Hans Hermans photos: Montagne

Victor Hugo

(1802-1885)

Attente

Monte, écureuil, monte au grand chêne,

Sur la branche des cieux prochaine,

Qui plie et tremble comme un jonc.

Cigogne, aux vieilles tours fidèle,

Oh ! vole et monte à tire-d’aile

De l’église à la citadelle,

Du haut clocher au grand donjon.

Vieux aigle, monte de ton aire

A la montagne centenaire

Que blanchit l’hiver éternel.

Et toi qu’en ta couche inquiète

Jamais l’aube ne vit muette,

Monte, monte, vive alouette,

Vive alouette, monte au ciel !

Et maintenant, du haut de l’arbre,

Des flèches de la tour de marbre,

Du grand mont, du ciel enflammé,

A l’horizon, parmi la brume,

Voyez-vous flotter une plume

Et courir un cheval qui fume,

Et revenir mon bien-aimé ?

Hans Hermans photos

Victor Hugo poetry

Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek – Augustus 2010

► Website Hans Hermans Fotografie

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Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek: Zomer

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing

(1729 – 1781)

Der Sommer

Brüder! lobt die Sommerszeit!

Ja, dich, Sommer, will ich loben!

Wer nur deine Munterkeit,

Deine bunte Pracht erhoben,

Dem ist wahrlich, dem ist nur,

Nur dein halbes Lob gelungen,

Hätt er auch, wie Brocks, gesungen,

Brocks, der Liebling der Natur.

Hör ein größer Lob von mir,

Sommer! ohne stolz zu werden.

Brennst du mich, so dank ichs dir,

Daß ich bei des Strahls Beschwerden,

Bei der durstgen Mattigkeit,

Lechzend nach dem Weine frage,

Und gekühlt den Brüdern sage:

Brüder! lobt die durstge Zeit!

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing gedicht

Hans Hermans photos

Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek Juli 2010

►Website Hans Hermans fotografie

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Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek Juni 2010

Johann Wilhelm Ludwig Gleim
(1719-1803)

Das Blümchen

Da steht im Gras’ ein Blümchen schön;
Sieh’s an, sieh’s an, es lässt sich sehn,
Ein blau schön Blümchen, zart und fein;
Kein Blümchen wol mag schöner seyn!

Sieh’s an, sieh’s an, es spricht mit dir:
»Schön Mädchen du, bleib doch bei mir!«
Schön Mädchen geht, das Blümchen spricht:
»Schön Mädchen, ach! vergiß mein nicht!«

Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek Juni 2010

Photos: Hans Hermans – Gedicht :Johann Wilhelm Ludwig Gleim

► Website Hans Hermans Fotografie

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Hans Hermans natuurdagboek: De mezen

Mezen

Twintig mezenvoetjes

hippelen in ‘t groen,

zurkelende zoetjes,

zo de mezen doen.

Sprongen, rechte en kromme,

doen ze elkander na,

oppe, nere, en omme,

ga en wederga.

Elk, op elk z’n taksken,

laat z’n tonge gaan;

elk het mezenfrakske, en

‘t meezenmutsken aan.

Voor die ‘t frakske maken,

één duim, of drie kwart

kost het, van blauw laken,

met ‘n lapken zwart.

Uit die klene lapkes,

zwarter als laget,

snijen de mezen kapkes,

volgens hunne wet.

‘k Zie ze geren spelen,

‘k hoor ze geren, ‘s noens,

bobbelender kelen,

babbelen bargoens.

‘t Zit entwaar ‘en spinne,

‘t ronkt entwaar ‘en bie:

snappen doen ze ze inne

zonder "een-twee-drie."

Hoor ze vijzevazen,

altijd even stout;

reppen, roeren, razen,

weg en were, in ‘t hout!

"Mij!" zo roept er ene,

"mij die mugge!" – "Dij?"

Wederroept Marlene,

"mij, Martijne, mij!"

Twee, die wetten weten,

delen ‘t heltegoed:

eten en vergeten

mense en meze moet!

Guido Gezelle

(1830-1899)

bargoens – onverstaanbare taal

bobbelen – opgeblazen

frakske – jasje

heltegoed – gemeenschappelijk

laget – zwart barnsteen

noen – middag

vijzevazen – dwaasheden vertellen

zurkelen – schuifelen

Hans Hermans natuurdagboek Mei 2010

Gedicht Guido Gezelle

Foto’s Hans Hermans

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Hans Hermans: Westerbork Concentration Camp

Hans Hermans photos:

Westerbork Concentration Camp

May 4, 2010

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Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek: Dans les bois

Dans les bois

Au printemps l’Oiseau naît et chante :
N’avez-vous pas ouï sa voix ? …
Elle est pure, simple et touchante,
La voix de l’Oiseau – dans les bois !

L’été, l’Oiseau cherche l’Oiselle ;
Il aime – et n’aime qu’une fois !
Qu’il est doux, paisible et fidèle,
Le nid de l’Oiseau – dans les bois !

