New

  1. Week van het Verboden Boek: 20 tm 28 september 2025
  2. Adah Menken: Dying
  3. Bert Bevers: Homerusfeest, 1967
  4. Almost by Emily Dickinson
  5. Rudyard Kipling: The Press
  6. Bert Bevers: Verdwenen details
  7. Georg Trakl: Nähe des Todes
  8. Rouge et Noir by Emily Dickinson
  9. Invictus by William Ernest Henley
  10. Anthology of Black Humor by André Breton
  11. Gertrud Kolmar: Verlorenes Lied
  12. Georg Trakl: In Venedig
  13. Masaoka Shiki: Buddha-death
  14. Feeling All the Kills by Helen Calcutt
  15. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: Der Sänger
  16. Adah Menken: Aspiration
  17. Wild nights – Wild nights! by Emily Dickinson
  18. Adah Menken: A Memory
  19. Water by Ralph Waldo Emerson
  20. This Little Bag poem by Jane Austen
  21. Rachel Long: My Darling from the Lions
  22. Masaoka Shiki: Haiku
  23. 55th Poetry International Festival Rotterdam
  24. Gertrud Kolmar: Soldatenmädchen
  25. Neem ruim zei de zee. Gedichten van Sholeh Rezazadeh
  26. Adah Menken: Karazah To Karl
  27. The Emperor of Gladness, a novel by Ocean Vuong
  28. Georg Trakl: Sonja
  29. Bert Bevers: Achtergrondgeluk
  30. To See Yourself as You Vanish, poems by Andrea Werblin Reid
  31. I’m Nobody! Who are you? by Emily Dickinson
  32. Vanessa Angélica Villarreal: Magical/Realism. Essays on Music, Memory, Fantasy and Borders
  33. Gertrud Kolmar: Der Brief
  34. Bert Bevers: De tuin is groener nog dan het woord
  35. I Am The Reaper Poem by William Ernest Henley

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Else Lasker-Schüler: Ich weiß

Ich weiß

Ich weiß, daß ich bald sterben muß
Es leuchten doch alle Bäme
Nach langersehtem Julikuß –

Fahl werden meine Träume –
Nie dichtete ich einen trüberen Schluß
In den Büchern meiner Reime.

Eine Blume brichst du mir zum Gruß –
Ich liebte sie schon im Keime.
Doch ich weiß, daß ich bald sterben muß.

Mein Odem schwebt über Gottes Fluß
Ich setze leise meinen Fuß
Auf den Pfad zum ewigen Heime.

Else Lasker-Schüler
(1869 – 1945)
Ich weiß

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Still Life by Jay Hopler

Confronted with a terminal cancer diagnosis, Jay Hopler–author of the National Book Award-finalist The Abridged History of Rainfall–got to work.

The result of that labor is Still Life, a collection of poems that are heartbreaking, terrifying, and deeply, darkly hilarious.

In an attempt to find meaning in a life ending right before his eyes, Hopler squares off against monsters real and imagined, personal and historical, and tries not to flinch.

This work is no elegy; it’s a testament to courage, love, compassion, and the fierceness of the human heart.

It’s a violently funny but playfully serious fulfillment of what Arseny Tarkovsky called the fundamental purpose of art: a way to prepare for death, be it far in the future or very near at hand.

Jay Hopler was born in San Juan, Puerto Rico, in 1970. He earned a BA in English and American Literature from New York University, an MA in Creative Writing from the Johns Hopkins University Writing Seminars, an MFA in Creative Writing from the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, and a PhD in American Studies from Purdue University. His first collection of poetry, Green Squall (2006), was chosen by Louise Glück as the winner of the Yale Younger Poets Prize; his second collection, The Abridged History of Rainfall (2016), was a finalist for the National Book Award in Poetry.

Hopler’s poems take as their starting point a formal virtuosity rooted in idiosyncrasy, passion of vision, and the beautiful (sometimes not-so-beautiful) violence of emotion. They are by turns plainspoken, erudite, opaque, clear, serious, and broodingly funny. Hopler is a dexterous poet, but never dogmatic. His poems make sense but not points; they think and reel and describe the broken world, without a wasted word. What the likes of G.M. Hopkins and Wallace Stevens and Robert Hayden carried out, Jay Hopler continues and expands upon, to gorgeous effect. According to poet Katie Ford, “Hopler’s vision and voice [are] both painfully complex because of how much of the world he allows to attach to him, to stake its claim on him.” Hopler is also an editor and translator.

