LIT Literatuur, Taal en Kunst
Boekbesprekingen, vragen over schrijvers, je favoriete theaterstuk, de mooiste schilderijen of de beste musea. Een must voor alle liefhebbers van kunst, boeken, theater en taal.
Heinz Erhard, Nashorn
Ein Nashorn und ein Trockenhorn,
sie gingen durch die Wüste.
Da stolperte das Trockenhorn
das Nashorn sagte: "Siehste!"
Ein Nashorn und ein Trockenhorn,
sie gingen durch die Wüste.
Da stolperte das Trockenhorn
das Nashorn sagte: "Siehste!"
In Baden-Badener Badeseen kann man Baden-Badener baden sehen.
Keats is prachtig!quote:Op dinsdag 17 augustus 2010 22:04 schreef Ser_Ciappelletto het volgende:
Twee (terechte) klassiekers:
Keats' Ode to a nightingale
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,--
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
Tasting of Flora and the country green,
Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth!
O for a beaker full of the warm South,
Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
And purple-stained mouth;
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
What thou among the leaves hast never known,
The weariness, the fever, and the fret
Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
And leaden-eyed despairs,
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
Already with thee! tender is the night,
And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
But here there is no light,
Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
Wherewith the seasonable month endows
The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
And mid-May's eldest child,
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
In such an ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
To thy high requiem become a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
The same that oft-times hath
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
In the next valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?
O dear Lord, you’re the Padishah,
You’re worthy of it!
Every padishah takes refuge in you.
You humiliate the one you don’t like
and exalt the one you love.
Shahdom suits you.
You know each of your slave’s secrets.
If I’m a rebel, please don’t withhold your mercy, give us plenty.
No one can claim their innocence.
You’re the just and I live in your just land.
I’m the only passenger on a sorrowful road that leads to you.
Sometimes tears turn my face red
Because of the shame of my sins.
I’m like dawn full of stars,
The smoke of my burning heart veils my eyes.
This black face of mine is like the black ink of my letters.
My hope lies with no one but you
Forgive me, forgive your Selim!
You’re worthy of it!
Every padishah takes refuge in you.
You humiliate the one you don’t like
and exalt the one you love.
Shahdom suits you.
You know each of your slave’s secrets.
If I’m a rebel, please don’t withhold your mercy, give us plenty.
No one can claim their innocence.
You’re the just and I live in your just land.
I’m the only passenger on a sorrowful road that leads to you.
Sometimes tears turn my face red
Because of the shame of my sins.
I’m like dawn full of stars,
The smoke of my burning heart veils my eyes.
This black face of mine is like the black ink of my letters.
My hope lies with no one but you
Forgive me, forgive your Selim!
Te zijn of niet te zijn, dat is de kwestie: of het nobeler is om te lijden onder alles wat het wrede Lot je toeslingert of om de wapens op te nemen tegen een zee van zorgen en al er al vechtend een einde aan te maken?
Gerard Reve - BEKENTENIS
Voordat ik in de Nacht ga die voor eeuwig lichtloos gloeit,
wil ik nog eenmaal spreken, en dit zeggen:
Dat ik nooit anders heb gezocht
dan U, dan U, dan U alleen.
T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair -
(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!")
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin -
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all -
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all -
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all -
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet - and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all" -
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all."
That is not it, at all.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor -
And this, and so much more? -
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old ... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Voordat ik in de Nacht ga die voor eeuwig lichtloos gloeit,
wil ik nog eenmaal spreken, en dit zeggen:
Dat ik nooit anders heb gezocht
dan U, dan U, dan U alleen.
T.S. Eliot - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair -
(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!")
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin -
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all -
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all -
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all -
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet - and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all" -
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all."
That is not it, at all.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor -
And this, and so much more? -
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous -
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old ... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
Lightning strikes, maybe once, maybe twice...
SONNET 138
When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.
En dat zij vervolgens met gespeende lullenquote:Op donderdag 3 december 2009 22:56 schreef Kevincy het volgende:
Geachte Haren van de reet,
Euh, heren van de raad,
Ik vvind het steen geil,
Euh geen stijl
Dat we met verkrachte eenden,
Euh vereende krachten,
de doden in de zeik,
euh de zoden aan de dijk zetten,
en dat de hoeren van Bolland,
Euh Boeren van Holland,
In Harige Kut,
Euh Karige hutjes wonen
Euh geleende spullen,
De bok van het dak af neuken
Euh, de nok van het dak af beuken.
Serieus:
Sylvia Plath - Lady Lazarus
quote:Lady Lazarus
I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it-----
A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot
A paperweight,
My featureless, fine
Jew linen.
Peel off the napkin
O my enemy.
Do I terrify?-------
The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.
Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.
This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.
What a million filaments.
The Peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see
Them unwrap me hand in foot ------
The big strip tease.
Gentleman , ladies
These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,
Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.
The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut
As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.
Dying
Is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.
It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical
Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:
'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge
For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart---
It really goes.
And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood
Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.
I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby
That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.
Ash, ash---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----
A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
Ik zit mij voor het vensterglas onnoemlijk te vervelen.
Ik wou dat ik twee hondjes was, dan kon ik samen spelen.
Godfried Bomans
Ik wou dat ik twee hondjes was, dan kon ik samen spelen.
Godfried Bomans
Afscheid Adriaan Morriën
Zul je voorzichtig zijn?
Ik weet wel dat je maar een boodschap doet
hier om de hoek
en dat je niet gekleed bent voor een lange reis
Je kus is licht,
je blik gerust
en vredig zijn je hand en je voet.
Maar achter deze hoek
een werelddeel,
achter dit ogenblik
een zee van tijd.
Zul je voorzichtig zijn?
Zul je voorzichtig zijn?
Ik weet wel dat je maar een boodschap doet
hier om de hoek
en dat je niet gekleed bent voor een lange reis
Je kus is licht,
je blik gerust
en vredig zijn je hand en je voet.
Maar achter deze hoek
een werelddeel,
achter dit ogenblik
een zee van tijd.
Zul je voorzichtig zijn?
We used to hate people - Now we just make fun of them - It's more effective that way
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Vooruit nog eentje dan:
Fire and Ice Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
Fire and Ice Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
We used to hate people - Now we just make fun of them - It's more effective that way
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Ma mignonne,
Je vous donne
Le bon jour;
Le sejour
C'est prison.
Guerison
Recouvrez,
Puis ouvrez
Votre porte
Et qu'on sorte
Vitement,
Car Clement
Le vous mande.
Va, friande
De ta bouche,
Qui se couche
En danger
Pour manger
Confitures;
Si tu dures
Trop malade,
Couleur fade
Tu prendras,
Et perdras
L'embonpoint.
