Ernst Jandl: ein gleiches

Ernst Jandl

(1925-2000)

ein gleiches

über allen gipfeln

ist ruh

in allen wipfeln

spürest du

kaum einen hauch

die vögelein schweigen im walde

warte nur, balde

ruhest du auch

Ernst Jandl poetry
From: der künstliche baum
Source: ► Lyrikline.org
kempis.nl poetry magazine

Blaise Cendrars: Reveil

Blaise Cendrars

(1887-1961)

Reveil

Je dors toujours les fenêtres ouvertes

J’ai dormi comme un homme seul

Les sirènes à vapeur et à air comprimé ne m’ont pas trop

réveillé

Ce matin je me penche par la fenêtre

Je vois

Le ciel

La mer

La gare maritime par laquelle j’arrivais de New-York en

1911

La baraque du pilotage

A gauche

Des fumées des cheminées des grues des lampes à arc à

contre-jour

Le premier tram grelotte dans l’aube glaciale

Moi j’ai trop chaud

Adieu Paris

Bonjour soleil

Blaise Cendrars poetry

kempis.nl poetry magazine

Bertolt Brecht: Questions From a Worker Who Reads

Bertolt Brecht

(1898-1956)

Questions From a Worker Who Reads

Who built Thebes of the seven gates?
In the books you will find the names of kings.
Did the kings haul up the lumps of rock?
And Babylon, many times demolished
Who raised it up so many times? In what houses
of gold-glittering Lima did the builders live?
Where, the evening that the Wall of China was finished
Did the masons go? Great Rome
Is full of triumphal arches. Who erected them? Over whom
Did the Caesars triumph? Had Byzantium, much praised in song
Only palaces for its inhabitants? Even in fabled Atlantis
The night the ocean engulfed it
The drowning still bawled for their slaves.

The young Alexander conquered India.
Was he alone?
Caesar beat the Gauls.
Did he not have even a cook with him?

Philip of Spain wept when his armada
Went down. Was he the only one to weep?
Frederick the Second won the Seven Year’s War. Who
Else won it?

Every page a victory.
Who cooked the feast for the victors?
Every ten years a great man?
Who paid the bill?

So many reports.
So many questions

Bertolt Brecht Lieder
kempis.nl poetry magazine

De glans van oud ijzer. Hommage aan Cornelis Verhoeven

photo: kempis.nl

De glans van oud ijzer

Hommage aan Cornelis Verhoeven

tekst: Charles Vergeer

met citaten van Cornelis Verhoeven

en met foto’s van 15 kunstwerken van Jeanne Schouten

geïnspireerd door het werk van Verhoeven

Oplage 200 exx.

Brandon Pers Tilburg

uitgave nr. 59

november 2011

prijs 17 euro

te bestellen via email: c.vergeer@fontys.nl

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More in: Art & Poetry News 2011, Cornelis Verhoeven

Gerrit Kouwenaar: Totaal witte kamer

Gerrit Kouwenaar

(1923)

Totaal witte kamer

Laten wij nog eenmaal de kamer wit maken

nog eenmaal de totaal witte kamer, jij, ik

dit zal geen tijd sparen, maar nog eenmaal

de kamer wit maken, nu, nooit meer later

en dat wij dan bijna het volmaakte napraten

alsof het gedrukt staat, witter dan leesbaar

dus nog eenmaal die kamer, de voor altijd totale

zoals wij er lagen, liggen, liggen blijven

witter dan, samen -

(Uit: Gerrit Kouwenaar, Totaal witte kamer. Querido, Amsterdam 2002)

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Alfred de Musset: Sur une morte

Alfred de Musset

(1810-1857)

Sur une morte

Elle était belle, si la Nuit
Qui dort dans la sombre chapelle
Où Michel-Ange a fait son lit,
Immobile peut être belle.

Elle était bonne, s’il suffit
Qu’en passant la main s’ouvre et donne,
Sans que Dieu n’ait rien vu, rien dit,
Si l’or sans pitié fait l’aumône.

Elle pensait, si le vain bruit
D’une voix douce et cadencée,
Comme le ruisseau qui gémit
Peut faire croire à la pensée.

Elle priait, si deux beaux yeux,
Tantôt s’attachant à la terre,
Tantôt se levant vers les cieux,
Peuvent s’appeler la Prière.