His works include The Killing Spirit: An Anthology of Murder for Hire (1998), Before the Door of God: An Anthology of Devotional Poetry (edited with his spouse, poet and Renaissance scholar Kimberly Johnson, 2013), and The Museum of Small Dark Things: 25 Poems by Georg Trakl (2016).

The recipient of numerous honors and awards, including a Fellowship from the Lannan Foundation, a Whiting Award, the Great Lakes Colleges Association New Writers Award, two National “Best Books” Award from USA Book News, two Florida Book Awards, a Foreword Reviews Book-of-the-Year Award, and the Rome Prize in Literature, Hopler directs the program in creative writing at the University of South Florida.

Still Life
Jay Hopler (Author)
Publisher: McSweeney’s
Publish Date: June 07, 2022
Dimensions
6.36 X 8.5 X 0.46 inches
Language English
Hardcover
EAN/UPC 9781952119378
Price $18.00

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Bert Bevers: Nimmer schor is de maan

 

Nimmer schor is de maan

Zwier de korrels uit de aren, dorsers! Het bier en brood
van morgen moet jullie akkers uit. Op stille tenen verklaart
gelukkig de middag zich geduldig nader. Dat kreupelhout
onwillig is en de spar ontschorst. Dat regen op komst lijkt:

hoge wolken zijn gestreept als de borstveren van een havik.
De wijze weet dat de maan nimmer schor is en heeft een
naam die eigenlijk zachte dieren zouden moeten dragen.
Onderaan de dijk bloeit in pruilende klei de grote bevernel.

Bert Bevers
Nimmer schor is de maan
Verschenen in de catalogus Enghuizer dialogen, Hummelo, 2019

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Freda Kamphuis: Wroeging

Wroeging

Hij verzamelde geld. Oud geld, nieuw geld, geld. Zijn huis was van geld, zijn tafel, zijn stoel, zijn tv, zijn vrouw, zijn zoon, zijn baby, zijn 06, zijn laptop, zijn auto, zijn tuin, zijn muren, zijn ramen, zijn huidige geld, zijn toekomstige geld, zijn wereld, alles van geld. In een droom zag hij zichzelf, zijn armen griezelig veranderd in briefjes van tien, zijn ogen zich harden tot munten van twee, zijn hart tot toren van munten verhard, zijn beide handen uit munten gesmeed. Zijn vrouw die op de achtergrond zijn portemonnaie kust. Hij begon te huilen als een kind dat wakker schrikt in het geloof dat zijn pasgedroomde nachtmerrie werkelijkheid is, tot hopelijk een lieve mama deze ontkent en hem geruststelt. Hij huilde steeds harder en harder en harder tot en met de volwassene die ineens voelt, weet dat zijn nachtmerrie zijn ware nachtmerrie blijkt.

Freda Kamphuis
Wroeging
Gedicht

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Dante Gabriel Rossetti: A New-Year’s Burden

A New-Year’s Burden

Along the grass sweet airs are blown
Our way this day in Spring.
Of all the songs that we have known
Now which one shall we sing?
Not that, my love, ah no!—
Not this, my love? why, so!—
Yet both were ours, but hours will come and go.
The grove is all a pale frail mist,
The new year sucks the sun.
Of all the kisses that we kissed
Now which shall be the one?
Not that my love, ah no!—
Not this, my love?—heigh-ho
For all the sweets that all the winds can blow!
The branches cross above our eyes,
The skies are in a net:
And what’s the thing beneath the skies
We two would most forget?
Not birth, my love, no, no,—
Not death, my love, no, no,—
The love once ours, but ours long hours ago.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti
(1828 – 1882)
A New-Year’s Burden

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I Dream’d In A Dream by Walt Whitman

 

I Dream’d In A Dream

I dream’d in a dream,
I saw a city invincible to the attacks
of the whole of the rest of the earth;
I dream’d that was the new City of Friends;
Nothing was greater there than the quality
of robust love – it led the rest;
It was seen every hour in the actions
of the men of that city,
And in all their looks and words.

Walt Whitman
(1819 – 1892)
I Dream’d In A Dream

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Harvest Lingo by Lionel Fogarty

Harvest Lingo is the fourteenth collection of poems by Lionel Fogarty, a Murri man with traditional connections to the Yugambeh people from south of Brisbane and the Kudjela people of north Queensland.

He is a leading Indigenous rights activist, and one of Australia’s foremost poets, and this collection displays all of the urgency, energy and linguistic audacity for which Fogarty is known.

