Poetry and friends

Yesterday Inge, a dear friend, and I met up, talking, visiting a gallery where her teacher has an exhibition and listening to her explanation that is was all about the translucency of the background which is a very difficult thing to get right. She has been studying with him for a really long time and she really wants to get it right having developed quite a sharp eye.

Sitting in front of a text is a quite a different activity. And I am not sure I do get it right. It is a good thing in dark times to seek the light in poetry, in friends one hasn't seen for a long time. So I look
forward to this afternoon's event when Joris Iven presents his new book. And then there is also another consolation: José Meyvis playing in the teachers performance tonight. The Music school is right across from me and in summer I would just have to open the windows to hear the lovely sounds above the heavy city traffic. So today will be a day of friendship and culture. It might even be a day of healing.

Op droeve velden - On saddened fields -

The evening about world war I was part poetry and piano recital and part peace action, organized by Frank De Vos in cooperation with the district of Hoboken. In 2016, 2 million German troops stood against 3 million of the allied forces. My great-uncle Edo as a young boy in Flanders fields. Poison gas as first used on April 22, 1915. From 1915 to 1918 not only one and a half million Armenians were killed by the Turkish regime but also thousands of ethnic Greeks and Assyrian Christians.
At the piano was the amazing Billy Pletinck playing the piano, hammering it when needed, caressing when suited. The organization was flawless and during the music pictures from that time were shown in a slide shows. about the Hoboken war experience. After each piece of music a poet read his or her poem. I honor the poets of that evening and the master of ceremony Roger Nupie. Basically this was a multi-disciplinary activity: Music, photography by Hartmut De Martelaere and Goddie Caubergh and ten poets: Peter Holvoet-Hanssen presented an evocation of "The occupied city", the beautiful book by Paul Van Ostayen about the occupation of Antwerp in the forties of last century.
The poets: Cecile Van Houten, Eric Vandenwyngaerden, Annmarie Sauer, Erwin Steyaert, Erick Kila, Ann Van Dessel, Bert Bevers. Only at the end I saw how the hall was filled and that several friends were in the audience. It was a classy and wonderful night. And yes war is wrong: Make Love Not War!

Desert Poetry in the Silver Belles Playhouse in Chloride.

Poems - Stories - Music

Although being cold outside, inside with the poets and listeners who came it was cozy. The evening was nice and had e few surprises.  Cooper spoke the welcome words  for the evening and then it was my turn to introduce Karel Sergen, Belgian poet and friend. He read in his own personal way, with big movements when reciting his poem about giants and dwarfs... People looked maybe a bit bewildered when they saw him do this, but when I read the English translation, all was clear. H also read the poem he wrote at my late husbands grave in Dutch followed by my English version of it. There was a whole bunch of poets from Dolan Springs. Jandolin Sparks obviously being the funny, rebellious star she is. I liked what the Dolan Springs poets read: Lynn Rosati, nice and personal, Ian Greenberg,  from whom I would like to hear more too and Sue Bowman.
Lucette read a poem in French about a trusted friend. She translated it into English and made everybody smile when it turned out to be about a dog. Ron Hall who had made sure the microphones worked read a short but poignant poem. Also Robin read a personal poem which meant a lot to her, and thus to us. With Cooper on the flute, I closed  the reading with a short desert poem. Then Debbie on the guitar did a fine job. She has been generous with her time. She sang first "Where have all the flowers gone" and then a  beautiful cowboy ballad. Then it was time for refreshments (warm tea and Coffee, necessary in the winter cold) and coockies by Nadine and Reen...
The after party was at the gas-station with champaign and white wine and some the delicious cookies. I thank Cooper and Irene and Karel for the work they did to make this a beautiful evening.

Redwood grove (loop trail)

 Today with my friends Irene and Cooper I saw the tallest and oldest trees on earth. They showed me the redwoods where threes can be 2200 years old. We were in a 40-acre grove of ancient redwood trees. The lop is a bit over one Km. The beauty of these trees is overwhelming their  power awe inspiring and soothing. they are gentle giants.

 Their barks attracted me, their power gave me peace because when one of the giants topples over, several new ones will grow from the root system. Imposing and elegant, filtering the light in a most luminous way, inspiring people to protect the area so that it became the Henry Cowell redwood State Park. Here preservationist have done a great job. We saw deer, heard the whistle of the train  on which in the past people come to have an elegant feast in this grove... May it be preserved, these  living witnesses of centuries have a lot to tell us, through the 2200 two rings that tell their story and the story of the area.

On the left you see an extremely rare white albino Sequoia. It survives because it gets food from the normal root system...

