Fleurs du Mal Magazine
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The End of the World
Act I
PERSONS
HUFF, the Farmer
SOLLERS, the Wainwright.
MERRICK, the Smith.
VINE, the Publician.
SHALE, the Labourer.
A DOWSER.
MRS HUFF.
WARP, the Molecatcher
Men and Women of the Village
ACT I
Scene:
A public-house kitchen. HUFF the Farmer and SOLLERS the Wainwright talking; another man, a stranger, sitting silent.
Huff
Ay, you may think we’re well off –
Sollers
Now for croaks
Old toad! who’s trodden on you now? – Go on;
But if you can, croak us a new tune.
Huff
Ay
You think you’re well off – and don’t grab my words
Before they’re spoken – but some folks, I’ve heard,
Pity us, living quiet in the valley.
Sollers
Well, I suppose ’tis their affair.
Huff
Is it?
But what I mean to say, – if they think small
Of us that live in the valley, mayn’t it show
That we aren’t all so happy as we think?
[MERRICK the smith comes in.]
Merrick
Quick, cider! I believe I’ve swallowd a coal.
Sollers
Good evening. True, the heat’s a wonder tonight. [Smith draws himself cider.]
Huff
Haven’t you brought your flute? We’ve all got room
For music in our minds to-night, I’ll swear.
Working all day in the sun do seem to push
The thought out of your brain.
Sollers
O, ’tis the sun
Had trodden on you? That’s what makes you croak?
Ay, whistle him somewhat: put a tune in his brain;
He’ll else croak us out of pleasure with drinking.
Merrick
‘Tis quenching, I believe. – A tune? Too hot?
You want a fiddler.
Huff
Nay, I want your flute.
I like a piping sound, not scraping o’ guts.
Merrick
This is no weather for a man to play
Flutes or music at all that asks him spend
His breath and spittle: you want both yourself
These oven days. Wait till a fiddler comes.
Huff
Who ever comes down here?
Sellers
There’s someone come.
[Pointing with his pipe to the stranger.]
Merrick
Good evening, mister. Are you a man for tunes?
Stranger
And if I was I’ld give you none to-night.
Merrick
Well, no offence: there’s no offence, I hope,
In taking a dummy for a tuneful man.
Is it for can’t or won’t you are?
Stranger
You wouldn’t if you carried in your mind
What I’ve been carrying all day.
Sollers
What’s that?
Stranger
You wait; you’ll know about it soon; O yes,
Soon enough it will find you and and rouse you.
Huff
Now ain’t that just the way we go down here?
Here in the valley we’re like dogs in a yard,
Chained to our kennels and wall’d in all round,
And not a sound of the world jumps over our hills.
And when there comes a passenger among us,
One who has heard what’s stirring out beyond,
‘Tis a grutchy mumchance fellow in the dismals!
Stranger
News, it it, you want? I could give you news! –
I wonder, did you ever hate to feel
The earth so fine and splendid?
Huff
Oh, you’re one
Has stood in the brunt of the world’s wickedness,
Like me? But listen, and I’ll give you a tale
Of wicked things done in this little valley,
Done against me, will surely make you think
The Devil here fetcht up his masterpiece.
Sollers
Ah, but it’s hot enough without you talking
Your old hell fire about that pair of sinners.
Leave them alone and drink.
Huff
I’ll smell them grilling
One of these days.
Merrick
But there’ll be nought to drink
When that begins! Best keep your skin full now.
Stranger
What do I care for wickedness? Let those
Who’ve played with dirt, and thought the game was bold,
Make much of it while they can: there’s a big thing
Coming down to us, ay, well on its road,
Will make their ploys seem mighty piddling sport.
Huff
This is a fool; or else it’s what I think, –
The world now breeds such crowd that they’ve no crombie room
For well-grown sins: they hatch ’em small as flies.
But you stay here, out of the world awhile,
Here where a man’s mind, and a woman’s mind,
Can fling out large in wickedness: you’ll see
Something monstrous here, something dreadful.
Strainger
I’ve seen enough of that. Though it was only
Fancying made me see it, it was enough;
I’ve seen the folk of the world yelling aghast,
Scurrying to hide themselves. I want nought else
Monstrous and dreadful. –
Merrick
What had roused ’em so?
Some house fire?
Huff
A huzzy flogged to death
For her hard-faced adultery?
Stranger [too intent to hear them]
Oh to think of it!
Talk, do, chatter some nonsense, else I’ll think:
And then I’m feeling like a grub that crawls
All abroad in a dusty road; and high
Above me, and shaking the ground beneath me, come
Wheels of a thundering wain, right where I’m plodding.
Sollers
Queer thinking, that.
Stranger
And here’s a queerer thing.