Dieu te doint
Santé bonne,
Ma mignonne
A une demoiselle malade, Clement Marot
Je vous donne
Le bon jour;
Le sejour
C'est prison.
Guerison
Recouvrez,
Puis ouvrez
Votre porte
Et qu'on sorte
Vitement,
Car Clement
Le vous mande.
Va, friande
De ta bouche,
Qui se couche
En danger
Pour manger
Confitures;
Si tu dures
Trop malade,
Couleur fade
Tu prendras,
Et perdras
L'embonpoint.
Dieu te doint
Santé bonne,
Ma mignonne
A une demoiselle malade, Clement Marot
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud - William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
"If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything"
Ga nu maar liggen liefste in de tuin,
de lege plekken in het hoge gras, ik heb
altijd gewild dat ik dat was, een lege
plek voor iemand, om te blijven.
Rutger Kopland
de lege plekken in het hoge gras, ik heb
altijd gewild dat ik dat was, een lege
plek voor iemand, om te blijven.
Rutger Kopland
ils qui sont décédés
ne sont pas partis
ils sont seulement invisibles
ne sont pas partis
ils sont seulement invisibles
Ja die vind ik ook mooiquote:Op dinsdag 31 augustus 2010 09:16 schreef suikertaartje het volgende:
Ga nu maar liggen liefste in de tuin,
de lege plekken in het hoge gras, ik heb
altijd gewild dat ik dat was, een lege
plek voor iemand, om te blijven.
Rutger Kopland
.
Al die willen te kaap'ren varen, moeten mannen met baarden zijn.
Hoogachtend,
Erik.
Hoogachtend,
Erik.
Sorry, kan niet kiezen.
-----
i carry your heart with me
E.E. Cummings
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
-----
Question and Answer
Charles Bukowski
he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
night, running the blade of the knife
under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
of all the letters he had received
telling him that
the way he lived and wrote about
that--
it had kept them going when
all seemed
truly
hopeless.
-------
Love's Philosophy
Percy Bysshe Shelley
The Fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law devine
In one another's being mingle -
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain'd its brother:
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?
-----
i carry your heart with me
E.E. Cummings
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
-----
Question and Answer
Charles Bukowski
he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer
night, running the blade of the knife
under his fingernails, smiling, thinking
of all the letters he had received
telling him that
the way he lived and wrote about
that--
it had kept them going when
all seemed
truly
hopeless.
-------
Love's Philosophy
Percy Bysshe Shelley
The Fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law devine
In one another's being mingle -
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdain'd its brother:
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea -
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?
kort maar krachtig:
Had I not known
that I was dead
already
I would have mourned
my loss of life
Ota Dokan
1432-1486
Had I not known
that I was dead
already
I would have mourned
my loss of life
Ota Dokan
1432-1486
"Show me how you do that trick -- The one that makes me scream" she said
weet je niet wat je moet kopen voor sinterklaas? Bekijk de leukste sinterklaascadeaus en tips
... of ontwerp je eigen schilderij
weet je niet wat je moet kopen voor sinterklaas? Bekijk de leukste sinterklaascadeaus en tips
... of ontwerp je eigen schilderij
sjaakcl met de visie
that that sythem like therr cuts izz made!
happy tab: em spitted/ stay wit mae
the fine trans flat lands fire she.. dots em nl/
stay! like well like jeeej! she freak all well, well well
baby: 'thuzz is you n me, that left to be:
whoosh and me she does ahs unity /energie
sha stick jus' sunny: best of scene past uppen see
as future see miss judy d'oew-be what! we from
Hopping_dance on: I whammies a wonder/ done it
fair star runner.. over dat... deep thuzz ax..
'n all! women on the left say heej hannie
microfone combustion say heej pappie
bring a lot of summinn: boss alone, I jacques
wazz catchin-no mind just! steps: she 'dimes it bettah'_
fine as hell together my! babe stiller: model lands. I holds controler
damn those legs there so much spend she walk herself
like rose again.. dont know the half
man! the theft: now coke in cans we do grand openings
they flashing cams, our lives this is, yo raising fame!
not asking shit da whole building! is onto hope! through scams.
im holding damn! thats padding! on the layers n nones!
a draw now ya buzzing mr. lonely: the fx go tang! let it enter da gates
and let my dillinger connect yes holezz get spunned: holy fuck
to dope tracks hers is set. she follow our steps like on electric ave
the life she lives and dressed to that yo where she pop rock,
I spin a workah motor up . fast as fuck, n that deliver on demand,
big bubbety the plot! that take a stand say ocean' fall for.
other ball for crazy! solve em. return a dirty look
then bash! his motarolla hook smash! him out originator books,
another phoney! shook, and da hat stay! crooked and low! n mo she!
does, she! come from clouds the rollin tighter: less air: bon fire-
nick her mia: best mines are in pacts... ever! kept on quiet tigers-
lions: that! all high! n-leave a city-hall is my! shit.
bullits fly quick (litted) way! them come combined: that girly
craze/ wild. derr heads sha freak uhm play on type. peaking!
to-the-max we steaming leave the place/ us hard beats harder:
pump! it UppAh/ donnie, hers yah center space
that that that sythem like therr cuts izz made!
happy tab: em spitted/ stay wit mae
the fine trans flat lands fire she.. dots em nl/
stay! like well like jeeej! she freak all well, well well
yah center space, der kuchi-fly positions/ my bekkem wings
make trips to days: say som' she say some far away. like all get here,
in anydays, airr waves 'till hers is set, real shaker babe gets baby-back:
now born to rep, marks on der fact..a minds in love/a crying mom
sees flying doves my oz aint minor kinda bucks. his paste! replie on!
house build! you bricking dicks, that weighz.'n cooler aid, yo pardon mea!
the crosses on the tatts, they force a baricade. the must relater
ex the grain. right here: come close to pain like I be gone/
bigger picture during may... tell! er the serenity plates.. maintaining
forever! on this earth_ through phenomenal! frames_ the fields been! guarded_
call a! squadron, stated! in the o two six.. we! semi, sending.. that music! to ya ears
is! what the deal is: mission s hurt. cause. you! cant! keep! running away:
why i wanna be a repper? thuz eazy! shine/ ya need my Klein both! darker-
post! a method. my Raves! n snow glow, good light/ sparks. a touch of us:
put you into motion! zz living; through the path. that ya wit it/
the drum bass.. luck derr faces non! mistaken sphere! outter,
Leaves-the one-two further: I so prince 'er- n about sha draw us singing;
never illin willy fealinz nights is falling bang those hips en get within
shit got all that: fuhr/ flowing party on the set. consistendly rep rep
sytems like therr cuts izz made!
happy tab: em spitted/ stay wit mae
the fine trans flat lands fire she.. dots em nl/
stay! like well like jeeej! she freak all well, well well
[ Bericht 0% gewijzigd door akroketje op 07-09-2010 21:10:12 ]
that that sythem like therr cuts izz made!
happy tab: em spitted/ stay wit mae
the fine trans flat lands fire she.. dots em nl/
stay! like well like jeeej! she freak all well, well well
baby: 'thuzz is you n me, that left to be:
whoosh and me she does ahs unity /energie
sha stick jus' sunny: best of scene past uppen see
as future see miss judy d'oew-be what! we from
Hopping_dance on: I whammies a wonder/ done it
fair star runner.. over dat... deep thuzz ax..