So much beauty. We even saw a group of mule deer, walking over the sunlight dappled terrain... in total harmony with each other and the trees.

Irish Folk Music

A friend of mine is a musician and she invites me regularly to performances or concerts. I guess she is trying to give me a musical education. I have had a lot of Irish musicians around so I am quite familiar with their tunes and songs, to the point that even now I can sing along in a group when a few traditional songs are performed. These  two musicians where really great, treating us to a variety of old and translational songs. John is on the guitar and Harry on the different flutes and singing acapella or accompanied  by the guitar.


There was a group of students present from the Conservatorium of Borgerhout who had worked whit John and Harry in Dublin.
Even in the afternoon they had been at a workshop. The students gave a brilliant performance of a song they had just learned in the afternoon. Especially the young man on the guitar and the one on the small wooden flute were great. Of course the others were as brilliant as these two on their own instruments: the violin, the accordion, the flute ...  All these youngsters are extremely talented. I love the soothing irish lilt when the songs are introduced. Irish music has the gift of making you feel part of the proceedings, of the group, washing away one's worries. So all left in good spirits, refreshed and renewed.

Under the watchfull eyes of my friends...

In my absence Mojave county is cleaning up my place, the old gas station in Chloride. Since I never operated it as a gas station and since those who did, have passed away, they call those UST (underground storage tanks) "Orphan Tanks". A couple of yeas ago I signed up for the program, but the county ran out of money. While I was in Chloride they contacted me asking whether I was still interested in getting those UST out. Of course It was a bit scary to have such work done during my absence, but my friends talk (Dori among others) to the good people doing the work, send pictures (Irene, thank you) and all. Since cleaning up the environment is the goal, the soil will be tested for pollution. If it is contaminated they will dig out the polluted soil and replace it with good dirt. I am grateful that I can help cleaning up old contaminations of the past and have a small part of the old mining town unburdened by the past.
Thank you all for helping with this.

No internet but a lot of nice things... in Ruhrort

Having been on the road in North Rhine Westphalia I rediscover the world without Internet and the world of hyper security: not one open hot spot, nothing coming in on my phone... Yet a lot is happening there in the region where artists and writers seem to flock. A bunch of "mafia knitters" are trying to soften this rather masculine environment where the rogue TV policeman Schimanski had his job cut out in getting the bad guys. In wool with flowers and gentle colors they soften this place of steel and stone.
And of course water is abundant  at the confluence of Rhine and Ruhr. It is a downtrodden area with cheap rent. The empty shop windows can be rented easily as a showplace for one's work. Of course there are improvised parties, people bringing food and drinks, grill on the roof in the old town. There is a proposal to classify Ruhrort as cultural heritage since many of the houses in 'Grunder style' still exist. Of course all the water most cellars are damp... On Easter Sunday among others these people will perform as poets or exhibit their art. I saw a beautiful cooperation where one hustled a tent ( there was a strong wind, but we were spared the rain), where another brought a small scene to stand on. Some brought enough food to share... I thank all.

Funerals

With three funerals in a short time, I didn't quite get to my blog. First was my mother, after 10 years of dementia it was a good thing that she slipped quietly away during the night. My parents being catholic, an intimate service was held in the small church of Overbrook. The pastor's openness for other believers or non-believers was refreshing. Then the father of a close friend passed away. A civil service in a huge crematorium. The woman who lead the memorial did a great job. The fun loving side of him was brought out, his jokes and yes, I too remember the twinkle in his eyes, his kindness. Yet I felt dwarfed by the size of the hall, the coldness of of the marble... It was good later to return Daisy's father's ashes to the earth in the old cemetery of Stekene... Closeness and togetherness. The third funeral was a friend of mine Lydia. She never found the road back to life after her husband Hugo died. They had done everything together, were a great couple, dancing tango, traveling, sharing their humanistic beliefs. This service too was in a Crematorium. It is situated in the beautiful setting of the graveyard of Schoonselhof, Antwerp. Here, her friends spoke about her life, her ideals, her philanthropic work, her son Wim spoke movingly about his mam. They had recently been to London together and had had a good, happy time. This kind of memories will sustain him during a difficult period. Sometimes death comes too soon, sometimes death would have been welcomed earlier, sometimes death is a choice. All kinds hurt even when one knows it was welcomed. Each funeral adding to the load and grief of the others...

So, don't forget to live and cherish your loved ones. Celebrate life.