I have a sort of lust in me, pushing me still
Into that terrible way of thinking, like
Black men in India lie them down and long
To feel their holy wagon crack their spines.
Merrick
Do you mean beetles? I’ve driven over scores,
They sprawling on their backs, or standing mazed.
I never knew they liked it.
Sollers
He means frogs.
I know what’s in his mind. When I was young
My mother would catch us frogs and set them down,
Lapt in a screw of paper, in the ruts,
And carts going by would quash ’em; and I’ld laugh,
And yet be thinking, ‘ Suppose it was myself
Twisted stiff in huge paper, and wheels
Bit as the wall of a barn treading me flat! ‘
Huff
I know what’s in his mind: just madness it is.
He’s lookt too hard at his fellows in the world;
Sight of their monstrous hearts, like devils in cages,
Has jolted all the gearing of his wits.
It needs a tough brain, ay, a brain like mine,
To pore on ugly sin and not go mad.
Stranger
Madness! You’re not far out. – I came up here
To be alone and quiet in my thoughts
Alone in my own dreadful mind. The path,
Of red sand trodden hard, went up between
High hedges overgrown of hawthorn blowing
White as clouds; ay, it seemed burrowed through
A white sweet-smelling cloud, – I walking there
Small as a hare that runs its tunnelled drove
Thro’ the close heather. And beside my feet
Blue greygles drifted gleaming over the grass;
And up I climbed to sunlight green in birches,
And the path turned to daisies among grass
With bonfires of the broom beside, like flame
Of burning straw; and I lookt into your valley.
I could scarce look.
Anger was smarting in my eyes like grit.
O the fine earth and fine all for nothing!
Mazed I walkt, seeing and smelling and hearing:
The meadow lands all shining fearfully gold, –
Cruel as fire the sight of them toucht my mind;
Breathing was all a honey taste of clover
And bean flowers: I would have rather had it
Carrion, or the stink of smouldering brimstone.
And larks aloft, the happy piping fools,
And squealing swifts that slid on hissing wings,
And yellowhammers playing spry in hedges:
I never noted them before; but now –
Yes, I was mad, and crying mad, to see
The earth so fine, fine all for nothing!
Sollers [spits]
Pst! yellowhammers! He talks gentry talk.
That’s worse than being mad.
Stranger
I tell you, you’ll be feeling them to-morn
And hating them to be so wonderful.
Merrick
Let’s have some sense. Where do you live?
Stranger
Nowhere.
I’m always travelling.
Huff
Why, what’s your trade?
Stranger
A dowser.
Huff
You’re the man for me!
Stranger
Not I.
Huff
Ho, this is better than a fiddler now!
One of those fellows who have nerves so clever
That they can feel the waters of underground
Tingling in their fingers?
You find me a spring in my high grazing-field,
I’ll give you what I save in trundling water.
Stranger
I find you water now! – No, but I’ll find you
Fire and fear and unbelievable death.
[VINE the Publician comes in]
Vine
Are ye all served? Ay, seems so; what’s your score?
Merrick
Two ciders.
Huff
Three.
Sollers
And two for me.
Vine [to Dowser]
And you?
Dowser
Naught. I was waiting on you.
Vine
Will you drink?
Dowser
Ay! Drink! what else is left for a man to do
Who knows what I know?
Vine
Good. What is’t you know?
You tell it out and set my trade a-buzzing.
Sollers
He’s queer. Give him his mug and ease his tongue.
Vine
I had to swill the pigs: else I’d been here;
But we’ve the old fashion in this house; you draw,
I keep the score. Well, what’s the worry on you?
Sollers
Oh he’s in love.
Dowser
You fleering grinning louts,
I’ll give it you now; now have it in your faces!
Sollers
Crimini, he’s going to fight!
Dowser
You try and fight with the thing that’s on my side!
Merrick
A ranter!Abercrombie
Huff
A boozy one then.
Dowser
Open yon door;
‘Tis dark enough by now. Open it, you.
Vine
Hold on. Have you got something fierce outside?
Merrick
A Russian bear?
Sollers
Dowsers can play strange games.
Huff
No tricks!
Dowser
This is a trick to rouse the world.
[He opens the door.]
Look out! Between the elms! There’s my fierce thing.
Merrick
He means the star with the tail like a feather of fire.
Sollers
Comet, it’s called.
Huff
Do you mean the comet, mister?
Dowser
What do you think of it?
Huff
Pretty enough.
But I saw a man loose off a rocket once;
It made more stir and flare of itself; though yon
Does better at steady burning.
Dowser
Stir and flare!
You’ll soon forget your rocket.
Merrick
Tell you what
I thought last night, now, going home. Says I,
‘Tis just like the look of a tadpole: if I saw
A tadpole silver as a dace that swam
Upside-down towards me through black water,
I’ld see the plain spit of that star and his tail.
