachen
Hitzen
Glühen
Wellen
Sieden brodeln rauschen brausen
Züngeln springen
Flammen spritzen
Platzen
Knattern knallen krachen
Tausend
Null Null Null
Tausend
Null
Milliarden
Null Null Null
Weißen
Lichten
Kreisen kreisen
Bahnen
Fliegen
Kreisen kreisen
Rollen
Kugeln
Kugeln kugeln
Glatten
Kugeln
Platten
Kugeln
Kreisen
Kugeln
Dichten schichten wichten walzen wälzen
Festen
Kreisen
Pressen
Kugeln
Schmieden
Kreisen
Kernen
Kugeln
Kern.
Halten fassen kraften schwingen
Ruhen reißen sprengen
Heben senken falten
Schieben wogen
Starren
Heißen
Beben
Schweißen
Beben
Leben
Atmen
Leben
Leben leben
Zeugen
Bären
Leben leben
Blühen
Wachsen
Leben leben
Brennen
Starken
Marken
Rollen rollen
Leuchten trocknen feuchten lichten
Streben ranken
Tönen
Ringen
Kämpfen
Ringen
Ringen
Können
Wollen
Können
Schwanken
Können
Wollen
Blühen
Wollen
Rollen
Können
Kranken
Placken racken ächzen
Rollen
Wollen
Lallen
Wollen wollen
Ranken
Wollen wollen
Rollen
Drehen wehen rollen
Wollen wollen
Stürmen wollen
Drehen
Matten
Wollen
Matten
Rollen drehen
Wehen wehen
Wollen
Kreisen
Engen
Kreisen
Engen
Schwanken
Wanken
Zittern
Schwingen
Wiegen kreisen engen lockern
Trudeln krudeln
Trudeln
Schlacken
Lockern
Schlacken
Bröckeln
Aschen
Trollen trollen
Aschen
Trollen trollen
Sollen
Wollen
Stocken reißen
Sacken rasen
Rasen
Sprengen
Platzen
Schmettern
Stäuben stäuben stäuben
Schweben
Weben
Wallen
Weben
Fallen
Wegen
Reigen
Wolken
Schleichen
Flaken
Weiten
Flaken
Wachten
Steinen
Nachten
Nebeln
Nachten
Weiten
Nachten nachten
Losen
Nachten nachten
Lösen
Nachten nachten
Raumen
Nachten nachten
Zeiten
Nachten
Weiten raumen zeiten
Nachten
Zeiten zeiten
Nachten
Zeiten
Nachten
Weiten
Weiten
Nichts Nichts Nichts
Nichts.
August Stramm
(1874-1915)
Weltwehe, 1914
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive S-T, Expressionism, Stramm, August
Der Krieg
Aus Plewna wandert ein Geisterzug,
Die türkischen Helden gefangen,
In Fetzen und barfuss, von Hunger verzehrt,
Die Glieder schlottern und hangen.
Viel Tausende wanken wie Schatten dahin,
Zur Donau ziehen die Armen,
Die nächtlichen Wolken durchheult der Wind,
Laut brüllend, wie Schlachtenerbarmen.
In lautloser Stille, so wandern sie hin
Durch schneeverdichtete Fluren,
Bedeckt mit Leichen – die Raben und Kräh’n
Verkünden der Fallenden Spuren.
Nur Leichen liegen von Plewna hin
Zur Donau in Reihen gesäet,
Ein grässlich’ Schlachtfeld, wo Ross und Mann
Am Wagen erfroren, verwehet.
Die Wandernden schreien um Hülfe noch,
Dann knien sie, beten stille,
Mit ihren Armen gen Morgenland,
Und sterben -‘s ist Allahs Wille.
Von Plewna zur Donau, wer Kräfte hat,
Vollendet die grausige Reise,
Da glitzert düster im Abendrot
Nicropolis, starrend von Eise.
Und rings ertönt ein Heulen und Schrei’n:
“O wollet uns Speise doch geben!