Syrian dancers

Years ago my kids went on a long trip which also brought them to Syria. Their means of transport were two recumbent bicycles. Then, having a knee problem, my daughter stayed on in Aleppo on her own, totally safe and when the time had come, she went by buss with her stuff to Damascus and they all were reunited again. Once in Damascus they interviewed a few people. People, with whom they stayed in touch. The young people interviewed were hip hop dancers, moon walkers, dance instructors and such, also human rights advocates. Nidal made it to Belgium, a great dancer. Jihad is a master chocolate maker trained in Dubai, now learning to make Belgian chocolate. Naser who ran the dancing school, had reached his sister in Austria and worrying about their mother returned to Damascus to go and get his mother. A young man who never touched a gun in this conflict, has family values and was cherished by those who knew him. The sad story is that he got killed in Damascus. We don't know what happened to his mother... This war isn't far away. If you visited the country, seen the antique places, talked to people, made friends then it feels as if that war is on our doorsteps... The horror, the horror of war we can't imagine. Feel it in the loss of this young man.

My mother - Jeanine Ameloot

The night from Wednesday to Thursday, after seven years of dementia, my mother softly slipped away shortly after midnight... Thursday turned out to be a long day. Family council with the undertaker, practical decisions. My daughter and her husband were a great help. Then the pastor, a good man, came on Friday since my parents are/were catholic in order to organize the service which will be held next Wednesday. Tuesday she will be cremated.

The pastor had an interesting exercise: two pages with words in a long list. The family then had to say whether that word was a fair description of my mother. I know all family members hold a different position within the family and have different experiences and thus different views of her as husband, daughter, granddaughter and the granddaughter's partner. With each word that sounded nice her husband said yes, yes she was kind, yes she was simple, yes she helped people ...  My daughter having had the best of my mother was nuanced because she also knew, saw that it was different for me. This psychological exercise was very hard, trying to to find a balance between fair and honest. I have been touched by the kindness of my daughter and her husband and my friends, writing me, coming to the service next Wednesday, being there as support, sharing their experiences. I feel gratitude for this.
Photo by Bram Goots

Jubilee concert

 Twenty years ago a group of people founded the "Vrienden van het Concervatorium". So all of us were treated to a free concert to honor the occasion. Mendelson's Piano trio nr. 1 op. 49 in d Violin, cello, piano, 4 movements. Just wonderful. I love the darker tones of a cello, so I was happy.

After a nice speech by the chairman the second part was Psalm op. 42 - Wie der Hirsch schreit. The choir of the young students did a great job. I know I am partial to choirs and the harmony and strength of the human voice. There must have been about seventy singers and the young orchestra. I found it moving and fitting for this Christmas time. It brought joy and lightheartedness in the final dark day's of the year. Culture rounds the hard edges of daily life. Thanks to you all.

Leaving Chloride

Leaving
to go to the other life
one has
brings melancholy
Saying goodbyes.
Hoping to meet again.
Closing up.
Switching off.
Gratitude.
Feeling the sun
going to winter
There too friends
I hope to meet again.
There too a full life.
Yet leaving here
leaves bewildering
loss in my soul
confusion
delusion
there is no way back
if it
it is what I cannot
say
intone
describe
just trying to tell

Time for the Colorado river

No power
packing water coffee bait
long drive
Pierce Ferry roiling rapids
no camping no fishing
no parking no fires
no rangers
sleeping without a moon
under the stars
in sandstorm wind











It's all about leaving
running out of time
not knowing
was it dream time or
think time yet
fear of frailty
longing for water
and
the fluidity of joy
the adventure
the call of the
wild one
the one I was
I am

After the Hopi Katsinam auction

Interview with José – A general impression

José was curious about what happened an wondered how sometimes with wrong intentions people often do work together, each in his/her on way. She thought of the Fondation Joe Dassin, the young Hopi man from Third Mesa, the American woman who was ‘escorted’ out of the room, the French journalist, the Survival people demonstration in front of the entrance distributing flyers. She had the feeling that many people came because of the commotion of the last days and found it strange that I was asked whether I was for or against the sale upon entering the building for the auction. Since I replied I was an observer we were let in. Watching what was happening around us she came to the conclusion that buying something would be unethical, on the same level as buying from a ‘drunken Hopi’. When two pieces were flagged as falling under CITES, she wondered how they got to Paris in the first place.

She questioned the attitude of the people from the auction House Neret-Minet: Although we were allowed to take as many pictures as we wanted of the Katsinam, no photographs were allowed during the actual auction nor protest. When someone uttered just one word beside placing a bit, that person was immediately ‘escorted’ out of the room or their material was confiscated for a short time. In a few instances she felt the aggression of the auction house personnel had been provoked by an activist but was genuinely offended by the attitude of the ‘bouncers’: as if this were in a bar and drunks misbehaving were 'escorted' out.