Sollers
And how does your thought go?
Dowser
It’s what I know! –
A tadpole and a rocket! – My dear God,
And I can still laugh out! – What do you think
Your tadpole’s made of? What lets your rocket fling
Those streaming sparks across the half of night,
Splashing the burning spray of its haste among
The quiet business of the other stars?
Ay, that’s a fiery jet it leaves behind
In such enormous drift! What sort of fire
Is spouted so, spouted and never quenching? –
There is no name for that star’s fire: it is
The fire that was before the world was made,
The fire that all the things we live among
Remember being; and whitest fire we know
Is its poor copy in their dreaming trance!
Huff
That would be hell fire.
Dowser
Ay, if you like, hell fire,
Hell fire flying through the night! ‘Twould be
A thing to blink about, a blast of it
Swept in your face, eh? and a thing to set
The whole stuff of the earth smoking rarely?
Which of you said ‘ the heat’s a wonder to-night’ ?
You have not done with marvelling. There’ll come
A night when all your clothes are a pickle of sweat,
And, for all that, the sweat on your salty skin
Shall dry and crack, in the breathing of wind
That’s like a draught come through an open’d furnace.
The leafage of the trees shall brown and faint,
All sappy growth turning to brittle rubbish
As the near heat of the star strokes the green earth;
And time shall brush the fields as visibly
As a rough hand brushes against the nap
Of gleaming cloth – killing the season’s colour,
Each hour charged with the wasting of a year;
And sailors panting on their warping ecks
Will watch the sea steam like broth about them.
You’ll know what I know then! – That towering star
Hangs like a fiery buzzard in the night
Intent over our earth – Ay, now his journey
Points straight as a plummet’s drop, down to us!
Huff
Why, that’s the end of the world!
Dowser
You’ve said it now.
Sollers
What, soon? In a day or two?
Merrick
You can’t mean that!
Vine
End of the World! Well now, I never thought
To hear the news of that. If you’ve the truth
In what you say, likely this is an evening
That we’ll be talking over often and often.
‘How was it, Sollers?’ I’ll say; ‘ or you, Merrick,
Do you mind clearly how he lookt? ‘ – And then –
‘ ” End of the world ” he said, and drank – like that,
Solemn! ‘ – And right he was: he had it all
As sure as I have when my sow’s to farrow.
Dowser
Are you making a joke of me? Keep your mind
For tippling while you can.
Vine
Was that a joke?
I’m always bad at seeing ’em, even my own.
Dowser
A fool’s! ‘Twill cheer you when the earth blows up
Like as it were all gunpowder.
Vine
You mean
The star will butt his burning head against us?
‘Twill knock the world to flinders, I suppose?
Dowser
Ay, or with that wild, monstrous tail of his
Smash down upon the air, and make it bounce
Like water under the flukes of a harpooned whale,
And thrash it to a poisonous fire; and we
And all the life of the world drowned in blazing!
Vine
‘Twill be a handsone sight. If my old wife
Were with me now! This would have suited her.
‘I do like things to happen!’ she would say;
Never shindy enough for her; and now
She’s gone, and can’t be seeing this!
Dowser
You poor fool.
How will it be a sight to you, when your eyes
Are scorcht to little cinders in your head?
Vine
Whether or no, there must be folks outside
Willing to know of this. I’ll scatter your news.
[He goes. A short pause: then SOLLERS breaks out.]
Sollers
No, no; it woudn’t do for me at all;
Nor for you neither, Merrick? End of the World?
Bogy! A parson’s tale or a bairn’s!
Merrick
That’s it.
Your trade’s a gift, easy as playing tunes.
But Sollers here and I, we’ve had to drill
Sinew and muscle into their hard lesson,
Until they work in timber and flowing iron
As kindly as I pick up my pint: your work
Grows in your nature, like plain speech in a child,
But we have learnt to think in a foreign tongue;
And something must come out of all our skill!
We shan’t go sliding down as glib as you
Into notions of the End of the World.
Sollers
Give me a tree, you may say, and give me steel,
And I’ll put forth my shapely mind; I’ll make,
Out of my head like telling a well-known tale,
A wain that goes as comely on the roads
As a ship sailing, the lines of it true as gospel.
Have I learnt that all for nothing? – O no!
End of the World? It wouldn’t do at all.
No more making of wains, after I’ve spent
My time in getting the right skill in my hands?