'n all! women on the left say heej hannie
microfone combustion say heej pappie
bring a lot of summinn: boss alone, I jacques
wazz catchin-no mind just! steps: she 'dimes it bettah'_
fine as hell together my! babe stiller: model lands. I holds controler
damn those legs there so much spend she walk herself
like rose again.. dont know the half
man! the theft: now coke in cans we do grand openings
they flashing cams, our lives this is, yo raising fame!
not asking shit da whole building! is onto hope! through scams.
im holding damn! thats padding! on the layers n nones!
a draw now ya buzzing mr. lonely: the fx go tang! let it enter da gates
and let my dillinger connect yes holezz get spunned: holy fuck
to dope tracks hers is set. she follow our steps like on electric ave
the life she lives and dressed to that yo where she pop rock,
I spin a workah motor up . fast as fuck, n that deliver on demand,
big bubbety the plot! that take a stand say ocean' fall for.
other ball for crazy! solve em. return a dirty look
then bash! his motarolla hook smash! him out originator books,
another phoney! shook, and da hat stay! crooked and low! n mo she!
does, she! come from clouds the rollin tighter: less air: bon fire-
nick her mia: best mines are in pacts... ever! kept on quiet tigers-
lions: that! all high! n-leave a city-hall is my! shit.
bullits fly quick (litted) way! them come combined: that girly
craze/ wild. derr heads sha freak uhm play on type. peaking!
to-the-max we steaming leave the place/ us hard beats harder:
pump! it UppAh/ donnie, hers yah center space
that that that sythem like therr cuts izz made!
happy tab: em spitted/ stay wit mae
the fine trans flat lands fire she.. dots em nl/
stay! like well like jeeej! she freak all well, well well
yah center space, der kuchi-fly positions/ my bekkem wings
make trips to days: say som' she say some far away. like all get here,
in anydays, airr waves 'till hers is set, real shaker babe gets baby-back:
now born to rep, marks on der fact..a minds in love/a crying mom
sees flying doves my oz aint minor kinda bucks. his paste! replie on!
house build! you bricking dicks, that weighz.'n cooler aid, yo pardon mea!
the crosses on the tatts, they force a baricade. the must relater
ex the grain. right here: come close to pain like I be gone/
bigger picture during may... tell! er the serenity plates.. maintaining
forever! on this earth_ through phenomenal! frames_ the fields been! guarded_
call a! squadron, stated! in the o two six.. we! semi, sending.. that music! to ya ears
is! what the deal is: mission s hurt. cause. you! cant! keep! running away:
why i wanna be a repper? thuz eazy! shine/ ya need my Klein both! darker-
post! a method. my Raves! n snow glow, good light/ sparks. a touch of us:
put you into motion! zz living; through the path. that ya wit it/
the drum bass.. luck derr faces non! mistaken sphere! outter,
Leaves-the one-two further: I so prince 'er- n about sha draw us singing;
never illin willy fealinz nights is falling bang those hips en get within
shit got all that: fuhr/ flowing party on the set. consistendly rep rep
sytems like therr cuts izz made!
happy tab: em spitted/ stay wit mae
the fine trans flat lands fire she.. dots em nl/
stay! like well like jeeej! she freak all well, well well
[ Bericht 0% gewijzigd door akroketje op 07-09-2010 21:10:12 ]
Prachtig. Nu je iets van Wordsworth hebt gepost (die 'the sublime' in grote dingen zag, wil ik iets van Blake posten.- The sublime valt ook in kleine dingen te zien!)quote:Op maandag 30 augustus 2010 15:11 schreef TheDruid het volgende:
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud - William Wordsworth
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
and twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
in such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
what wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
William Blake - Auguries of Innocence
To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.
A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.
A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.
A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.
A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.
Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.
The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.
The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.
He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.
He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.
Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.
The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.
The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.
The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.
The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.
It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.
Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.
The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;
This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.
The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.
The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.
One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.
He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.
He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.
The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.
The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.
When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.
The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.
If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.
The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.
The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.
Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.
Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.
We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.
God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.
Voor Blake lijkt alles een visioen te zijn geweest.
Metaphysical poetry van niemand minder dan John Donne
Batter my heart, three personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captivated and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy:
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Batter my heart, three personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
But is captivated and proves weak or untrue.
Yet dearly I love you and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy:
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again,
Take me to you, imprison me, for I
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.
Vriend
Je hebt iemand nodig
stil en oprecht
die als het er op aan komt
voor je bidt of voor je vecht
pas als je iemand hebt
die met je lacht en met je grient
dan pas kun je zeggen:
'k heb een vriend
Toon Hermans
En ik vind 'Howl' van Allen Ginsberg ook een erg intrigerend werk. Een beetje lang om te posten, maar hier te lezen in .txt format: http://sprayberry.tripod.com/poems/howl.txt
Je hebt iemand nodig
stil en oprecht
die als het er op aan komt
voor je bidt of voor je vecht
pas als je iemand hebt
die met je lacht en met je grient
dan pas kun je zeggen:
'k heb een vriend
Toon Hermans
En ik vind 'Howl' van Allen Ginsberg ook een erg intrigerend werk. Een beetje lang om te posten, maar hier te lezen in .txt format: http://sprayberry.tripod.com/poems/howl.txt
"Music, man. Put that tape on!"
SONNET 72
O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
William Shakespeare
Prachtig en erg subtiel
O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O, lest your true love may seem false in this,
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.
William Shakespeare
Prachtig en erg subtiel
Laten wij zacht zijn voor elkander, kind -
want, o de maatloze verlatenheden,
die over onze moegezworven leden
onder de sterren waaie' in de oude wind.
O, laten wij maar zacht zijn, en maar niet
het trotse hoge woord van liefde spreken,
want hoeveel harten moesten daarom breken
onder de wind in hulpeloos verdriet.
Wij zijn maar als de blaren in de wind
ritselend langs de zoom van oude wouden,
en alles is onzeker, en hoe zouden
wij weten wat alleen de wind weet, kind -
En laten wij omdat wij eenzaam zijn
nu onze hoofden bij elkander neigen,
en wijl wij same' in 't oude waaien zwijgen
binnen een laatste droom gemeenzaam zijn.