Elle aurait souri, si la fleur
Qui ne s’est point épanouie
Pouvait s’ouvrir à la fraîcheur
Du vent qui passe et qui l’oublie.

Elle aurait pleuré si sa main,
Sur son coeur froidement posée,
Eût jamais, dans l’argile humain,
Senti la céleste rosée.

Elle aurait aimé, si l’orgueil
Pareil à la lampe inutile
Qu’on allume près d’un cercueil,
N’eût veillé sur son coeur stérile.

Elle est morte, et n’a point vécu.
Elle faisait semblant de vivre.
De ses mains est tombé le livre
Dans lequel elle n’a rien lu.

Alfred de Musset poetry
kempis.nl poetry magazine

Bert Bevers gedicht: Havenbeeld

Havenbeeld

Wees gerust oude golven, niemand

weet de weg. Wij zwerven helemaal thuis.

Bollend als een meisjeshandschrift troost

uit regen op kranen. Wit krijt,

uitlopende tekens. De wereld is zo wijd:

meeuwen scheren krijsend langs de gilling.

Bert Bevers

verschenen in Antwerpen, de stad in gedichten, (samenstelling Philip Hoorne), Uitgeverij 521, Amsterdam, 2003

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Die andere Seite des Mondes. Künstlerinnen der Avantgarde

Dora Maar, Sans Titre (Main-coquillage), 1934, Silbergelatineabzug, Fotomontage, 40,1 x 28,9 cm, Centre Pompidou, Paris, Musée national d´art moderne. Foto: © VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2011. © Kunstsammlung NRW

Die andere Seite des Mondes

Künstlerinnen der Avantgarde

K20 Grabbeplatz, Düsseldorf

bis 15.01.2012

Im Mittelpunkt der Ausstellung “Die andere Seite des Mondes” stehen acht Künstlerinnen, die in den 1920er und 1930er Jahren maßgeblich an den ästhetischen Neuerungen in Europa beteiligt waren. Durch ihr hohes künstlerisches Niveau, ihre zielstrebige Kontaktsuche [...]

Kuratorin: Dr. Susanne Meyer-Büser

Hannah Höch, Siebenmeilenstiefel, um 1934, Photomontage, 22,9 x 32,29 cm, Hamburger Kunsthalle. Foto: © VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2011, Foto: Christoph Irrgang. © Kunstsammlung NRW

Im Mittelpunkt der Ausstellung Die andere Seite des Mondes stehen acht Künstlerinnen, die in den 1920er und 1930er Jahren maßgeblich an den ästhetischen Neuerungen in Europa beteiligt waren. Durch ihr hohes künstlerisches Niveau, ihre zielstrebige Kontaktsuche und unbedingtes Engagement vernetzten sie sich stets im Zentrum der Avantgarde. Es sind Claude Cahun, Dora Maar, Sonia Delaunay, Florence Henri, Hannah Höch, Sophie Taeuber-Arp und die weniger bekannten Katarzyna Kobro und Germaine Dulac, deren Leben und Werke in der Ausstellung erstmals in dieser Zusammenstellung entdeckt werden können. Die Gesamtspanne der künstlerischen Arbeiten umfasst unterschiedlichste ästhetische Richtungen vom Dadaismus über den Konstruktivismus bis hin zum Surrealismus. Ebenso vielfältig sind die künstlerischen Mittel, die Malerei, Fotografie, Collage, Film und Skulptur umfassen.

Installationsansicht „Haunted by Objects“, The Israel Museum, Jerusalem, 2010/2011, © Zvi Goldstein. Foto: cakesmeyer © Kunstsammlung NRW

Die andere Seite des Mondes wendet sich den weiblichen Pionieren der Avantgarde zu: Künstlerinnen, die frühzeitig an den Bewegungen ihrer Zeit teilgenommen und die zur Begründung und Verbreitung neuer Stilrichtungen beigetragen haben. Beispielhaft für diese Riege der Pionierinnen steht Sophie Taeuber-Arp (1889-1943).

Zum Kreis dieser einflussreichen und kommunikativen Künstlerinnen zählen ebenso Hannah Höch (1889-1978), die mit ihren Collagen zu den Begründern des Berliner Dadaismus gehörte, sowie Sonia Delaunay (1885-1979). Sie bereitet in Paris den Weg zur reinen Malerei und revolutioniert die Modeindustrie mit einem eigenen Label.

