Monday, December 21, 2009
Salon 12b
Programm / Programma / Program / Programme
Pforten der Abendsonne / Poorten van de Avondzon / Doors of the Evening Sun / Portes du soleil couchant
A cooperation of Salon 12b with DOCKS Dichtkunst zur Zeit (contemporary poetry)
*
I
19.00 Peter Holvoet Hanssen
The new poet laureate of Antwerp 2010-11 presents selected poems
19.20 Job Degenaar presents his new book:
Handkussen van de tijd ( Handkisses of Time )
He also reads from the trilogie Flußschiffahrt/ Inland Shipping
Antiwar poetry and Chamber thoughts (Grenzland 3) .
*
II
Love in Holland and Flanders
20.00 Catharina Boer
20.20 Rose Vandewalle
Roger Nupie
20.40 Marleen De Smet
Lief Vleugels
*
III
ANTI
Fred Schywek
Ode to Brel: When one has nothing
Tribute to Pete Seeger: Where have all the flowers gone/
Wo sind all die Blumen hin
Embrace of a little cloud
Annmarie Sauer
Roger Nupie
Job Degenaar
Lucienne Stassaert
Patricia Van Nunen sings Jacques Brel Les VIEUX
*
Pause
*
LATE FOG
21.20
IV
Lucienne Stassaert, Poems from: In een adem/ In einem Atemzug (WIB 2010)
Patricia Van Nunen song
Hilde Pinnoo, Poems from Avondland/ Abendland (WIB 2010)
Patricia Van Nunen song
Lief Vleugels, two cycles of poetry
Master of Ceremony: Roger Nupie
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Wars
what did religion give me
thou shalt not kill
what philosophy
man is measure
what do I give
myself
all freedom
what did the bird take from me
do they finally sleep in winters
on dreams
of moon
and stars
on light
and in the circle
of your senses
the birds
in the winter
do the birds
sing by you on the branch
Monday, November 30, 2009
Blogging
A poem by Fred Schywek in English translation:
Jeez us
Thou shalt not kill
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Thou
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Monday, October 26, 2009
Life & Times of Michael K
Quotes:
* Now surely I have come as far as a man can come; surely no one will be mad enough to cross these plains, climb those mountains search these rocks to find me; surely now that in all the world only I know where I am, I can think of myself as lost. p66
* But most of all, as summer slanted to an end, he was learning to love idleness, idleness no longer as stretches of freedom reclaimed by stealth here and there from involuntary labour, surreptitious thefts to be enjoyed sitting on his heels before a flowerbed with the fork dangling from his fingers, but as yielding up of himself to time, to a time flowing slowly like oil from horizon to horizon over he face of the world, washing over his body, circulating in his armpits and his groin, stirring his eyelids.
* He is like a stone, a pebble that, having lain around quietly minding its own business since the dawn of time, is now suddenly picked up and tossed randomly from hand to hand.
* At last he spoke: I am not in the war.