At the centre of the collection is a series of poems written in India. Deeply empathetic, these poems are remarkable for the connections they draw between the social problems the poet encounters in this country – poverty, class division, corruption – and those he sees in contemporary Australia, besetting his own people.

Other poems tell of encounters between people and between cultures, address historical and cultural issues and political events, and pay tribute to important Indigenous figures. There are intensely felt lyrics of personal experience, and poems which contemplate Fogarty’s own position as a poet and an activist, speaking with and for his community.

Fogarty’s poems are bold and fierce, at times challenging and confronting, moved by strong rhythms and a remarkable freedom with language. They are an expression of the ‘harvest lingo’ which gives the collection its title.

Lionel Fogarty was born on Wakka Wakka land, at Cherbourg Aboriginal Reserve in south-east Queensland in 1957. Throughout the 1970s he worked as an activist for Aboriginal Land Rights, and in the 1990s, after the death of his brother Daniel Yock, protesting against Aboriginal Deaths in Custody. His poetry collections date from the early 1980s; his most recent collections are Connection Requital; Mogwie-Idan: Stories of the Land; Eelahroo (Long Ago) Nyah (Looking) Mobo-Mobo (Future), all with Vagabond Press, and Lionel Fogarty: Selected Poems 1980-2017, published by re.press.

Harvest Lingo
by Lionel Fogarty
Poetry
Giramondo Publishing
112 pages
Paperback, 21 x 14.8 cm
Published June 2022
ISBN 9781925336177
$25,00

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Haruki Murakami: Novelist as a Vocation

In this engaging book, the internationally best-selling author and famously private writer Haruki Murakami

shares with readers his thoughts on the role of the novel in our society; his own origins as a writer; and his musings on the sparks of creativity that inspire other writers, artists, and musicians.

Here are the personal details of a life devoted to craft: the initial moment at a Yakult Swallows baseball game, when he suddenly knew he could write a novel; the importance of memory, what he calls a writer’s “mental chest of drawers”; the necessity of loneliness, patience, and his daily running routine; the seminal role a carrier pigeon played in his career.

Aspiring writers and readers who have long wondered where the mysterious novelist gets his ideas and what inspires his strangely surreal worlds will be fascinated by this insightful and unique look at the craft of writing and into the mind of a master storyteller.

Haruki Murakami was born in Kyoto in 1949 and now lives near Tokyo. His work has been translated into more than fifty languages, and one of the most recent of his many international honors is the Cino Del Duca World Prize, whose previous recipients include Jorge Luis Borges, Ismail Kadare, Mario Vargas Llosa, and Joyce Carol Oates.

Novelist as a Vocation
The master storyteller on writing and creativity
Haruki Murakami
Philip Gabriel (Translator)
Ted Goossen (Translator)
Published: 08/11/2022
Publisher: ‎Knopf (November 8, 2022)
Language: ‎English
Hardcover:‎ 224 pages
ISBN-10:‎ 0451494644
ISBN-13: ‎ 978-0451494641
$22.99

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Raoul Schrott: Die Erfindung der Poesie

Ein solches Buch hat es noch nie gegeben.

Dass die Poesie eine alte Erfindung ist, ahnen wir; aber die wenigsten von uns wären imstande, die Spur der europäischen Dichtung bis an ihre Ursprünge zurückzuverfolgen.

Sie führt weit, bis ins Zweistromland, bis zu den Arabern, den Kelten und den Sizilianern. Wer wüßte schon, daß der älteste überlieferte Dichtername einer Frau gehört?

Wer kennt noch die wilden Lieder des Archilochos, den die Griechen die Skorpionzunge nannten?

Und so weiter – über Sappho und die römischen Elegiker Catull und Properz bis zu den Iren des achten, den Hebräern des elften, den Trobadors des zwölften und den Walisern des vierzehnten Jahrhunderts.

Raoul Schrott ist 1964 in Landeck geboren. Seine bisherigen Publikationen sind: Dada 21/22 (1988); Makama (1989); Die Legenden vom Tod (1990); Rime (1991); Dada 15/25 (1992); Sub rosa (1993); Hotels (1995); Finis terrae (1995), Die Musen. Fragmente einer Sprache der Dichtung (1997) und Poesie und Physis – Grazer Poetikvorlesungen (1997).