Puis quand vient l’automne brumeuse,
Il se tait… avant les temps froids.
Hélas ! qu’elle doit être heureuse
La mort de l’Oiseau – dans les bois !

Gérard de Nerval (1808-1855)

Poésie et Souvenirs

Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek april 2010

Poetry: Gérard de Nerval

Photos: Hans Hermans

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Hans Hermans photos: Tower Bridge London

Rudyard Kipling

(1865-1936)

The River’s Tale

Prehistoric

Twenty bridges from Tower to Kew–
(Twenty bridges or twenty-two)–
Wanted to know what the River knew,
For they were young, and the Thames was old
And this is the tale that River told:–

"I walk my beat before London Town,
Five hours up and seven down.
Up I go till I end my run
At Tide-end-town, which is Teddington.
Down I come with the mud in my hands
And plaster it over the Maplin Sands.
But I’d have you know that these waters of mine
Were once a branch of the River Rhine,
When hundreds of miles to the East I went
And England was joined to the Continent.

"I remember the bat-winged lizard-birds,
The Age of Ice and the mammoth herds,
And the giant tigers that stalked them down
Through Regent’s Park into Camden Town.
And I remember like yesterday
The earliest Cockney who came my way,
When he pushed through the forest that lined the Strand,
With paint on his face and a club in his hand.
He was death to feather and fin and fur.
He trapped my beavers at Westminster.
He netted my salmon, he hunted my deer,
He killed my heron off Lambeth Pier.
He fought his neighbour with axes and swords,
Flint or bronze, at my upper fords,
While down at Greenwich, for slaves and tin,
The tall Phoenician ships stole in,
And North Sea war-boats, painted and gay,
Flashed like dragon-flies, Erith way;
And Norseman and Negro and Gaul and Greek
Drank with the Britons in Barking Creek,
And life was gay, and the world was new,
And I was a mile across at Kew!
But the Roman came with a heavy hand,
And bridged and roaded and ruled the land,
And the Roman left and the Danes blew in–
And that’s where your history-books begin!"

Hans Hermans photos

Poem Rudyard Kipling

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Hans Hermans photos – Willem Kloos gedicht

Willem Kloos

(1859-1938)

Van De Zee

Aan Frederik van Eeden

De Zee, de Zee klotst voort in eindelooze deining,
De Zee waarin mijn ziel zichzelf weerspiegeld ziet;
De Zee is als mijn Ziel in wezen en verschijning,
Zij is een levend Schoon en kent zichzelve niet.

Zij wischt zich zelven af in eeuwige verreining,
En wendt zich altijd om en keert weer waar zij vliedt,
Zij drukt zichzelven uit in duizenderlei lijning
En zingt een eeuwig-blij en eeuwig-klagend lied.

O, Zee was Ik als Gij in al Uw onbewustheid,
Dan zou ik eerst gehéél en gróót-gelukkig zijn;

Dan had ik eerst geen lust naar menschlijke belustheid
Op menschelijke vreugd en menschelijke pijn;

Dan wás mijn Ziel een Zee, en hare zelfgerustheid,
Zou, wijl Zij grooter is dan Gij, nóg grooter zijn.

Hans Hermans Natuurdagboek – maart 2010

► Website Hans Hermans fotografie

Willem Kloos poetry

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Hans Hermans photos – W.B. Yeats poem

William Butler Yeats

(1865-1939)

The Meditation Of The Old Fisherman

YOU waves, though you dance by my feet like children at play,
Though you glow and you glance, though you purr and you dart;
In the Junes that were warmer than these are, the waves were more gay,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.
The herring are not in the tides as they were of old;
My sorrow! for many a creak gave the creel in the-cart
That carried the take to Sligo town to be sold,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.
And ah, you proud maiden, you are not so fair when his oar
Is heard on the water, as they were, the proud and apart,
Who paced in the eve by the nets on the pebbly shore,
When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.

Natuurdagboek Februari 2010

Hans Hermans photos

W.B. Yeats poem

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Hans Hermans photos: Paris 2009 – 2

H a n s H e r m a n s p h o t o s

P a r i s 2 0 0 9 - 2

k e m p i s p o e t r y m a g a z i n e

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Hans Hermans photos: Paris 2009 – 1

H a n s H e r m a n s p h o t o s

P a r i s 2 0 0 9 - 1

k e m p i s p o e t r y m a g a z i n e

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Hans Hermans photos – Rudyard Kipling poem

Rudyard Kipling

(1865-1936)

The White Seal

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us,
And black are the waters that sparkled so green.
The moon, o’er the combers, looks downward to find us
At rest in the hollows that rustle between.
Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow;
Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!
The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee,
Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.

You mustn’t swim till you’re six weeks old,
Or your head will be sunk by your heels;
And summer gales and Killer Whales
Are bad for baby seals.
Are bad for baby seals, dear rat,
As bad as bad can be.
But splash and grow strong,
And you can’t be wrong,
Child of the Open Sea!