Veel liefde ging verloren in de wind,
en wat de wind wil zullen wij nooit weten;
en daarom - voor we elkander weer vergeten -
laten wij zacht zijn voor elkander, kind.
A. Roland Holst
want, o de maatloze verlatenheden,
die over onze moegezworven leden
onder de sterren waaie' in de oude wind.
O, laten wij maar zacht zijn, en maar niet
het trotse hoge woord van liefde spreken,
want hoeveel harten moesten daarom breken
onder de wind in hulpeloos verdriet.
Wij zijn maar als de blaren in de wind
ritselend langs de zoom van oude wouden,
en alles is onzeker, en hoe zouden
wij weten wat alleen de wind weet, kind -
En laten wij omdat wij eenzaam zijn
nu onze hoofden bij elkander neigen,
en wijl wij same' in 't oude waaien zwijgen
binnen een laatste droom gemeenzaam zijn.
Veel liefde ging verloren in de wind,
en wat de wind wil zullen wij nooit weten;
en daarom - voor we elkander weer vergeten -
laten wij zacht zijn voor elkander, kind.
A. Roland Holst
En daarom, voor wij elkander weer vergeten
Laten wij zacht zijn voor elkander, kind
Laten wij zacht zijn voor elkander, kind
.
Het verlangen naar avontuur en naar verre kusten, wat men in Duitsland zo treffend Fernweh noemt, wordt duidelijk verwoord in het volgende gedicht van Mallarmé. Noch de oude tuinen die in de ogen weerspiegelen, noch de lege bladzijde die op de schrijver wacht, noch de jonge moeder die haar kindje voedt, kunnen hem tegenhouden.
Het doet me denken aan Slauerhoff.
Brise marine
La chair est triste, hélas! et j'ai lu tous les livres.
Fuir! là-bas fuir! Je sens que des oiseaux sont ivres
D'être parmi l'écume inconnue et les cieux !
Rien, ni les vieux jardins reflétés par les yeux
Ne retiendra ce coeur qui dans la mer se trempe
O nuits! ni la clarté déserte de ma lampe
Sur le vide papier que la blancheur défend
Et ni la jeune femme allaitant son enfant.
Je partirai! Steamer balançant ta mâture,
Lève l'ancre pour une exotique nature !
.
Un Ennui, désolé par les cruels espoirs,
Croit encore à l'adieu suprême des mouchoirs !
Et, peut-être, les mâts, invitant les orages
Sont-ils de ceux qu'un vent penche sur les naufrages
Perdus, sans mâts, sans mâts ni fertiles îlots...
Mais, ô mon coeur, entends le chant des matelots !
Stéphane Mallarmé.
Het verlangen naar avontuur en naar verre kusten, wat men in Duitsland zo treffend Fernweh noemt, wordt duidelijk verwoord in het volgende gedicht van Mallarmé. Noch de oude tuinen die in de ogen weerspiegelen, noch de lege bladzijde die op de schrijver wacht, noch de jonge moeder die haar kindje voedt, kunnen hem tegenhouden.
Het doet me denken aan Slauerhoff.
Brise marine
La chair est triste, hélas! et j'ai lu tous les livres.
Fuir! là-bas fuir! Je sens que des oiseaux sont ivres
D'être parmi l'écume inconnue et les cieux !
Rien, ni les vieux jardins reflétés par les yeux
Ne retiendra ce coeur qui dans la mer se trempe
O nuits! ni la clarté déserte de ma lampe
Sur le vide papier que la blancheur défend
Et ni la jeune femme allaitant son enfant.
Je partirai! Steamer balançant ta mâture,
Lève l'ancre pour une exotique nature !
.
Un Ennui, désolé par les cruels espoirs,
Croit encore à l'adieu suprême des mouchoirs !
Et, peut-être, les mâts, invitant les orages
Sont-ils de ceux qu'un vent penche sur les naufrages
Perdus, sans mâts, sans mâts ni fertiles îlots...
Mais, ô mon coeur, entends le chant des matelots !
Stéphane Mallarmé.
Als het leven geen zin heeft dan maakt het maar zin.
Ik ben het niet eens met het imperalistisch gedachtengoed van Rudyard Kipling maar ik vind hem wel een fantastische dichter EN schrijver (lees zijn 'Kim').
The white man's burden
Take up the White Man's burden--
Send forth the best ye breed--
Go, bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait, in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild--
Your new-caught sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.
Take up the White Man's burden--
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain,
To seek another's profit
And work another's gain.
Take up the White Man's burden--
The savage wars of peace--
Fill full the mouth of Famine,
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
(The end for others sought)
Watch sloth and heathen folly
Bring all your hope to nought.
Take up the White Man's burden--
No iron rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper--
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go, make them with your living
And mark them with your dead.
Take up the White Man's burden,
And reap his old reward--
The blame of those ye better
The hate of those ye guard--
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:--
"Why brought ye us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?"
Take up the White Man's burden--
Ye dare not stoop to less--
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloak your weariness.
By all ye will or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent sullen peoples
Shall weigh your God and you.
Take up the White Man's burden!
Have done with childish days--
The lightly-proffered laurel,
The easy ungrudged praise:
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years,
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers.
The white man's burden
Take up the White Man's burden--
Send forth the best ye breed--
Go, bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait, in heavy harness,
On fluttered folk and wild--
Your new-caught sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.
Take up the White Man's burden--
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain,
To seek another's profit
And work another's gain.
Take up the White Man's burden--
The savage wars of peace--
Fill full the mouth of Famine,
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
(The end for others sought)
Watch sloth and heathen folly
Bring all your hope to nought.
Take up the White Man's burden--
No iron rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper--
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go, make them with your living
And mark them with your dead.
Take up the White Man's burden,
And reap his old reward--
The blame of those ye better
The hate of those ye guard--
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light:--
"Why brought ye us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?"
Take up the White Man's burden--
Ye dare not stoop to less--
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloak your weariness.
By all ye will or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent sullen peoples
Shall weigh your God and you.
Take up the White Man's burden!
Have done with childish days--
The lightly-proffered laurel,
The easy ungrudged praise:
Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years,
Cold, edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers.