Fast alle der vorgestellten Künstlerinnen waren zeitweise eng miteinander befreundet, andere kannten sich indirekt durch ihre Werke. Die Wege, Querverbindungen, wechselnden Freundschaften und temporären Paarbildungen – kurz: die europaweiten Netzwerke dieser Künstlerinnen – sollen in den rund 220 Werken der Ausstellung sichtbar und erfahrbar werden.

Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Composition à forme „U“ (Komposition mit U-Form), 1918, Collage, Aquarell und Gouache, 24,8 x 25,8 cm, Stiftung Hans Arp und Sophie Taeuber-Arp e.V., Remagen-Rolandswerth. Foto: © PRO LITTERIS, Zürich / VG Bild-Kunst, Bonn 2011 © Kunstsammlung NRW

Die Ausstellung ist gemacht in Kooperation mit dem Louisiana Museum of Modern Art, Humlebæk, Dänemark. Es gibt ein Katalog im DuMont-Verlag.

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More in: Art & Poetry News 2011, Dada, Galerie Deutschland

Freda Kamphuis gedicht: Bultloos genoegen

Bultloos genoegen

Lijst boven de bank

weerspiegelt wuiven van grote boom voor het huis,

zoals helder water dat doet

met bomen rondom, juist dat vindt hij mooi.

Soms picknickt hij onder het ruisende glas,

met broodjes en zoetste bloeddelicatessen paraat

voor hongerige magen van hem

en zijn zwermen geliefde huisgenootjes.

Hij leest ze voor uit een boek, of poëziebundel soms,

als hij in een uitzonderlijke bui is,

vooral fruitvliegjes luisteren graag, maar ook muggen

beleven dierlijk plezier aan liefst wilde literatuur

dan worden ze kalm,

prikken even hun steekinstrumenten in niets,

gezien andere prioriteiten,

ook daarom leest hij graag voor

‘s zomers altijd.

Freda Kamphuis

kempis. nl poetry magazine

gedicht freda kamphuis ©

William Shakespeare: Sonnet 106

William Shakespeare

(1564-1616)

THE SONNETS

106

When in the chronicle of wasted time,

I see descriptions of the fairest wights,

And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,

In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights,

Then in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best,

Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

I see their antique pen would have expressed,

Even such a beauty as you master now.

So all their praises are but prophecies

Of this our time, all you prefiguring,

And for they looked but with divining eyes,

They had not skill enough your worth to sing:

For we which now behold these present days,

Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

kempis.nl poetry magazine

Schilderen

Iedereen kan schilderen.
(Henk & Ingrid)

http://www.henkeningrid.org

More in: Art & Poetry News 2011, MUSEUM OF PUBLIC PROTEST- photos, texts, videos, street poetry, THE TALK OF THE TOWN

Luigi Pirandello: Shoot! The Notebooks of Serafino Gubbio, Cinematograph Operator

Luigi Pirandello: Shoot! (01)

Shoot! (Si Gira, 1926) The Notebooks of Serafino Gubbio, Cinematograph Operator

Translated from the Italian by C. K. Scott Moncrieff

Translator’s Dedication To O. H. H. and V. B. H. Who have seen and survived the Nestaroff.

BOOK I

OF THE NOTES OF SERAFINO GUBBIO CINEMATOGRAPH OPERATOR

I study people in their most ordinary occupations, to see if I can succeed in discovering in others what I feel that I myself lack in everything that I do: the certainty that they understand what they are doing.

At first sight it does indeed seem as though many of them had this certainty, from the way in which they look at and greet one another, hurrying to and fro in pursuit of their business or their pleasure. But afterwards, if I stop and gaze for a moment in their eyes with my own intent and silent eyes, at once they begin to take offence. Some of them, in fact, are so disturbed and perplexed that I have only to keep on gazing at them for a little longer, for them to insult or assault me.

No, go your ways in peace. This is enough for me: to know, gentlemen, that there is nothing clear or certain to you either, not even the little that is determined for you from time to time by the absolutely familiar conditions in which you are living. There is a ‘something more’ in everything. You do not wish or do not know how to see it. But the moment this something more gleams in the eyes of an idle person like myself, who has set himself to observe you, why, you become puzzled, disturbed or irritated.

I too am acquainted with the external, that is to say the mechanical framework of the life which keeps us clamorously and dizzily occupied and gives us no rest. To-day, such-and-such; this and that to be done hurrying to one place, watch in hand, so as to be in time at another.

