Organizing Dialogue, Experience and Knowledge for Complex Problem-Solving

Salon12b – Freestyle

by • November 27th, 2011

Another salon 12b is taking place November 29. Door open at 7PM and the performances start at 8PM with the world premiere of Global Night Car. You can read it on the link. It will be read in three languages, in different voices, since nine different po…

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Fog in San Francisco and Antwerp

by • November 13th, 2011

Rose wrote this morning: finally there is mist this morning, fog… So here is a present for Rose a picture of the Golden Gate bridge in the fog, while walking under it… Fog after the landingfog in the back to normalfog in the soullost daysin t…

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Paul Gellings presents Verbrande schepen

by • November 4th, 2011

 Paul Gelling reading from his novel Verbrande schepen published by Uitgeverij Passage on Thor, the culture boat in Zwolle. An intriguing errancy, a search for a love lost, and absolution maybe, to be sure of that , I will have to read the book fi…

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Clara Hsu-San Francisco Poet

by • August 19th, 2011

Clara Hsu is one of the San Francisco poets we met and even heard read her work, accompanying herself with Chinese singing bowls. A wonderful combination.


Cherry Blossoms

To dream
is to wake when the first
token of romance is set adrift.
The crystal droplets that clung onto new shoots
have given birth.
The sun, in mere days, ripens the offspring.
They bloom in droves,
pale lace wrinkling on the edges,
blushing as they warm.

To wake
is to walk into the dreamscape of flowers
masking earth and sky,
and petals are the rain.
Young girls clip a cluster of pink
on their long black hair,
half-cover their faces
with lacquered parasols.
Young men get drunk on love poems.

To wake again
is to let the maudlin memories
be crushed by tire tracks,
and watch cyclists careening down
the velvet floor,
swift as birds in flight.
*

Kersenbloesem
Dromen
is wakker worden als de eerste
blijk van romance op drift is gezet.
De kristallen druppeltjes die kleefden aan nieuwe scheuten
hebben gebaard.
De zon, in luttele dagen, rijpt het nageslacht.
Zij bloesemen veelbloemig,
bleke kant rimpelend aan de rand,
blozend als zij opwarmen.
Wakker worden
is wandelen in het droomlandschap van bloemen
die aarde en hemel maskeren,
en bloemblaadjes zijn de regen.
Jonge meisjes spelden een tros roze
op het lange zwarte haar,
half bedekkend hun gelaat
met gelakte parasols.
Jonge mannen worden dronken van liefdesgedichten.
Opnieuw wakker worden
is de huilerige herinneringen laten
vergruizelen door bandensporen,
en kijken hoe fietsers naar beneden slingeren
op fluwelen grond,
snel als vogels in vlucht.
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For Susan Birkeland’s friends

by • July 1st, 2011

Waiting for the voices
which will bring her
words new life
Hibbing & Mercy
and stone-hard
coal
and some of my stone-hearted issues
steel-hard
love as noun
love as verb
love as stillness
the stars too far
to hear their
coal hard song
their cosmic hum
so I wait for
the voices
bringing life & melody
to her stardust words
                       
                                                            
for Susan Birkeland’s friends who lovingly, splendidly read her poetry at the recording studio Paradiso
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Lucienne Stassaert’s poetic answer

by • April 8th, 2011

© sms:foto duisburg/rhein 2011
 Lucienne waiting and listening with full attention? and a bit tense, but happy.

The following poem is a declaration of love to her city and the river that flows through it. English translation will follow one of these days.
Een laken van water
bij de monding van de stad:
zo blijft de Schelde
Achter in mijn geheugen.
Nu en dan donkert het licht
in alle dingen
Op de rand van herinnering.
Zo effen, een wolk in een spiegel,
is het zicht op mijn verleden.
Regen wijst er de schade aan
en stilte, voorgoed ophanden,
groeit als klimop
Naar een uitzinnig zwijgen.
Ik kom er bij tussenpozen
aanstonds tot mezelf.
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poetic license – salon12b 2011-01-28 06:40:00

by • January 28th, 2011

Next to poet Rose Vandewalle, Lucienne Stassaert preparing her performance.

Follows poem # 2 from the series 1-7 called Leben-Leven-Life

© sms:foto duisburg/rhein 2011

2
Het heeft vogels nodig
om te zingen
mensen om te verdwijnen
zon en maanlicht
om kleur te bekennen:
hoe geladen het is
met betekenissen
in spiegelschrift –
Tekens om met hand en tand
te ontcijferen
want op het lijf geschreven
van wie je voorging
op de weg naar het einde –
 *
Es braucht Vögel
um zu singen
Menschen zu verschwinden
Sonne und Mondlicht
um Farbe zu bekennen:
wie beladen es ist
mit Bezeichnungen
in Spiegelschrift
Zeichen mit Klaue und Haar
zu entziffern,
weil auf den Leib geschrieben
so wie du vorgingst
auf dem Weg zum Ende
*
It needs birds
to sing
people to disappear
sun and moonlight
to show one’s color:
how charged it is
with meanings
in mirror-writing –
Signs to decipher
with tooth and nail
because inscribed all over the body
of who before you took
the road to the end

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STASSAERT BETWEEN THE YEARS

by • December 28th, 2010

STASSAERT BETWEEN THE YEARS is tonight’s reading by Lucienne Stassaert from what her new volume of poetry will be. It is a comprehensive overview of her work, with a poem from each period of her writing. Those who never have heard her read, have missed something. With remarkable strength and honesty she directly speaks to her listeners. This is the last activity for Ruhr2010, European Capital of Culture. What remains are the books  that are produced within this framework.