Er zijn er maar zeer weinig die ik kan waarderen, maar deze vind ik erg leuk:
(in [code] gezet om hem goed tot recht te doen komen).
| 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 | HULDEGEDICHT AAN SINGER Slinger Singer naaimasjien Hoort Hoort Floris Jespers heeft een Singernaaimasjien gekocht Wat Wat jawel Jespers Singer naaimasjien hoe zo jawel ik zeg het u Floris Jespers heeft een Singernaaimasjien gekocht Waarom waardoor wat wil hij Jawel hij zal hoe zo Circulez want SINGERS NAAIMASJIEN IS DE BESTE de beste waarom hoe kan dat wie weet alles is schijn Singer en Sint Augustinus Genoveva van Brabant bezit ook een Singer die Jungfrau von Orleans Een Singer? jawel jawel jawel jawel ik zeg het u een Singer versta-je geen nederlands mijnheer Circulez Bitte auf Garderobe selbst zu achten ik wil een naaimasjien iedereen heeft recht op een naaimasjien ik wil een Singer iedereen een Singer Singer zanger meesterzangers Hans Sachs heeft Hans Sachs geen Singermasjien waarom heeft Hans Sachs geen Singer Hans Sachs heeft recht op een Singer Hans Sachs moet een Singer hebben Jawel dat is zijn recht Recht door zee Leve Hans Sachs Hans Sachs heeft gelijk hij heeft recht op SINGERS NAAIMASJIEN IS DE BESTE alle mensen zijn gelijk voor Singer Circulez een Singer Panem et Singerem Panem et Singerem Panem et Singerem Panem et Singerem et Singerem et Singerem Ik wil een Singer wij willen een Singer wij eisen een Singer wat wij willen is ons recht ein fester Burg ist unser Gott Panem et Singerem Panem et Singerem Panem et Singerem et Singerem et Singerem Waarom hoe zo wat wil hij wat zal hij Salvation army Bananas atque Panama de man heeft gelijk hij heeft gelijk gelijk heeft hij jawel jawel jawel waarom wie zegt dat waar is het bewijs jawel hij heeft gelijk Panem et Singerem Panem et Singerem Panem et Singerem Singerem Singerem SINGERS NAAIMASJIEN IS DE BESTE |
ik denk
als het regent
laat ze niet nat worden
en als het stormt
vat ze geen kou
en ik denk ook
dat dat denken
niet helpt
want je wordt nooit meer
nat noch vat je een kou
want het regent
noch waait ooit
meer voor jou
Erg roerend, van Bert Schierbeek.
als het regent
laat ze niet nat worden
en als het stormt
vat ze geen kou
en ik denk ook
dat dat denken
niet helpt
want je wordt nooit meer
nat noch vat je een kou
want het regent
noch waait ooit
meer voor jou
Erg roerend, van Bert Schierbeek.
"Actually I don't remember being born, it must have happened during one of my black outs."
Jim Morrison
Jim Morrison
De valse troost voor een foute dood
The Charge of the Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
1.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
2.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
3.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
4.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
5.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
6.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.
The Charge of the Light Brigade
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
1.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
2.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
3.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
4.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
5.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
6.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.
In Baden-Badener Badeseen kann man Baden-Badener baden sehen.
Wilfred Owen: Zoet en goed is het voor het vaderland te sterven, De bittere waarheid over het front
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
In Baden-Badener Badeseen kann man Baden-Badener baden sehen.
En de parodie,
Balderick, the German Guns..
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom
Balderick, the German Guns..
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom,
Boom, Boom, Boom
In Baden-Badener Badeseen kann man Baden-Badener baden sehen.
Het bovenstaande gedicht van Bert Schierbeek laat me denken
aan de volgende regels van Theodor Storm:
Das aber kann ich nicht ertragen,
Daß so wie sonst die Sonne lacht;
Daß wie in deinen Lebenstagen
Die Uhren gehn, die Glocken schlagen,
Einförmig wechseln Tag und Nacht;
Daß, wenn des Tages Lichter schwanden,
Wie sonst der Abend uns vereint;
Und daß, wo sonst dein Stuhl gestanden,
Schon Andre ihre Plätze fanden,
Und nichts dich zu vermissen scheint;
aan de volgende regels van Theodor Storm:
Das aber kann ich nicht ertragen,
Daß so wie sonst die Sonne lacht;
Daß wie in deinen Lebenstagen
Die Uhren gehn, die Glocken schlagen,
Einförmig wechseln Tag und Nacht;
Daß, wenn des Tages Lichter schwanden,
Wie sonst der Abend uns vereint;
Und daß, wo sonst dein Stuhl gestanden,
Schon Andre ihre Plätze fanden,
Und nichts dich zu vermissen scheint;
Als het leven geen zin heeft dan maakt het maar zin.
SLAAPWANDELING
G. Achterberg
Ik heb vannacht met u gewandeld
in de dove lanen van de slaap,
en nu het morgen is geworden
is er niets veranderd,
dan dat die twee, die in den nacht tesaam
volkomen bij elkander waren,
mij weer alleen gelaten hebben in de morgen,
en samen verder zijn gegaan.
G. Achterberg
Ik heb vannacht met u gewandeld
in de dove lanen van de slaap,
en nu het morgen is geworden
is er niets veranderd,
dan dat die twee, die in den nacht tesaam
volkomen bij elkander waren,
mij weer alleen gelaten hebben in de morgen,
en samen verder zijn gegaan.
Al eerder gepost maar het is zeker een juweeltje. PRachtig gedicht inderdaadquote:Op dinsdag 9 november 2010 22:07 schreef Pietverdriet het volgende:
Wilfred Owen: Zoet en goed is het voor het vaderland te sterven, De bittere waarheid over het front
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
Vind het taalgebruik prachtig, An ecstasy of fumbling, heel mooiquote:
[..]
Al eerder gepost maar het is zeker een juweeltje. PRachtig gedicht inderdaad
In Baden-Badener Badeseen kann man Baden-Badener baden sehen.
Vera Brittain
Perhaps some day the sun will shine again,
And I shall see that still the skies are blue,
And feel once more I do not live in vain,
Although bereft of You.
Perhaps the golden meadows at my feet
Will make the sunny hours of spring seem gay,
And I shall find the white May-blossoms sweet,
Though You have passed away.
Perhaps the summer woods will shimmer bright,
And crimson roses once again be fair,
And autumn harvest fields a rich delight,
Although You are not there.
But though kind Time may many joys renew,
There is one greatest joy I shall not know
Again, because my heart for loss of You
Was broken, long ago.
Perhaps some day the sun will shine again,
And I shall see that still the skies are blue,
And feel once more I do not live in vain,
Although bereft of You.
Perhaps the golden meadows at my feet
Will make the sunny hours of spring seem gay,
And I shall find the white May-blossoms sweet,
Though You have passed away.
Perhaps the summer woods will shimmer bright,
And crimson roses once again be fair,
And autumn harvest fields a rich delight,
Although You are not there.
But though kind Time may many joys renew,
There is one greatest joy I shall not know
Again, because my heart for loss of You
Was broken, long ago.
HELDquote:Op dinsdag 17 augustus 2010 15:42 schreef Denkbaar het volgende:
Edgar Allan Poe - The Raven
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"- here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" -
Merely this, and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice:
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more."
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blest with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered- not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered, "other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never - nevermore'."