Dowser
Ay, you begin to feel it now, I think;
But you complain like boys for a game spoilt:
Shaping your carts, forging your iron! But Life,
Life, the mother who lets her children play
So seriously busy, trade and craft, –
Life with her skill of a million years’ perfection
To make her heart’s delighted glorying
Of sunlight, and of clouds about the moon,
Spring lighting her daffodils, and corn
Ripening gold to ruddy, and giant seas,
And mountains sitting in their purple clothes –
O life I am thinking of, life the wonder,
All blotcht out by a brutal thrust of fire
Like a midge that clumsy thumb squashes and smears.
Huff
Let me but see the show beginning, though!
You’ld mind me then! O I would like you all
To watch how I should figure, when the star
Brandishes over the whole air its flame
Of thundering fire; and naught but yellow rubbish
Parcht on the perishing ground, and there are tongues
Chapt with thirst, glad to lap stinking ponds,
And pale glaring faces spying about
On the earth withering, terror the only speech!
Look for me then, and see me stand alone
Easy and pleasant in the midst of it all.
Did you not make your merry scoff of me?
Was it your talk, that when you shameless pair
Threw their wantoning in my face like dirt,
I had no heart against them but to grumble?
You would be saying that, I know! But now,
Now I believe it’s time for you to see
My patient heart at last taking its wages.
Sollers
Pull up, man! Screw the brake on your running tongue,
Else it will rattle you down the tumbling way
This fellow’s gone.
Merrick
And one man’s enough
With brain quagged axle-deep in crazy mire.
We won’t have you beside him in his puddles,
And calling out with him on the End of the World
To heave you out with a vengeance.
Huff
What you want!
Have I not borne enough to make me know
I must be righted sometime? – And what else
Would break the hardy sin in them, which lets
Their souls parade so daring and so tall
Under God’s hate and mine? What else could pay
For all my wrong but a blow of blazing anger
Striking down to shiver the earth, and change
Their strutting wickedness to horror and crying?
Merrick
Be quiet, Huff! If you mean to believe
This dowser’s stuff, and join in his bedlam,
By God, you’ll have to reckon with my fist.
[SHALE comes in. HUFF glares at him speechless, but with wrath evidently working.]
Shale
Where’s the joker? You, is it? Here’s hot news
You’ve brought us; all the valley’s hissing aloud,
And makes as much of you falling into it
As a pail of water would of a glowing coal.
Sollers
Don’t you start burbling too, Shale.
Shale
That’s the word!
Burbling, simmering, ay, and bumpy-boiling :
All the women are mobbed together close
Under the witan-trees, and their full minds
Boil like so many pans slung on a fire.
Why starlings trooping in a copse in fall
Could make no scandal like it.
Merrick
What is it, man?
Shale
End of the World! The flying star! End of the World!
Sollers
They don’t believe it though?
Shale
What? the whole place
Has gone just randy over it!
Merrick
Hold your noise!
Sollers
I shall be daft if this goes on.
Shale
Ay, so?
The End of the World’s been here? You look as though
You’d startled lately. And there’s the virtuous man!
How would End of the World suit our good Huff,
Our old crab-verjuice Huff?
HUFF [seizing the DOWSER and bring him up in front of Shale]
Look at him there!
This is the man I told of when you
Were talking small of sin. You made it out,
Did you, a fool’s mere nasty game, like dogs
That snuggle in muck, and grin and roll themselves
With snorting pleasure? Ah, but you are wrong.
‘Tis something that goes thrusting dreadfully
Its wilful bravery of evil against
The worth and right of goodness in the world:
Ay, do you see how his face still brags at me?
And long it has been, the time he’s had to walk
Lording about me with his wickedness.
Do you know what he dared? I had a wife,
A flighty pretty linnet-headed girl,
But mine: he practised on her with his eyes;
He knew of luring glances, and she went
After his calling lust: and all since then
They’ve lived together, fleering in my face,
Pleased in sight of the windows of my house
With doing wrong, and making my disgrace.
O but wait here with me; wait till your news
Is not to be mistaken, for the way
The earth buckles and singes like hot boards:
You’ll surely see how dreadful sin can be
Then, when you mark these two running about,
With raging fear for what they did against me
Buzzing close to their souls, stinging their hearts,
And they like scampering beasts when clegs are fierce,
Or flinging themselves low as the ground to writhe,
Their arms hugging their desperate heads. And then
You’ll see what ’tis to be an upright man,
Who keeps a patient anger for his wrongs
Thinking of judgment coming – you will see that
When you mark how my looks hunt these wretches,
And smile upon their groans and posturing anguish.
O watch how calm I’ll be, when the blazing air
Judges their wickedness; you watch me then
Looking delighted, like a nobleman
Who sees his horse winning an easy race.
Merrick
You fool, Huff, you believe it now!
Huff
You fool,
Merrick, how should I not believe a thing
That calls aloud on my mind and spirit, and they
Answer to it like starving conquering soldiers
Told to break out and loot?