Was habt Ihr nicht lieber erschossen uns gleich!”
Die Lüfte, die eisigen, beben.
Zehntausend Gefangene schreien nach Brot,
Kein Brot ist zur Stunde zu haben,
Und markerschütternd durchtobt der Schrei
Die Straßen, die Wälle, den Graben.
Zehntausend liegen in jener Nacht
Verhungernd, mit sterbendem Munde,
Die Sieger sind selber von Tod bedroht –
Kein Brot! und nur Eis in der Runde!
Kein Brot! Und von jenseits da winkt das Land,
In dem lange verheißenen Frieden,
Doch hat sie die Donau mit krachendem Eis
In gewaltigen Massen geschieden.
Kein Brot! und es frieret in jener Nacht,
Als hätte Natur sich geschworen,
Den beiden Heeren den Untergang,
Fast waren sie alle verloren.
Doch endlich grauet der Tag, es kann
Die Panzerbarkasse nun wagen,
Vom Eis getragen! ein wenig Brot
Zu gemarterten Helden zu tragen.
Carmen Sylva
(1843-1916)
Der Krieg
Gedicht
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, CLASSIC POETRY, WAR & PEACE
A Poem About Waldberg
What I am afraid of is that they will just attract an awful bombardment on themselves in which they will have to be supported.
Oh no they won’t do that.
I don’t think they will do that.
What I think is that I will have to reach the country before I ask myself the way to see the city.
I don’t mean this as a joke.
I know very well that I know all about nurses. Who doesn’t. And who would like to see children win. I love my boy very much. His mother feeds him. I can smile and think of it. We both laugh together. Altogether I have said to them keep still.
Curtains a japanese curtain.
Complete flowers.
I never use a pass.
Of course you wouldn’t.
You wouldn’t be careful enough. I don’t mean that.
How can I hear him speak. You don’t mean a victim. Eugene Paul. What is Walberg’s name.
I don’t care for him.
I am not sorry for her.
I do not have flowers here.
C A L I F O R N I A
Let me see. What do you say. They can take care of riches. Kiss my hand. Why. Because Russians are rich. All Russians are valuable. That is what I said.
I wish I could be as funny as he is.
Yes thank you I believe in Russia.
Gertrude Stein
(1874-1946)
A Poem About Waldberg
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Gertrude Stein, Stein, Gertrude
The Look
Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.
Strephon’s kiss was lost in jest,
Robin’s lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin’s eyes
Haunts me night and day.
Sara Teasdale
(1884-1933)
The Look
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Teasdale, Sara
Feuertaufe
Der Körper schrumpft den weiten Rock
Der Kopf verkriecht die Beine
Erschrecken
Würgt die Flinte
Ängste
Knattern
Knattern schrillen
Knattern hieben
Knattern stolpern
Knattern
Übertaumeln
Gelle
Wut.
Der Blick
Spitzt
Zisch
Die Hände spannen Klaren.
Das Trotzen ladet.
Wollen äugt
Und
Stahler Blick
Schnellt
Streck
Das
Schicksal.
August Stramm
(1874-1915)
Feuertaufe, 1914
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive S-T, Expressionism, Stramm, August
Layering joy and urgent defiance—against physical and cultural erasure, against white supremacy whether intangible or graven in stone—Trethewey’s work gives pedestal and witness to unsung icons.
Monument, Trethewey’s first retrospective, draws together verse that delineates the stories of working class African American women, a mixed-race prostitute, one of the first black Civil War regiments, mestizo and mulatto figures in Casta paintings, Gulf coast victims of Katrina. Through the collection, inlaid and inextricable, winds the poet’s own family history of trauma and loss, resilience and love.
In this setting, each section, each poem drawn from an “opus of classics both elegant and necessary,”* weaves and interlocks with those that come before and those that follow.