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamplight gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then methought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore:
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted- tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend," I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!
Klaas reed opeens tandem. In zijn eentje. Achterop. Zo verwerkte hij verbroken relaties. Reed hij naar Den Helder om te huilen.
Door: Gerard Reve
Uit: Nader tot U
Dagsluiting
Eigenlijk geloof ik niets,
en twijfel ik aan alles, zelfs aan U.
Maar soms, wanneer ik denk dat Gij waarachtig leeft,
dan denk ik, dat Gij Liefde zijt, en eenzaam,
en dat, in dezelfde wanhoop, Gij mij zoekt
zoals ik U.
[ Bericht 2% gewijzigd door #ANONIEM op 11-11-2010 06:05:30 ]
Uit: Nader tot U
Dagsluiting
Eigenlijk geloof ik niets,
en twijfel ik aan alles, zelfs aan U.
Maar soms, wanneer ik denk dat Gij waarachtig leeft,
dan denk ik, dat Gij Liefde zijt, en eenzaam,
en dat, in dezelfde wanhoop, Gij mij zoekt
zoals ik U.
[ Bericht 2% gewijzigd door #ANONIEM op 11-11-2010 06:05:30 ]
.
Hier een tamelijk onheilspellend gedicht van Friedrich Nietzsche:
.
Das nächtliche Geheimnis
Gestern Nachts, als Alles schlief,
Kaum der Wind mit ungewissen
Seufzern durch die Gassen lief,
Gab mir Ruhe nicht das Kissen,
Noch der Mohn, noch, was sonst tief
Schlafen macht - ein gut Gewissen.
Endlich schlug ich mir den Schlaf
Aus dem Sinn und lief zum Strande.
Mondhell war's und mild - ich traf
Mann und Kahn auf warmem Sande,
Schläfrig beide, Hirt und Schaf: -
Schläfrig stieß der Kahn vom Lande.
Eine Stunde, leicht auch zwei,
Oder war's ein Jahr? - da sanken
Plötzlich mir Sinn und Gedanken
In ein ew'ges Einerlei,
Und ein Abgrund ohne Schranken
Tat sich auf: - da war's vorbei! -
Morgen kam: auf schwarzen Tiefen
Steht ein Kahn und ruht und ruht - -
Was geschah? so riefs, so riefen
Hundert bald - was gab es? Blut? -
Nichts geschah! Wir schliefen, schliefen
Alle - ach, so gut! so gut!
.
Goed bij de tijd van het jaar passend nog dit van Fritz:
Die Krähen schrein
und ziehen schwirren Flugs zur Stadt;
bald wird es schnein,
wohl dem, der jetzt noch Heimat hat !
... ...
Hij herhaalt dit op het eind met als laatste regel:
...weh dem, der keine Heimat hat.
Hier een tamelijk onheilspellend gedicht van Friedrich Nietzsche:
.
Das nächtliche Geheimnis
Gestern Nachts, als Alles schlief,
Kaum der Wind mit ungewissen
Seufzern durch die Gassen lief,
Gab mir Ruhe nicht das Kissen,
Noch der Mohn, noch, was sonst tief
Schlafen macht - ein gut Gewissen.
Endlich schlug ich mir den Schlaf
Aus dem Sinn und lief zum Strande.
Mondhell war's und mild - ich traf
Mann und Kahn auf warmem Sande,
Schläfrig beide, Hirt und Schaf: -
Schläfrig stieß der Kahn vom Lande.
Eine Stunde, leicht auch zwei,
Oder war's ein Jahr? - da sanken
Plötzlich mir Sinn und Gedanken
In ein ew'ges Einerlei,
Und ein Abgrund ohne Schranken
Tat sich auf: - da war's vorbei! -
Morgen kam: auf schwarzen Tiefen
Steht ein Kahn und ruht und ruht - -
Was geschah? so riefs, so riefen
Hundert bald - was gab es? Blut? -
Nichts geschah! Wir schliefen, schliefen
Alle - ach, so gut! so gut!
.
Goed bij de tijd van het jaar passend nog dit van Fritz:
Die Krähen schrein
und ziehen schwirren Flugs zur Stadt;
bald wird es schnein,
wohl dem, der jetzt noch Heimat hat !
... ...
Hij herhaalt dit op het eind met als laatste regel:
...weh dem, der keine Heimat hat.
Als het leven geen zin heeft dan maakt het maar zin.
Absoluut. 'His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin'.quote:
[..]
Vind het taalgebruik prachtig, An ecstasy of fumbling, heel mooi
Mooie Simile.
Hier is Tennyson's Mariana. Ik vind het vooral mooi omdat het innerlijke in connectie wordt gebracht met hetgeen wat daar buiten ligt. Misschien zou je kunnen stellen dat de omgeving een extensie is van Mariana's innerlijke gevoelens.. meesterlijk gedaan in ieder geval
WITH blackest moss the flower-pots
Were thickly crusted, one and all;
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable wall.
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange;
Unlifted was the clinking latch:
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
Her tears fell with the dews at even;
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
She could not look on the sweet heaven,
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, 'The night is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
Upon the middle of the night,
Waking she heard the night-fowl crow;
The cock sung out an hour ere light;
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her: without hope of change,
In sleep she seemed to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, 'The day is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blacken'd waters slept,
And o'er it many, round and small,
The cluster'd marish-mosses crept.
Hard by a poplar shook alway,
All silver-green with gnarlèd bark:
For leagues no other tree did mark
The level waste, the rounding gray.
She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
And ever when the moon was low,
And the shrill winds were up and away,
In the white curtain, to and fro,
She saw the gusty shadows sway.
But when the moon was very low,
And wild winds bound within their cell,
the shadow of the poplar fell
Upon her bed, across her brow.
She only said, 'The night is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
All day within the dreamy house,
The doors upon their hinges creak'd;
The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse
Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek'd,
Or from the crevice peered about.
Old faces glimmer'd thro' the doors,
Old footsteps trod the upper floors,
Old voices called her from without.
She only said, 'My life is dreary,
He cometh not,' she said;
She said, 'I am aweary, aweary,
I would that I were dead!'
The sparrow's chirrup on the roof,
The slow clock ticking, and the sound,
Which to the wooing wind aloof
The poplar made, did all confound
Her sense; but most she loathed the hour
When the thick-moted sunbeam lay
Athwart the chambers, and the day
Was sloping toward his western bower.
Then said she, 'I am very dreary,
He will not come,' she said;
She wept, 'I am aweary, aweary,
O God, that I were dead!'
'
Deze mag toch niet ontbreken:
John Keats
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the mossd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has oer-brimmd their clammy cells.
2.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reapd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
John Keats
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the mossd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has oer-brimmd their clammy cells.