She said: “From a purely European point of view there is nothing wrong with the auction because of the ruling of the judge ‘not wanting to create a precedent which would make the sale of religious art and objects impossible’. In one breath she questioned the role of the two ‘specialists’ deciding age, authenticity, whether rare or exceptional. If they know so much, she objected, why do they insist on calling them ‘Masks’ instead of ‘Friends’ like the Hopi do.

She was absolutely shocked by their comment on the inside of certain Friends: “Beautiful patina of certain ‘masks’’ because they have been used in ceremonial and sacred dances.” She felt that part of the dancers with the Friends was being sold too. Yet, she conceded, that if one didn’t know about the significance of all this for Hopi, that then the protest might be seen as ridiculous and naive and people asking themselves : what do I have to do with it?

P.S.: Another person learned from a Director of an Ethnological Museum in France that they would want the pieces and then could make a copy for the tribes 'if the tribes didn't take care of them properly'. Their discussion had been in general about ‘African Art’ and ‘Native American Art’. That shocked me!

AFP article about the sale of Hopi Friends in Paris, April 12

Opposition to the sale of seventy Hopi masks in Paris

The auction house Néret-Minet Tessier & Sarrou maintain the auctioning of seventy sacred masks of the Hopi Indians, to be held on Friday, April 12^th at the Hôtel Drouot in Paris. The Museum of Northern Arizona, the Heard Museum of Phoenix and also the Bureau for the Preservation of Hopi Culture have called for its cancellation, claiming their property rights. These Katsinam masks (see picture),  worn by the dancers during religious ceremonies forbidden for white people, are considered sacred by the Hopi tribe, which lives in the North-East of Arizona. Several such items have been sold in Paris when the collection of André Breton got dispersed in 2003. These pieces can now be found in the great European Museums, the auction house reminds us. They emphasize that the Hopi base themselves on an article of the Hopi constitution which is not recognized in France because it is not a state, in order to reclaim items which have been acquired in a completely legal way by a great French collector.(AFP- Agence Press France)

A few thoughts: The pride in European museums seems to me a strange line of defense: should the Hopi come to Europe to hold the ceremonies in the 'great European Museums'? A second thought is that the Hopi as well as the other Pueblo like Zuni, Acoma and Jemez are nations within the USA. I would assume that the USA through their Department of Foreign Affairs could represent the Hopi Nation.

Hopi Katsinam alert

Sadness reigns and I am afraid that also arrogance is at play. There are few means at the disposal of the Hopi to try and repatriate their sacred Katsinam. The tribe receives help from two major museum directors. The tribe also receives advice from the State and Interior Departments, but each agency says its ability to intervene is limited. The sale is supposed to bring one million dollar. Some people are suggesting to hold a collection and buy the Katsinam in order to repatriate them and give them back to the Hopi, the Zuni, Jemez and Acoma. Most of the Katsinam are over 100 years old. I love Katsinas and own three of the small 'dolls' carved to teach their meaning to children and which can be sold to tourists. Yet the Katsinam in the auction are ceremonial sacred objects with a specific function. They are irreplaceable. Only their rightful custodians know how to care for them, how to use their power. International law seems not to regulate this situation. Yet moral law does. The auctioneers wonder why another auction last December by a smaller auction house in Paris didn't cause any reaction. Well, the Hopi didn't know, could not react. I know that Hopi religion is has strict ways of doing things and as a visitor on Hopi it is easy to do something inappropriate out of ignorance. Selling these Katsinam is inappropriate. The auction house Neret-Minet Tessier & Sarrou knows it is. The tribes, museums and individuals caring about this disastrous sale have told them so.

Please do tell them too, let them know how you feel:

M. Eric GENESTE

31bis rue du Faubourg Montmartre

75009 PARIS

Tèl: # 33 6.72.74.71.42

Email: erics@wanadoo.fr

Closet introvert?

Do I discover myself a closet introvert? I am not shy, talk easily to a total stranger, enjoy the company of a few good friends, small groups are still more or less doable but big events are hard on me. Then I fall in the role of the observer, no longer a participant, because I can't do the chitchat. So I watch from the sideline, may find one or two people to talk with and usually I leave early. My brain buzzes with all the stimulation. I can't sleep, thoughts twirling and swirling... Probably I also need more alone time than most to quieten my mind, watch the clouds sail by, observe the changes in the light during the day. In meetings I am ok because, although it is a large group, one speaks to the chairperson or the group in general and about practical things or principles one cares about. With some friends living far away I can even talk for half an hour or longer on the phone, whereas making a normal 'taking care of business' call can be postponed for days. Well the strange chemistry of our brain... maybe this is why I became an avid reader and a blogger in splendid isolation.