Shale
You vile old wasp!
Sollers
We’ve talkt enough: let’s all go home and sleep;
There might be a fiend in the air about us, one
Who pours his will into our minds to see
How we can frighten one another.
Huff
A fiend!
Shale will soon have the flapping wings of a fiend,
And flaming wings, beating about his head.
Ther’ll be no air for Shale, very soon now,
But the breathing of a fiend: the star’s coming!
The star that breathes a horrible fury of fire
Like glaring fog into the empty night;
And in the gust of its wrath the world will soon
Shrivel and spin like paper in a furnace.
I knew they both would have to pay me at last
With sight of their damned souls for all my wrong!
Shale
Somebody stop his gab.
Merrick [seizing the DOWSER and shaking him]
Is it the truth we’re in the way of the star?
A crowd of men and women burst in and shout confusedly.
1. Look out for the star!
2. ‘Tis moving, moving.
3. Grows as you stare at it.
4. Bigger than ever.
1. Down it comes with a diving pounce,
As though it had lookt for us and at last found us.
2. O so near and coming so quick!
3. And how the buring hairs of its tail
Do seem surely to quiver for speed.
4. We saw its great tail gwitch behind it.
‘Tis come so near, so gleaming near.
1. The tail is wagging!
2. Come out and see!
3. The star is wagging its tail and eyeing us –
4. Like a cat huncht to leap on a bird.
Merrick
Out of my way and let me see for myself.
[They all begin to hustle out: HUFF speaks in midst of the turmoil.]
Huff
Ay, now begins the just man’s reward;
And hatred of the evil thing
Now is to be satisfied.
Wrong ventured out against me and braved:
And I’ll be glad to see all breathing pleasure
Burn as foolishly to naught
As a moth in candle flame,
If I but have my will to watch over those
Who injured me bawling hoarse heartless fear.
[They are all gone but HUFF, SHALE and the DOWSER.]
Shale
As for you, let you and the women make
Your howling scare of this; I’ll stand and laugh.
But if it truly were the End of the World,
I’ld be the man to face it out, not you:
I who have let life go delighted through me,
Not you, who’ve sulkt away your chance of life
In mumping about being paid for goodness.
[Going.]
Huff [after him]
You wait, you wait!
[He follows the rest. ]
Dowser [alone]
Naught but a plague of flies!
I cannot do with noises, and light fools
Terrified round me; I must go out and think
Where there is quiet and no one near. O, think!
Life that has done such wonders with its thinking,
And never daunted in imagining;
That has put on the sun and the shining night,
The flowering of the earth and tides of the sea,
And irresistible rage of fate itself,
All these as garments for its spirit’s journey –
O now this life, in the brute chance of things,
Murder’d, uselessly murder’d! And naught else
For ever but senseless rounds of hurrying motion
That cannot glory in itself. O no!
I will not think of that; I’ll blind my brain
With fancying the splendours of destruction;
When like a burr in the star’s fiery mane
The crackling earth is caught and rusht along,
The forests on the mountains blazing so,
That from the rocks of ore beneath them come
White-hot rivers of smelted metal pouring
Across the plains to roar into the sea. . . .
The curtain is lowered for a few moments only.
to be contued
Lascelles Abercrombie
(1881 – 1938)
The End of the World, Act I
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Archive A-B, Archive A-B, THEATRE
Founded in 2004, Edinburgh Art Festival is the platform for the visual arts at the heart of Edinburgh’s August festivals,
bringing together the capital’s leading galleries, museums and artist-run spaces in a city-wide celebration of the very best in visual art.
Each year, the Festival features leading international and UK artists alongside the best emerging talent, major survey exhibitions of historic figures, and a special programme of newly commissioned artworks that respond to public and historic sites in the city.
The vast majority of the festival is free to attend. Find out more about our programme and previous Festivals on the website.
# Website Edinburgh Art Festival 2019
Edinburgh Art Festival 25 July—25 August 2019
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Art & Literature News, AUDIO, CINEMA, RADIO & TV, Exhibition Archive, Literary Events, MUSIC, Street Art, STREET POETRY, THEATRE
De vaak gehoorde verspreking ‘op Oerol’ in plaats van ‘op Terschelling’ geeft aan dat Oerol de functie heeft gekregen van een plek. In 2019 kantelt Oerol de perspectieven.
K a n t e l e n d e perspectieven
Oerol laat dit jaar de vergezichten, de perspectieven van de makers, en ook hun zorgen en hoop voor de toekomst zien. Een wereld waarin je wordt uitgedaagd je eigen inzichten tegen het licht te houden. Een tijdelijke samenleving waarin iedere deelnemer telt en de verwondering centraal staat.