2.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reapd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Hebban olla uogala nestas hagunnan hinase hi(c)
(a)nda thu uuat unbidan uue nu
Hebben alle vogels nesten begonnen, behalve ik en jij.
Waarop wachten we nu?
(a)nda thu uuat unbidan uue nu
Hebben alle vogels nesten begonnen, behalve ik en jij.
Waarop wachten we nu?
Cookin’ like a chef I’m a 5 star Michelin
Beetje 'weinig om het lijf'. (2x?)
Alicante
Une orange sur la table
Ta robe sur le tapis
Et toi dans mon lit
Doux présent du présent
Fraîcheur de la nuit
Chaleur de ma vie
Jacques Prevert
Alicante
Une orange sur la table
Ta robe sur le tapis
Et toi dans mon lit
Doux présent du présent
Fraîcheur de la nuit
Chaleur de ma vie
Jacques Prevert
Als het leven geen zin heeft dan maakt het maar zin.
At least to pray is left is left
Oh Jesus in the Air
I know not which thy chamber is
I'm knocking everywhere
Thou settest Earthquake in the South
And Maelstrom, in the Sea
Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth
Hast thou no Arm for Me?
(Emily Dickinson)
Oh Jesus in the Air
I know not which thy chamber is
I'm knocking everywhere
Thou settest Earthquake in the South
And Maelstrom, in the Sea
Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth
Hast thou no Arm for Me?
(Emily Dickinson)
Niet meer actief op Fok!
Everybody Sang
Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom
Winging wildly across the white
Orchard and dark-green fields; on... on... and out of sight.
... ...
Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967)
over het gedicht
Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
And I was filled with such delight
As prisoned birds must find in freedom
Winging wildly across the white
Orchard and dark-green fields; on... on... and out of sight.
... ...
Siegfried Sassoon (1886-1967)
over het gedicht
Als het leven geen zin heeft dan maakt het maar zin.
ik draag jouw hart met mij
ik draag jouw hart bij mij(ik draag het in
mijn hart) ik heb het altijd bij(overal ga jij
met mij mee, mijn lief; en wat er ook gebeurt
door mij alleen draagt jouw stempel, mijn liefste)
ik vrees
geen noodlot(want jij bent mijn lot, mijn zoet) ik wil
geen wereld(want schoonheid jij bent mijn ware wereld)
en jij bent het om het even wat een maan altijd betekende
en om het even wat een zon ook altijd zal zingen ben jij
hier is het grootste geheim dat niemand kent
(hier is de sapstroom van de wortel en de kiem van de knop
en de top van de kruin van een levensboom; die hoger
groeit dan de ziel kan hopen of de geest kan bevatten)
en dit is het wonder dat de sterren in hun baan houdt
ik draag jouw hart(ik draag het in mijn hart)
i carry your heart with me
E.E. Cummings
Toen ik dat gedicht voor het eerst hoorde (in een film waar Cameron Diaz het oplas) kreeg ik tranen in mijn ogen,
ik draag jouw hart bij mij(ik draag het in
mijn hart) ik heb het altijd bij(overal ga jij
met mij mee, mijn lief; en wat er ook gebeurt
door mij alleen draagt jouw stempel, mijn liefste)
ik vrees
geen noodlot(want jij bent mijn lot, mijn zoet) ik wil
geen wereld(want schoonheid jij bent mijn ware wereld)
en jij bent het om het even wat een maan altijd betekende
en om het even wat een zon ook altijd zal zingen ben jij
hier is het grootste geheim dat niemand kent
(hier is de sapstroom van de wortel en de kiem van de knop
en de top van de kruin van een levensboom; die hoger
groeit dan de ziel kan hopen of de geest kan bevatten)
en dit is het wonder dat de sterren in hun baan houdt
ik draag jouw hart(ik draag het in mijn hart)
i carry your heart with me
E.E. Cummings
Toen ik dat gedicht voor het eerst hoorde (in een film waar Cameron Diaz het oplas) kreeg ik tranen in mijn ogen,
wees als een zalm, zwem tegen de stroom in
Heb van deze altijd de laatste regel onthouden, omdat die met veel beleving werd uitgespuugd door O den Besten, de onvergetelijke ex-leraar Duits van Wim de Bie:
Das Angenehme dieser Welt hab ich genossen,
Die Jugendstunden sind, wie lang! wie lang! verflossen,
April und Mai und Julius sind ferne,
Ich bin nichts mehr, ich lebe nicht mehr gerne!
(Friedrich Hölderlin, 1770-1843)
Das Angenehme dieser Welt hab ich genossen,
Die Jugendstunden sind, wie lang! wie lang! verflossen,
April und Mai und Julius sind ferne,
Ich bin nichts mehr, ich lebe nicht mehr gerne!
(Friedrich Hölderlin, 1770-1843)
We used to hate people - Now we just make fun of them - It's more effective that way
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
Elk jaar Towel Day!(2)](3)
Dommage arachide-fromage
.
Anna Ritter (1865-1921) vond haar leven ook niet zo erg opwindend toen ze dichtte:
Ich wollt', ich wär' des Sturmes Weib,
Es sollte mir nicht grausen,
Auf Felsenhöhen wohnt ich dann,
Dort, wo die Adler hausen.
Die Sonne wäre mein Gespiel,
Die Winde meine Knappen,
Mit dem Gemahl führ' ich dahin
Auf flücht'gem Wolkenrappen.
Frei würd' ich sein und stolz und groß,
Die Königin der Ferne,
Tief unter mir die dumpfe Welt
Und über mir die Sterne!
[ Bericht 5% gewijzigd door friskvind op 20-11-2010 12:50:58 ]
Anna Ritter (1865-1921) vond haar leven ook niet zo erg opwindend toen ze dichtte:
Ich wollt', ich wär' des Sturmes Weib,
Es sollte mir nicht grausen,
Auf Felsenhöhen wohnt ich dann,
Dort, wo die Adler hausen.
Die Sonne wäre mein Gespiel,
Die Winde meine Knappen,
Mit dem Gemahl führ' ich dahin
Auf flücht'gem Wolkenrappen.
Frei würd' ich sein und stolz und groß,
Die Königin der Ferne,
Tief unter mir die dumpfe Welt
Und über mir die Sterne!
[ Bericht 5% gewijzigd door friskvind op 20-11-2010 12:50:58 ]
Als het leven geen zin heeft dan maakt het maar zin.
De tuinman en de dood
Een Perzisch Edelman:
Van morgen ijlt mijn tuinman, wit van schrik,
Mijn woning in: "Heer, Heer, één ogenblik!
Ginds, in de rooshof, snoeide ik loot na loot,
Toen keek ik achter mij. Daar stond de Dood.
Ik schrok, en haastte mij langs de andere kant,
Maar zag nog juist de dreiging van zijn hand.
