Swansong: The presentation in den Hopsack packed to the rafters

Finally the day came of the presentation of Rose Vandewalle's Zwanenzang/Swansong came. The day before, Jean Demey who was going to lay while Viv who read the Dutch text and I would read. Of course I read the English version since it is my translation. The only thing Jean asked was that I read the 33 poems calm and sober, leave five counts between the different poems. So at the evening Jean brought his black and shiny contrabass guitar and installed himself between the two readers a bid behind them. I loved what he did: a bit Ravi Shankar and a lot of Jean, but intimate, withheld, sober as he  had told me to read. Viv is a different person she taught in the Lemmen's Institute speech and diction. She would accentuate certain words, and thus created a different flow. Being on the stage I have no pictures to show... But the audience was quiet, listened and appreciated the introduction of Bert Jans from Dodo Press and the flow of Rose's work in the music and the different ways of reading. A friend, Bart Stouten was so sweet: he explained me why my translations into English are good. He said he felt I questioned the words at a deeper level in both languages and thus would find a better match between them. I must admit I was a bit flattered... The evening was warm and caring and every one had a good time.

Eating cherries around midnight - Bart Stouten

The book presentation was last week, yet I was so impressed I couldn't quite write it all down. It is like receiving a beautiful parcel and not daring to open it for fear the charm would disappear. But now it still holds. The title is wonderful. So was the presentation. It is a book with memories of how music came to be important in Bart's life. Yet also the sadder memories like the loss of his parents and twin sister were honestly spoken about. One could feel the lingering pain and uneasiness. One could feel the honesty. Interviewer, Anna Luyten and interviewee both bared part of their souls, without making the audience feel they are voyeurs, even when speaking about love and loss. Although knowing Bart for a while, I learned more about him. The book are memories beginning with his first piano lesson, when he fell in love with which instrument, the place of music in general in his life. He also is a longtime Zen practitioner. Of course the radio voice from Klara, Flemish classical music radio channel, provided some excellent music: Bach played on the accordion by Bart Wils was wonderfully moving. Now I am looking for a chunk of free time to relax and eat the cherries. Of course, the Permeke auditorium was well filled with all kind of interesting and interested people. A zen like experience, closed with a glass of wine and the chatter of friendly voices.

Bart Stouten's Open Heart presented in den Hopsack

 When the producers of the books are part of the presentation then only the preliminary activities can be documented.
Here Fred Schywek carrying in the books...
 A bit of publicity in the window doesn't hurt.
 And hanging the banner of the traveling Poetry Festival this evening is also part of the producer's job.

 Here poet Bart helps carry in the music stand for his friend Jan Evenepoel

 Sound man Erwin at work and the star of the night checking out the finished book he his holding for the first time. He seems  to be smiling like the cat who ate the canary, also his partner Mark seems to enjoy the special night.

 A wonderful guitar player, a choice of music that was just right for the mood of the night and and the audience. I realized how I missed  hearing the soft twang or thud of the gentle touch of a string. Thanks!

 Poet and musician concentrating, going inward... to come out and be totally present when it matters. The program:
1.  INTRODUCTION - Frank DE VOS
 MUZIEK 1: Jan EVENEPOEL
 2.  POETRY READING 1
OPEN HEARTH OF LANGUAGE - Bart - GENTSE BEGRAFENIS MET FLASHBACK - Bart & Annmarie - POETRY IS… Bart & Fred  - HIMEJI 2004 Annmarie -
MUSIC 2 - JAN EVENEPOEL
3. POETRY READING 2: ATHENS 6 AM - Fred - Bart - HAMA Bart & Annmarie - GEEN VOLLE MANEN MEER (no more full moons) Bart & Fred
MUSIC 3 - Jan EVENEPOEL - Frank DE VOS closes – SUIKERBONEN (Belgian sweets offered when a baby is born -)) Thanks too for a loyal, attentive audience and friends

Now we're on the road again... from E 19 to Route 66...

Muddy roads will be traveling soon but first Bart Stouten's presentation tonight

THAT FEELING

                    Flying.

A feeling of laying in an unmade bed.

Staring at Buddhist sutras

from floor to ceiling

slipping in and out one's consciousness.

Feeling the sutras

keep you alive.

                    The stewardess, a cameo appearance

in dark Chinese whispers, brought coffee,

lukewarm and annoyingly weak with powdered milk

and a glimpse of hauling about her darlings.

Made corny jokes about thick and thin. Her own choice

written on her body. In fluent French.

No idea where it came from. That feeling.

I loved her, briefly, put myself to work

emptied all this thinness.

                    Waiting, with sleep and in-flight magazine,

for better pastimes.

                    It came. High above the gold coast,

which reminded my neighbor of the complicated timing

of coming into the world elsewhere: mom's returning

from a trip to Papua New Guinea, her desire

to birth him in Australia, his first scream

in a Lockheed Hercules en route. And how he

two years ago – his pousse café a fait divers

for Quantas – was gripped by a fear of flying so intense

that he nailed to the floor, watched how the plane left

without him, to yet another continent.

                    ...in an unmade bed... staring at

Buddhist sutras...