Naast een sterk vernieuwend aanbod van Theater, Pop-up performances en Expedities, is er muziek uit alle werelddelen te beluisteren.
Nieuw dit jaar zijn onder andere de Secret Garden Sessions. Deze concertreeks met neo-klassieke muziek van Nederlandse en buitenlandse artiesten vindt plaats in de idyllische omgeving van Zelfpluktuin Groenhof.
Het geheel van Oerol Talks biedt ruimte voor reflectie voor zowel makers als bezoekers. Ook de kunstvorm spoken-word krijgt een eigen plek in verschillende onderdelen van de programmering.
Oerol 2019 – 14 t/m 23 juni
Oerol is een vrijstaat voor makers en publiek. Al meer dan 37 jaar biedt het festival ruimte voor talentontwikkeling, experiment en dialoog.
# meer informatie op website oerol
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Art & Literature News, AUDIO, CINEMA, RADIO & TV, DANCE & PERFORMANCE, MUSIC, Natural history, Oerol, STREET POETRY, THEATRE
Na de succesvolle tweede editie van The Stage op het Tilt festival 2019, organiseert Onias Landveld, stadsdichter van Tilburg, de laatste Stage van het seizoen.
The Stage is een podium waar verschillende literaire en muzikale artiesten met diverse achtergronden het publiek ontmoeten. Voor de laatste editie is dit keer de tuin van de Nieuwe Vorst het podium. Op 14 Juni om 20.00 uur vindt daar “Zoete Zomer” plaats.
Geheel naar het concept van The Stage zijn er vijf verschillende literaire performances en één muzikale act. Dit keer zal het podium o.a. verwarmd worden met de tonen van funk soul band EME uit België. Op het “warmste” podium van Tilburg staan als literaire/Spoken Word acts ook:
Elten Kiene (Rotterdam)
Elten Kiene is spoken word-artiest, presentator, organisator, rapper en workshopdocent. Hij is medeoprichter en -organisator van het platform Woorden Worden Zinnen (opgericht in 2010) en was onderdeel van het hiphopcollectief Brandwerk. Als spoken word-artiest heeft Elten vele podia betreden, onder andere bij Paginagroots, Mensen Zeggen Dingen en Late Night Poetry Jam.
M. (Rotterdam)
Deze Rotterdammer ziet en vertaald de schoonheid van het hedendaagse. Vertellend over een krantenwijk alsof het een ambacht is of over een blik in iemands ogen alsof we ooit allemaal op die manier uit onze ogen hebben gekeken. M. acteert niet. Hij is op zoek naar het wezenlijke. Zijn poëzie is authentiek.
Samira Saleh ( Antwerpen)
Samira heeft een manier gevonden om haar gevoelens te vertalen naar Spoken Word. Niet alleen haar serieuze teksten bevatten een stevige inhoud, ook haar humoristische teksten geven een diepe boodschap mee voor de goede luisteraar. Ze was deel van het winnende Team Zuid in het Slam ‘t Stad slam Poetry toernooi in Antwerpen en heeft voor verschillende projecten opgetreden over heel België. Zij is winnares van de Bill Award in de categorie spreken en ze was medeorganisator van Mama’s Open mic in Antwerpen. This revolution will not be televised. It will be heard.
Seckou Ouologuem Winnaar Van Dale Spoken Awards 2015 (Antwerpen)
Seckou Ouologuem is een pionier binnen de Vlaamse slam Poetry scene. Hij stond al op verschillende poëzie- en toneelpodia in bijna alle continenten. In 2009 won hij de Kifkif Awards en in 2015 Spoken Van Dale in de categorie lyrics. Naast het geven en organiseren van lezingen, geeft Seckou ook lessen slam, rap en expressie aan (muziek)scholen, universiteiten en gevangenissen.
Karlijn Vlaardingerbroek (Tilburg)
Karlijn (29) is dichter en kunstdocent. Ze schrijft teksten en liedjes over grote en kleine dingen in het leven. Ze maakt het alledaagse bijzonder en benadert serieuze thema’s op een luchtige en speelse manier. Als voormalig lid van de Poetry Circle 013 heeft ze meermalen op verschillende podia in Nederland gestaan. Naast haar voorliefde voor schrijven en performen is zij een drijvende kracht in de organisatie van het Tilburgs Literair podium Woordenaars.