Schrott, Raoul
Die Erfindung der Poesie
Die Andere Bibliothek u.a.
Seitenanzahl: 536
Extradrucke
Bandnummer: 154
ISBN: 9783821847702
ca. 45,00 EUR (antiquarisch)

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Bert Bevers: Alles moet

Alles moet

Verblij me met het lijmen van tijden. Hoe
leven wonderschoon zich aan de mens gewoon

perfect voltrekt als alles goed gaat. Door denken
aan. Want alles moet. Niets gebeurt zomaar.

Zet aan het leven! Niets mis is er mee. Het is of
Fellini met een handycam achter ons loopt. Zo

Bert Bevers
Alles moet
Gedicht ongepubliceerd

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Freda Kamphuis: Tegemoet

Tegemoet

Als lange neus naar zware, logge
aangemeerden langs de kade
zoeft lichtgewicht ze vliegensvlug voorbij
te recht en strak om dobberend dier te zijn
niet in harmonie met kwetterende eenden
ook niet met de tetterende fietser vlak daarnaast.

Acht peddels links, acht peddels rechts
daartussenin bewegen acht gesmeerde mannen
ritmisch met hun sterke armen mee tot één geheel.

Vlak voor brug worden zij rietstengels, die buigen,
niet door wind maar laagste ijzer van de brug is hard
van bovenaf kijk ik één tel op rij gezichten neer
als stille, stoere streep gaan zij in al hun pracht ten onder.

Freda Kamphuis
Tegemoet
Gedicht

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Heinrich Heine: Im süßen Traum, bei stiller Nacht

Im süßen Traum,
bei stiller Nacht

Im süßen Traum, bei stiller Nacht,
Da kam zu mir, mit Zaubermacht,
Mit Zaubermacht, die Liebste mein,
Sie kam zu mir ins Kämmerlein.

Ich schau sie an, das holde Bild!
Ich schau sie an, sie lächelt mild,
Und lächelt, bis das Herz mir schwoll,
Und stürmisch kühn das Wort entquoll:

»Nimm hin, nimm alles, was ich hab,
Mein Liebstes tret ich gern dir ab,
Dürft ich dafür dein Buhle sein,
Von Mitternacht bis Hahnenschrein.«

Da staunt’ mich an gar seltsamlich,
So lieb, so weh und inniglich,
Und sprach zu mir die schöne Maid:
»Oh, gib mir deine Seligkeit!«

»Mein Leben süß, mein junges Blut,
Gäb ich, mit Freud’ und wohlgemut,
Für dich, o Mädchen, engelgleich –
Doch nimmermehr das Himmelreich.«

Wohl braust hervor mein rasches Wort,
Doch blühet schöner immerfort,
Und immer spricht die schöne Maid:
»Oh, gib mir deine Seligkeit!«

Dumpf dröhnt dies Wort mir ins Gehör,
Und schleudert mir ein Glutenmeer
Wohl in der Seele tiefsten Raum;
Ich atme schwer, ich atme kaum. –

Das waren weiße Engelein,
Umglänzt von goldnem Glorienschein;
Nun aber stürmte wild herauf
Ein gräulich schwarzer Koboldhauf’.

Die rangen mit den Engelein,
Und drängten fort die Engelein;
Und endlich auch die schwarze Schar
In Nebelduft zerronnen war. –

Ich aber wollt in Lust vergehn,
Ich hielt im Arm mein Liebchen schön;
Sie schmiegt sich an mich wie ein Reh,
Doch weint sie auch mit bitterm Weh.

Feins Liebchen weint; ich weiß warum,
Und küß ihr Rosenmündlein stumm. –
»O still, feins Lieb, die Tränenflut,
Ergib dich meiner Liebesglut!

Ergib dich meiner Liebesglut-«
Da plötzlich starrt zu Eis mein Blut;
Laut bebet auf der Erde Grund,
Und öffnet gähnend sich ein Schlund.

Und aus dem schwarzen Schlunde steigt
Die schwarze Schar; – feins Lieb erbleicht!
Aus meinen Armen schwand feins Lieb;
Ich ganz alleine stehenblieb.

Da tanzt im Kreise wunderbar,
Um mich herum, die schwarze Schar,
Und drängt heran, erfaßt mich bald,
und gellend Hohngelächter schallt.

Und immer enger wird der Kreis,
Und immer summt die Schauerweis’:
»Du gabest hin die Seligkeit,
Gehörst uns nun in Ewigkeit!«

Heinrich Heine
(1797-1856)
Im süßen Traum, bei stiller Nacht

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