                    For me no alcohol.

Vascular problem requiring an understanding smile,

so thinks the stewardess.

*
8 pm: in den Hopsack, Grote Pieter Pot straat, Antwerp, Belgium

Poetry as Insurgent Art

Follows an extract from a message from Ms Irina Bokova, Director-General of UNESCO: On this World Poetry Day 2010, let us recall that poetry is a universal country in which peoples may meet through words of all colors, rhythms and musicality. Words that, regardless of the language from which they blossomed, reach out far for a light that captures the very essence of the human being, the dignity of each person. UNESCO, committed to its mandate to fully promote the democratic principles of dignity, equality and mutual respect perceives poetry as a vital resource.

Yes poetry is alive and kicking but nit really thanks to Unesco, but thanks to the pets writing, reading, performing, small publisher spreading the words of poets, the translators who build bridges, further understanding. That is why from one day we organize a poetry festival starting March 17 in salon 12b with Job Degenaar and his book ICH BIN * I AM. Assisting poets will also have time to read and share their work. The activity o the actual poetry day is still being organized. Then the second event is on March 23 three poets, diverse in their way of writing will present each a book in Gallery The Black Panter in Antwerp: Annie Reniers with a trilingual book (Dutch, German and English): Letters of Light. Her reading is followed by Roger Nupie with  the also trilingual book. The last pet is Annmarie Sauer with a bi-lingual book Traces/Sporen. March 29 in the literary café den Hopsack in Antwerp it will be the Bart Stouten party with the trilingual book Open Heart. All books produced by poet Fred Schywek. April is poetry month in USA, so while being there we'll have a Desert Poetry Night with guest from San Francisco. We do all this to give a voice to more poets, to let people hear diverse forms of writing. Yet also because the Unesco system is rather cumbersome to work with as independent artists and to claim poetry as an insurgent art:

Poetry as Insurgent Art  Lawrence Ferlinghetti
 

I am signaling you through the flames.

The North Pole is not where it used to be.

Manifest Destiny is no longer manifest.

Civilization self-destructs.

Nemesis is knocking at the door.

What are poets for, in such an age?
What is the use of poetry?

The state of the world calls out for poetry to save it.

If you would be a poet, create works capable of answering the challenge of apocalyptic times, even if this meaning sounds apocalyptic.

You are Whitman, you are Poe, you are Mark Twain, you are Emily Dickinson and Edna St. Vincent Millay, you are Neruda and Mayakovsky and Pasolini, you are an American or a non-American, you can conquer the conquerors with words....

9/11 Casa Louisa, Hoboken

When reading on the ominous date of 9/11, 10 years later one has to acknowledge that fact that brought so much suffering to world. It will be a reading full of peace and love and the will to resist. Yet there also will be pleasant, cozy moments, instances of pure poetry and music at Casa Louisa in Hoboken.
Participating poets: Peter Holvoet-Hanssen, Bert Bevers, Leila Boukhéfit, Bart Stouten, Annmarie Sauer,
Fred Schywek, and musicians Jokke Scheurs, Quirilan, Bateau Feu and Ken Post, eye witness of 9/11, singer/songwriter.
A short poem, original German  by Fred Schywek and an English and Dutch version: KLANG

Hama

It is sad that one has nothing else to offer but the words of a poet in the face of the political upheaval in Syria, where governess troops have killed over 2000 of their own people, have imprisoned scores, disregarding civil rights and freedom of expression by their citizens. The governement bullets found even a barely one year old baby. Violence does not work, brings only grief.

The poem Hama was written in Dutch by Bart Stouten when peace reigned for a while. See salon12b for the Dutch original and the German Translation

HAMA

This summer weeds turned on

the watermills of Hama.

Shredded memories?

The old aqueduct won't ever again

cast them off. Where once was the field

now the consolation of a poster Old Hama:

it is Assad, father and son

and 30.000 dead. Look

how explosive they grow,

overgrowing a year

about which the city doesn't speak.

Like a child feeling found out,

twenty years later:

collective memory,

waiting for my ride.

A cart jolting and jerking

with no where to go.

The set repertoire of a folktale-teller

no one has seen.

Somewhere I'll find him

says Lonely Planet.

His world invitingly

ajar. Like the window.

Elsewhere, other-worldly:

two old people

in a mobil home at the Orontes river.

Belgians sure enough.

She peels an apple,

he tells the story,

in bits and pieces.

*

Hate got stuck, like a record,

lack of understanding, like a memory, in awful hunch

like stale beer after closing time,

while the rain wails on the sidewalk

and the sidewalk slowly turns to leaves         

from a drunken dessert with the wobbly camel

of an awful hunch.                                               

Like a record that got stuck, the muezzin wails

that you are dead, like lost sheep

in a late afternoon sun. Not a shepherd to be seen

as far as history still goes, and that is further

than your oath of secrecy. In unreadable reality

comes an Arab newspaper with strangle-sounds

and arabesques for show, with glasses Nescafe

paid for by the Baath party.

Hate hung around, on the shore of the Orentes river,

in my sub-chilled dessert, air-conditioned

in the reflection of the high minaret

which this morning continues to cry out my old love.