The following poem gave the title to the book which will be presented January 27, GEDICHTENDAG in den Hopsack, Antwerp

In één adem
Vier de lente, de liefde niet.
Verzoen mijn lippen, groei mij aan
als de lente vergeefs wordt en bitterder.
Weer koesteren bomen landhonger,
drijven vogels de winter uit
de baaierd van april.
Ook dit zout, oud zeer, kennen we.
En zoals minnaars en vleermuizen blindvliegen,
geven dromen zich zelden bloot.
Met dit vermoeden leefden we;
het vuur aan de schubben, de schuimlippen.
Ooftbomen gloeien wit.
Wij sterven langzamer af –
droesemig, meestal achter glas.

Of zoals bloesem, in één nacht. 

*

In einem Atemzug
Fei’re den Frühling, die Liebe nicht
Entküss’ meine Lippen, verwachse mit mir
wenn das Frühjahr vergebens und bitter
Wieder … Bäume mit Hunger nach Land
treiben Vögel den Winter heraus
das Durcheinander des April’
Auch diese salzig’, alte Seelennarbe kennen wir
Und wie Liebende und Fledermäuse in Blindheit fliegen
Geben Träume sich selten nackt.
Mit diesen Ahnungen lebten wir,
das Feuer an den Schuppen, die Schaumlippen
Obstbäume verglühen zu Weiß.
Wir sterben langsamer ab –
Heruntergeflockt und abgesetzt, meist hinter Glas

Oder als Blüten während einer Nacht. 

*
In one breath

 
Celebrate spring, not love
appease my lips, grow on me
when spring turns in vain and more bitter.   
Once more trees cherish hunger for land,
drive birds out of winter
the hustle bustle of April.
Also this salt, this old pain, we know.
And like lovers and bats blindly fly,
dreams seldom bare themselves.    
With these inklings we lived;
fire at the fins, the frothy lips.
Fruit trees glow white.
We slowly decline –
dregs of wine, usually behind glass.
Or like the blossom, in one night.
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Olivier Cousin on Klara

by • December 21st, 2010

Although the Breton Language looses ten thousands of speakers every year, Breton poetry is alive and interesting. Olivier Cousin was representing them at our Small Festival of European Art of Poetry., last September. When he and Bart Stouten met it was as if two long lost brothers met and found each other. They obviously share a poetic sensitivity. So Bart had a wonderful program in The Garden of Eden on Klara with Olivier, read the dutch translations of Paul Gellings and interviewed Olivier about poetry in Breton and the regional poets. The music was wonderful and the program was sensitive and interesting.

Here you see Olivier and Paul reading together.

Wat follows is poem with pars in Breton which will be published in Sounds of Harbor II

Au port du bout du monde

Au dernier bout de la terre
le port sourit au large
demi-cercle d’une blancheur ternie
evel bannieloù ouzh ar wern
Le port comprend toutes les vies
accepte toutes les devises
parle toutes les langues
Même s’il malmène toutes les grammaires
il conjugue tous les verbes
pas uniquement partir ou arriver
C’hoantoù mont kuit
o vont hag o tont
stag ouzh ma huñvreoù
evel bannieloù ouzh ar wern
Le port déploie le filet des rêves
au-delà des crachins et des brumes
oubliant tous les moutons sur la lande
 *
  In the harbor at land’s end        
At the last parcel of land                                   
the harbor smiles at the open sea
half circle of a dulled white
evel bannieloù ouzh ar wern
The harbor comprehends all lives           
accepts all currencies                                   
speaks all languages
Even though it manhandles all grammars                       
it declines all verbs
not only to leave or to arrive
C’hoantoù mont kuit
o vont hag o tont
stag ouzh ma huñvreoù
evel bannieloù ouzh ar wern
The harbor unfolds the dream net
beyond drizzle and sea mist               
all sheep left behind on the moors

(Traduite en français, la strophe en breton pourrait se lire  :
Des envies de départ
vont et viennent
attachées à mes rêves
comme des drapeaux sur le mât)

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Poets and friends

by • December 12th, 2010

There are days that active friends keep one going. At four there was the presentation by Bert Bevers of his latest volume of poetry ‘Andere taal’. 
Interesting medieval music and well read poetry was offered to the throngs of people who showed up to share this moment of joy. Here you see Bert signing a book for a friend and thinking/writing down a fitting dedication. His poetry always has an air of history, observations of works of art and daily life. There is gentle steadiness in his way offering tranquility and reflection. Quite a gift to the readers.

Vera Alexander Beerten had her presentation in the evening in Gallery The black Panther . Here you see her listening to Professor emeritus Joris Gerits who gave a deep analysis of her third volume of poetry. She read well and the chill that was in the winter air installed itself between the shoulder blades with all the brilliant poems about loss of close friends and her mother. In ‘Slechts kwade wind’ you’re going to discover images and heaviness for the soul which probably will console people going through the same feelings yet don’t know how to express them.

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