EME (Antwerpen)
Emeraude Kabeya, geboren in Kinshasa, Congo begon op de middelbare school te experimenteren met coverbands en nam deel aan enkele hiphopprojecten. In 2014 werd ze gevraagd om te zingen in een All Star-bluesproject, georganiseerd door de in Leuven gevestigde Radio Scorpio. Dat is waar ze contact maakte met de muzikanten die later haar band werden. Haar lyriek in combinatie met haar geweldige soulstem, die zowel zacht als krachtig klinkt, sloegen bij de 6 andere muzikanten in als een bom. EME brengt “Soul ‘n’ B”: een mix van soul en R & B met een funky smaak en een vleugje rock. Live neemt de band de taak op zich om mensen te laten dansen, van headbangen tot slijpen. In 2015 won EME de publieksprijs van Rockvonk en in hetzelfde jaar haalden ze de shortlist van ‘De Nieuwe Lichting’ van Studio Brussel. De laatste beschreef haar geluid als pakkend, funky en sensueel.
Onias Landveld, stadsdichter van Tilburg, organiseert ‘Zoete Zomer’, de 3e editie van The Stage
De Nieuwe Vorst
Willem II-straat 49
5038 BD Tilburg
Kaarten & info
013 – 532 85 20
info@denieuwevorst.nl
# meer informatie op website de nieuwe vorst
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Occupying the Stage: the Theater of May ’68 tells the story of student and worker uprisings in France through the lens of theater history, and the story of French theater through the lens of May ’68.
Based on detailed archival research and original translations, close readings of plays and historical documents, and a rigorous assessment of avant-garde theater history and theory, Occupying the Stage proposes that the French theater of 1959–71 forms a standalone paradigm called “The Theater of May ’68.”
The book shows how French theater artists during this period used a strategy of occupation-occupying buildings, streets, language, words, traditions, and artistic processes-as their central tactic of protest and transformation. It further proposes that the Theater of May ’68 has left imprints on contemporary artists and activists, and that this theater offers a scaffolding on which to build a meaningful analysis of contemporary protest and performance in France, North America, and beyond.
At the book’s heart is an inquiry into how artists of the period used theater as a way to engage in political work and, concurrently, questioned and overhauled traditional theater practices so their art would better reflect the way they wanted the world to be. Occupying the Stage embraces the utopic vision of May ’68 while probing the period’s many contradictions. It thus affirms the vital role theater can play in the ongoing work of social change.
Occupying the Stage
The Theater of May ’68
Kate Bredeson (Author)
Publication Date: November 2018
Pages 232
Trim Size 6 x 9
Paper Text – $34.95
Northwestern University Press
Drama & Performance Studies
ISBN 978-0-8101-3815-5
# new books
Occupying the Stage
The Theater of May ’68
Kate Bredeson
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Pol Kurucz: Politicas
“Politicas” (non existant female version of “Politicos”, meaning politician in latin languages) promotes the role of women in politics via provocative scenes in which each “Politica” campaigns in her own, witty way.
Pol Kurucz was born with two different names to a French mother in a Hungarian hospital. His childhood hyperactivity was treated with theater, and theater was later treated with finance. By 27 he was a manager by day and a stage director by night. He then went on consecutive journeys to Bahrain and Brazil, to corporate islands and favelas. He has sailed on the shores of the adult industry and of militant feminism and launched a mainstream money making bar loss making in its indie art basement. Then he suddenly died of absurdity. Pol was reborn in 2015 and merged his two names and his contradictory lives into one where absurdity makes sense.
Today he works on eccentric fashion, celebrity and fine art projects in São Paulo and New York. His photos have been featured in over a hundred publications including: Vogue, ELLE, Glamour, Marie Claire, The Guardian, Dazed, Adobe Create, Hunger, Sleek, Nylon, Hi-Fructose, Galore. Pol’s works were exhibited worldwide in 72 galleries and cultural events in 2018 including: Juxtapoz Club House (Art Basel Miami), ArtExpo NYC, Red Dot Miami, Lincoln Center NYC, Shanghai Fashion Week, New York Fashion Week, Superchief Gallery Miami, Lumas Galleries worldwide, Democrart Galleries in Brazil and Pica Photo shows in China.
# more on website pol kurucz
www.polkurucz.com (politicas: www.polkurucz.com/politicas)
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Jan Naaijkens was bekend als schrijver van proza, toneel, gedichten en liedjes.
Daarnaast was hij een onderwijzer in hart en nieren. En niet te vergeten: radiopresentator, acteur, verzetsheld, én vader van 12 kinderen.
Jan Naaijkens heeft veel betekend voor de culturele emancipatie van Brabant in de periode na de Tweede Wereldoorlog.
Hij werd in februari 100 jaar oud. Op 17 april overleed Jan Naaijkens in zijn slaap.
Jan Naaijkens
(Hilvarenbeek, 10 februari 1919 – 17 april 2019)
# Meer over Jan Naaijkens in fleursdumal.nl magazine via deze link
# Link Jan Naaijkens op Wikipedia
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Pol Kurucz: The Normals
The Normals is a heteroclit family of excentric women going abot their lives, free, challenging aesthetic, gender and social norms.