As a whole, Monument casts new light on the trauma of our national wounds, our shared history. This is a poet’s remarkable labor to source evidence, persistence, and strength from the past in order to change the very foundation of the vocabulary we use to speak about race, gender, and our collective future.
*Academy of American Poets’ chancellor Marilyn Nelson
Natasha Trethewey, two term U.S. Poet Laureate, Pulitzer Prize winner, and 2017 Heinz Award recipient, has written five collections of poetry and one book of nonfiction. An American Academy of Arts and Sciences fellow, she is currently Board of Trustees professor of English at Northwestern University. She lives in Evanston, Illinois.
Monument: Poems New and Selected
by Natasha Trethewey
Poetry
Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Format: Hardcover
ISBN-13/EAN: 9781328507846
ISBN-10: 132850784X
Pages: 208
Price: $26.00
November 6, 2018
# new books
Natasha Trethewey
Monument: Poems New and Selected
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: - Book News, - Bookstores, Archive S-T, Art & Literature News
Sibylla Schwarz
Ach, Amor, nimb dein schwäres Joch von mir
Ach, Amor, nimb dein schwäres Joch von mir,
kans müglich seyn, nimb wegk die Liebes Plagen,
dein Joch ist schwer, drümb kan ichs nicht mehr tragen,
du bist zu süß, drümb klag ich über dir.
Nimb wegk die Last, sie unterdruckt mich schier:
was sol ich doch vohn deinen Pillen sagen,
die bitter sind, und doch mir wohl behagen?
Ich steh und geh im Zweiffel für und für:
wo sol ich hin? Im fall ich bin allein
so denck ich nuhr: Ach möcht ich bey Ihr seyn!
bin ich bey Ihr, so steht mir vohr das Scheiden;
liebt sie mich dan, das ich so sehr begehr,
so ist mir doch die Süßigkeit zu schwär;
Ich will den Tod wohl für die Liebe leiden.
Sibylla Schwarz (1621 – 1638)
Gedicht: Ach, Amor, nimb dein schwäres Joch von mir
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive S-T, Archive S-T, SIbylla Schwarz
“The staggering thing about a life’s work is it takes a lifetime to complete,” Craig Morgan Teicher writes in these luminous essays.
We Begin in Gladness considers how poets start out, how they learn to hear themselves, and how some offer us that rare, glittering thing: lasting work. Teicher traces the poetic development of the works of Sylvia Plath, John Ashbery, Louise Glück, and Francine J. Harris, among others, to illuminate the paths they forged—by dramatic breakthroughs or by slow increments, and always by perseverance.
We Begin in Gladness is indispensable for readers curious about the artistic life and for writers wondering how they might light out—or even scale the peak of the mountain.
Though it seems, at first, like an art of speaking, poetry is an art of listening. The poet trains to hear clearly and, as much as possible, without interruption, the voice of the mind, the voice that gathers, packs with meaning, and unpacks the language the poet knows.
It can take a long time to learn to let this voice speak without getting in its way. This slow learning, the growth of this habit of inner attentiveness, is poetic development, and it is the substance of the poet’s art. Of course, this growth is rarely steady, never linear, and is sometimes not actually growth but diminishment—that’s all part of the compelling story of a poet’s way forward. —from the Introduction
Craig Morgan Teicher is an acclaimed poet and critic. He is the author of We Begin in Gladness: How Poets Progress, and three books of poetry, including The Trembling Answers, winner of the Lenore Marshall Poetry Prize, and he regularly writes reviews for Los Angeles Times, NPR, and the New York Times Book Review. He lives in New Jersey.
We Begin in Gladness.
How Poets Progress
by Craig Morgan Teicher
Publication Date 11/6/18
Format: Paperback
ISBN 978-1-55597-821-1
Subject: Literary Criticism
Pages 176
Graywolf Press
$16.00
# new books
more info: http://craigmorganteicher.com/
How Poets Progress
fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: - Book Lovers, - Book Stories, Archive S-T, Archive S-T, Art & Literature News, Sylvia Plath, The Art of Reading
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