Sequenza: afterthoughts

With a book title like Sequenza it was to be expected that the presentation would equal a musical orgy for the crowd of lovers of Marleen de Crée's poetry. Of course we had the symbolic empty chair for Liu Xiaobo, Nobel laureate for Literature still in a Chinese jail. Such a symbolic gesture is something we try to do for different writers when they are in prison for using their freedom of expression. The surprise for me was Vlad Weverbergh in the moving, masterly way he performed Sequenza IXa by Berio. Not easy music, but listening made easy by the clarinetist. Marleen and I read her formidable poetry: she in Dutch and I in English. Frank De Vos, our den Hopsack troubadour, offered a moving new song: Waving at 12b, conceived in the room his mother was slowly leaving this world in. The friends and fans of Marleen were a great audience, listened very attentively and afterwards even spoke about the differences between languages, loyalty to the original, rhythms... And then the party started and a good time was had by all. Yesterday the first poem of the book, today the last in both languages:

over de bruggen schuift
de schaduw voor ons uit.
wij kunnen hem niet horen.
hij snijdt tot op het been.
we slaan de armen om het kind.
het hinkelt in de sterren
als waren wij nog niet geboren.
we leggen onze stemmen neer
voor het licht de ogen sluit.
onder de bruggen stroomt het lied,
slingert het in zachte plooien,
zingt, huivert en fluistert weer
in schaduwen die ons niet
toebehoren. daar zijn we samen
daar gingen we heen.
* 

over  the bridges glides

the shadow before us.

we cannot hear it.

it cuts to the bone.

we put our arms around the child.

it plays hopscotch in the stars

as if we hadn’t been born yet.

we lay down our voices

before the light closes the eyes.

under bridges flows the song,

meanders in soft folds,

sings, shivers and whispers again

in shadows which don’t belong

to us. there we are together

that is where we were going.

Hopi "Friends" for sale: seventy Hopi Katsinam

My real life Hopi friends are horrified. Seventy Hopi Katsinam will be sold in auction in France. The horror is that these Katsinam are irreplaceable and that with the loss of each Katsinam, the ceremony is also lost. Some are valuable, but that is not the issue for the Hopi. For their world to remain in a delicate balance, they must perform at the right time and place the relevant ceremony with the right Katsinam. Some ceremonies can no longer be performed because the Katsinam representing the spirit or specific force or power has been stolen or is lost to them. The sale of seventy Katsinam, offered at Néret-Minet (Maison Drouot in Paris) is a painful loss, yes a disaster. These helpers, these seventy friends should be brought home. Under American law they should be repatriated to the Hopi Nation. The auction house knows this, from their good description of the pieces on can easily deduct that they know about the power of these friends but prefer the power of cash and carry. Katsinam should never be sold on the auction block. The sadness on Hopi is immeasurable. The art stolen under the Nazi regime is also in the process of being returned to their original owners families. Let the same rule be applied: return these sacred Katsinam to the Hopi nation. Do take action:
The sale is on April 12, 2013.
The people handling the sale for Néret-Minet are:

Cabinet Geneste

M. Eric GENESTE

31bis rue du Faubourg Montmartre

75009 PARIS

Tèl: 06.72.74.71.42

Email: erics@wanadoo.fr

Zygomatik: Piet Verbist in quintet

The zygomaticus major is the muscle in your face from kind of your temple to your mouth. The zygomaticus minor is the one going to  the lower part of your face: together they make all expressions. So actually Zygomatik is a great name for a very expressive Jazz cd. Piet Verbist is the leader of the group, performing on Sunday morning as a quintet. Words that come up while thinking of the concert are:
Full
power
unpretentious high quality
expressive
jazz funk
rock
Above and Beyond brings the fragility of bow on strings, from lust to lost, the drums gather and accent the delicacy of the quintet. Their names: Herman Pardon on the drums, Bram Weyters piano, Vincent Brijs and Matt Renzi (San Francisco) bass and tenor sax...
The 4th piece had a genteel start, hands on drum, almost oriental, in a beautifully structured time and improvisation and thereafter we fall into Piet's magnificent: PMS Alert! read: Piet's Manic Scream Alert! Belief me it was like a rush, soft and wild in the discipline of a musical structure. Great stuff!