Pol Kurucz was born with two different names to a French mother in a Hungarian hospital. His childhood hyperactivity was treated with theater, and theater was later treated with finance. By 27 he was a manager by day and a stage director by night. He then went on consecutive journeys to Bahrain and Brazil, to corporate islands and favelas. He has sailed on the shores of the adult industry and of militant feminism and launched a mainstream money making bar loss making in its indie art basement. Then he suddenly died of absurdity. Pol was reborn in 2015 and merged his two names and his contradictory lives into one where absurdity makes sense.
Today he works on eccentric fashion, celebrity and fine art projects in São Paulo and New York. His photos have been featured in over a hundred publications including: Vogue, ELLE, Glamour, Marie Claire, The Guardian, Dazed, Adobe Create, Hunger, Sleek, Nylon, Hi-Fructose, Galore. Pol’s works were exhibited worldwide in 72 galleries and cultural events in 2018 including: Juxtapoz Club House (Art Basel Miami), ArtExpo NYC, Red Dot Miami, Lincoln Center NYC, Shanghai Fashion Week, New York Fashion Week, Superchief Gallery Miami, Lumas Galleries worldwide, Democrart Galleries in Brazil and Pica Photo shows in China.
# more on website pol kurucz: www.polkurucz.com
(the normals: www.polkurucz.com/normals)
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More in: Art & Literature News, FDM Art Gallery, Photography, Pol Kurucz, Surrealisme, THEATRE
Pol Kurucz: Hair Stories
Hair stories is a tale of 12 outlandish hair styles, extensions of 12 eccentric female souls in 12 unconventional scenes.
Pol Kurucz was born with two different names to a French mother in a Hungarian hospital. His childhood hyperactivity was treated with theater, and theater was later treated with finance. By 27 he was a manager by day and a stage director by night. He then went on consecutive journeys to Bahrain and Brazil, to corporate islands and favelas. He has sailed on the shores of the adult industry and of militant feminism and launched a mainstream money making bar loss making in its indie art basement. Then he suddenly died of absurdity. Pol was reborn in 2015 and merged his two names and his contradictory lives into one where absurdity makes sense.
Today he works on eccentric fashion, celebrity and fine art projects in São Paulo and New York. His photos have been featured in over a hundred publications including: Vogue, ELLE, Glamour, Marie Claire, The Guardian, Dazed, Adobe Create, Hunger, Sleek, Nylon, Hi-Fructose, Galore. Pol’s works were exhibited worldwide in 72 galleries and cultural events in 2018 including: Juxtapoz Club House (Art Basel Miami), ArtExpo NYC, Red Dot Miami, Lincoln Center NYC, Shanghai Fashion Week, New York Fashion Week, Superchief Gallery Miami, Lumas Galleries worldwide, Democrart Galleries in Brazil and Pica Photo shows in China.
# more on website pol kurucz
www.polkurucz.com (hair stories: www.polkurucz.com/hairstories)
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: Art & Literature News, FDM Art Gallery, Photography, Pol Kurucz, Surrealisme, THEATRE
Onias Landveld Stadsdichter van Tilburg organiseert op 30 maart, de tweede editie van The Stage. Die avond zal hij met zijn podium te gast zijn bij het Tilt Festival in Theater De Nieuwe Vorst in Tilburg.
Het thema van de avond is “Zij is”, een knik naar de Boekenweek 2019, die ‘Moeder de vrouw’ als onderwerp heeft.
Met een aantal speciale gasten zal The Stage bezoekers die avond vermaken met poëzie, verhalen en muziek.
De stadsdichter is het podium gestart omdat hij iets wil achterlaten als hij in Augustus dit jaar afzwaait.
Onias Landveld vindt dat woordkunst in een stad als Tilburg een plaats moet blijven hebben. Daarom is hij vorig jaar dit evenement gestart dat zijn vaste plek in de Nwe Vorst heeft.
Op 30 maart staan on Stage: Zeinab El Bouni, Aminata Cairo, LouLou Elisabettie, Lev Avitan, Whitney Muanza Sabina Lukovic en Tessa Gabriëls.
Onias Landveld & The Stage
Tilt Festival in Theater De Nieuwe Vorst
Willem II straat – Tilburg.
Aanvang: 20:45
Einde: 22:45
Kaarten verkrijgbaar via de website van Tilt of de Nieuwe Vorst
# website theater de nieuwe vorst
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More in: *Concrete + Visual Poetry K-O, - Book Lovers, Archive K-L, Archive K-L, Art & Literature News, City Poets / Stadsdichters, Landveld, Onias, STREET POETRY, THEATRE, Tilt Festival Tilburg
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
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