Meester, uw paard, en laat mij spoorslags gaan,
Voor de avond nog bereik ik Ispahaan!" -
Van middag (lang reeds was hij heengespoed)
Heb ik in 't cederpark de Dood ontmoet.
"Waarom," zo vraag ik, want hij wacht en zwijgt,
"Hebt gij van morgen vroeg mijn knecht gedreigd?"
Glimlachend antwoordt hij: "Geen dreiging was 't,
Waarvoor uw tuinman vlood. Ik was verrast,
Toen 'k 's morgens hier nog stil aan 't werk zag staan,
Die 'k 's avonds halen moest in Ispahaan."
P.N. van Eyck
Een Perzisch Edelman:
Van morgen ijlt mijn tuinman, wit van schrik,
Mijn woning in: "Heer, Heer, één ogenblik!
Ginds, in de rooshof, snoeide ik loot na loot,
Toen keek ik achter mij. Daar stond de Dood.
Ik schrok, en haastte mij langs de andere kant,
Maar zag nog juist de dreiging van zijn hand.
Meester, uw paard, en laat mij spoorslags gaan,
Voor de avond nog bereik ik Ispahaan!" -
Van middag (lang reeds was hij heengespoed)
Heb ik in 't cederpark de Dood ontmoet.
"Waarom," zo vraag ik, want hij wacht en zwijgt,
"Hebt gij van morgen vroeg mijn knecht gedreigd?"
Glimlachend antwoordt hij: "Geen dreiging was 't,
Waarvoor uw tuinman vlood. Ik was verrast,
Toen 'k 's morgens hier nog stil aan 't werk zag staan,
Die 'k 's avonds halen moest in Ispahaan."
P.N. van Eyck
.
Dit topic heet "Plaats hier één favoriet gedicht.
Toch wil ik er nog een plaatsen.
Sachliche Romanze van Erich Kästner
Als sie einander acht Jahre kannten
(und man darf sagen: sie kannten sich gut),
kam ihre Liebe plötzlich abhanden.
Wie andern Leuten ein Stock oder Hut.
Sie waren traurig, betrugen sich heiter,
versuchten Küsse, als ob nichts sei,
und sahen sich an und wußten nicht weiter.
Da weinte sie schließlich. Und er stand dabei.
Vom Fenster aus konnte man Schiffen winken.
Er sagte, es wäre schon Viertel nach Vier
und Zeit, irgendwo Kaffee zu trinken.
Nebenan übte ein Mensch Klavier.
Sie gingen ins kleinste Café am Ort
und rührten in ihren Tassen.
Am Abend saßen sie immer noch dort.
Sie saßen allein, und sie sprachen kein Wort
und konnten es einfach nicht fassen.
.
Dit topic heet "Plaats hier één favoriet gedicht.
Toch wil ik er nog een plaatsen.
Sachliche Romanze van Erich Kästner
Als sie einander acht Jahre kannten
(und man darf sagen: sie kannten sich gut),
kam ihre Liebe plötzlich abhanden.
Wie andern Leuten ein Stock oder Hut.
Sie waren traurig, betrugen sich heiter,
versuchten Küsse, als ob nichts sei,
und sahen sich an und wußten nicht weiter.
Da weinte sie schließlich. Und er stand dabei.
Vom Fenster aus konnte man Schiffen winken.
Er sagte, es wäre schon Viertel nach Vier
und Zeit, irgendwo Kaffee zu trinken.
Nebenan übte ein Mensch Klavier.
Sie gingen ins kleinste Café am Ort
und rührten in ihren Tassen.
Am Abend saßen sie immer noch dort.
Sie saßen allein, und sie sprachen kein Wort
und konnten es einfach nicht fassen.
.
Als het leven geen zin heeft dan maakt het maar zin.
Ik vind het aardig, maar het is wel een beetje een sinterklaasgedichtje...quote:
De tuinman en de dood
Een Perzisch Edelman:
(...)
P.N. van Eyck
Cookin’ like a chef I’m a 5 star Michelin
Persoonlijk vind ik deze altijd heel mooi;
U bent
genadeloos gebroken,
u bent
geliefd in mijn hand en
verdwaald in het bos van donkere sprookjes en bomen,
gevonden, maar,
u bent,
als vermist opgegeven in het dagblad van het kleinste dorp vandaag,
neergelegd
en in het water verdronken als druppels lood geslagen,
heb ik uw wangen gekust.
niet gevoeld?
liet u mij wederkeren in de zachtheid van de zandbak in de speeltuin,
schommelde ik hoger dan de wolken
liet u me vallen opnieuw in uw armen,
u bent,
gegraven door scherp gevijlde nagels
donkere aardekringen in de lijnen van een oude vrouwenhand,
vermoordt als lieveheersbeestjes onder voeten,
mager als een ziekte bent u,
gejeugdigd in een bed vol schapenwollen liefde,
dons en veren van lang vervlogen dromen was ik u,
niet nader gekomen tot het eind maar heb ik u gelaten,
als u,
gedraaid in kluwen schapen heb ik u gedroomd,
op wolken van zoete suiker.
U werd niet geloofd,
toen u mij zij ,
het zou zo zijn,
dat ik jouw schouderblad mocht smaken,
proeven met mijn vingers
strelen van zachte zomerbloemen
bent u niet langer alleen in de macht van kinderbessen,
u bent,
tastbaar als witte stof, door kinderhanden geweven.
U bent
genadeloos gebroken,
u bent
geliefd in mijn hand en
verdwaald in het bos van donkere sprookjes en bomen,
gevonden, maar,
u bent,
als vermist opgegeven in het dagblad van het kleinste dorp vandaag,
neergelegd
en in het water verdronken als druppels lood geslagen,
heb ik uw wangen gekust.
niet gevoeld?
liet u mij wederkeren in de zachtheid van de zandbak in de speeltuin,
schommelde ik hoger dan de wolken
liet u me vallen opnieuw in uw armen,
u bent,
gegraven door scherp gevijlde nagels
donkere aardekringen in de lijnen van een oude vrouwenhand,
vermoordt als lieveheersbeestjes onder voeten,
mager als een ziekte bent u,
gejeugdigd in een bed vol schapenwollen liefde,
dons en veren van lang vervlogen dromen was ik u,
niet nader gekomen tot het eind maar heb ik u gelaten,
als u,
gedraaid in kluwen schapen heb ik u gedroomd,
op wolken van zoete suiker.
U werd niet geloofd,
toen u mij zij ,
het zou zo zijn,
dat ik jouw schouderblad mocht smaken,
proeven met mijn vingers
strelen van zachte zomerbloemen
bent u niet langer alleen in de macht van kinderbessen,
u bent,
tastbaar als witte stof, door kinderhanden geweven.
ik weet niet precies waar ik ben
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