“No, my dear fellow, thank you: I can’t!” “No, really? Lucky fellow!

I must be off….” At eleven, luncheon. The paper, the house, the office, school. … “A fine day, worse luck! But business….”

“What’s this? Ah, a funeral.” We lift our hats as we pass to the man who has made his escape. The shop, the works, the law courts….

No one has the time or the capacity to stop for a moment to consider whether what he sees other people do, what he does himself, is really the right thing, the thing that can give him that absolute certainty, in which alone a man can find rest. The rest that is given us after all the clamour and dizziness is burdened with such a load of weariness, so stunned and deafened, that it is no longer possible for us to snatch a moment for thought. With one hand we hold our heads, the other we wave in a drunken sweep.

“Let us have a little amusement!”

Yes. More wearying and complicated than our work do we find the amusements that are offered us; since from our rest we derive nothing but an increase of weariness.

I look at the women in the street, note how they are dressed, how they walk, the hats they wear on their heads; at the men, and the airs they have or give themselves; I listen to their talk, their plans; and at times it seems to me so impossible to believe in the reality of all that I see and hear, that being incapable, on the other hand, of believing that they are all doing it as a joke, I ask myself whether really all this clamorous and dizzy machinery of life, which from day to day seems to become more complicated and to move with greater speed, has not reduced the human race to such a condition of insanity that presently we must break out in fury and overthrow and destroy everything. It would, perhaps, all things considered, be so much to the good. In one respect only, though: to make a clean sweep and start afresh.

Here in this country we have not yet reached the point of witnessing the spectacle, said to be quite common in America, of men who, while engaged in carrying on their business, amid the tumult of life, fall to the ground, paralysed. But perhaps, with the help of God, we shall soon reach it. I know that all sorts of things are in preparation.

Ah, yes, the work goes on! And I, in my humble way, am one of those employed on this work ‘to provide amusement’.

I am an operator. But, as a matter of fact, being an operator, in the world in which I live and upon which I live, does not in the least mean operating. I operate nothing.

This is what I do. I set up my machine on its knock-kneed tripod. One or more stage hands, following my directions, mark out on the carpet or on the stage with a long wand and a blue pencil the limits within which the actors have to move to keep the picture in focus.

This is called ‘marking out the ground’.

The others mark it out, not I: I do nothing more than apply my eyes to the machine so that I can indicate how far it will manage to ‘take’.

When the stage is set, the producer arranges the actors on it, and outlines to them the action to be gone through.

I say to the producer:

“How many feet?”

The producer, according to the length of the scene, tells me approximately the number of feet of film that I shall need, then calls to the actors:

“Are you ready? Shoot!”

And I start turning the handle.

I might indulge myself in the illusion that, by turning the handle, I set these actors in motion, just as an organ-grinder creates the music by turning his handle. But I allow myself neither this nor any other illusion, and keep on turning until the scene is finished; then I look at the machine and inform the producer:

“Sixty feet,” or “a hundred and twenty.”

And that is all.

A gentleman, who had come out of curiosity, asked me once:

“Excuse me, but haven’t they yet discovered a way of making the camera go by itself?”

I can still see that gentleman’s face; delicate, pale, with thin, fair hair; keen, blue eyes; a pointed, yellowish beard, behind which there lurked a faint smile, that tried to appear timid and polite, but was really malicious. For by his question he meant to say to me:

“Is there any real necessity for you? What are you? A hand that turns the handle. Couldn’t they do without this hand? Couldn’t you be eliminated, replaced by some piece of machinery?”

I smiled as I answered:

“In time, Sir, perhaps. To tell you the truth, the chief quality that is required in a man of my profession is impassivity in face of the action that is going on in front of the camera. A piece of machinery, in that respect, would doubtless be better suited, and preferable to a man. But the most serious difficulty, at present, is this: where to find a machine that can regulate its movements according to the action that is going on in front of the camera. Because I, my dear Sir, do not always turn the handle at the same speed, but faster or slower as may be required. I have no doubt, however, that in time, Sir, they will succeed in eliminating me. The machine–this machine too, like all the other machines–will go by itself. But what mankind will do then, after all the machines have been taught to go by themselves, that, my dear Sir, still remains to be seen.”

(to be continued)

Luigi Pirandello: Shoot! (01)

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