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poetic license – salon12b 2011-12-12 15:08:00

by • December 12th, 2011

The bridge like structure in background is part of the Cockeril:The ship repairersThe men working for Cockerilwere specialand strong of willand working that they didand strikeand all that was broke they could repairand partying they didlorries f…

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Susan Birkeland

by • May 18th, 2011

Today it is sure Susan Birkeland’s poetry will be included in the 2nd European Festival of Poetry. Her sister Deborah, kindly granted us permission. A first poem and its translations.

 

City Of Love

Sing to me from budding trees
Carry on and carry less
O My City

O My Lover
A hometown that needs no defenses?
Love without envy?
An easy life?
A happy death?
Know these blue skies and clean water
for every thirsty foreign child
friends of friends I’ve never met
smiling fat girls and
uncles in freedom’s lucky trance.
Mercy stands by the road
drawing circles in the dry red earth
with the corner of his soft boot.
My father is an optimist.
My mother, slow and old and practical.
What holds us together.
City of Love
The Return of Mercy
Some day.
Some say.
Some do say.

©Susan Birkeland

Fom Susan Birkeland’s new chapbook of poetry and drawings titled “The Bruised Angel Almanac”
*
Stadt von Liebe
Sing zu mir aus Blüten sprießend Bäumen
Mach weiter und weniger kümmern
Oh du meine Stadt
Oh meine Liebe
Eine Heimat, die keine Verteidigung braucht?
Liebe ohne Neidgefühl?
Ein leichtes Leben?
Ein glücklicher Tod?
Kenne diesen blauen Himmel und klar Wasser
für jedes durstig’ fremdes Kind
Freunde von Freunden ich habe nie getroffen
lächelnde dicke Mädchen und
Onkel in der Freiheit glücklicher Trance.
Der Gnadenmann steht an der Straße
zeichnet Kreise in die trocken rote Erde
mit der Ecke seines leichten Stiefels.
Mein Vater ist ein Optimist.
Meine Mutter, langsam und alt und praktisch.
Was uns zusammenhält.
Stadt von Liebe
Die Rückkehr vom Gnadenmann
Eines Tages.
Sagen manche.
Einige sagen das.
Translation: Fred Schywek
*
Stad van Liefde
Zing tot me uit bottende bomen
Draaf door en draaf minder        
Oh Mijn Stad
Oh Mijn Geliefde
Een thuishaven die geen verdediging behoefd?    
Liefde zonder afgunst?
Een gemakkelijk leven?
Een gelukkige dood?
Ken deze blauwe luchten en schoon water
Voor elk dorstig vreemd kind
Vrienden van vrienden die ik ooit ontmoette
Glimlachende dikke meisjes en
Ooms in de gelukkige trance van vrijheid.
De man van mededogen staat langs de weg
tekent cirkels in de droge rode aarde
met de hoek van zijn zachte laars.
Mijn vader is een optimist.
Mijn moeder, traag en oud en praktisch.
Wat ons samen houdt.
Stad van Liefde
De terugkeer van de man van mededogen
Ooit.
Zo zegt iemand.
Iemand zegt ooit.
Translation: Annmarie Sauer

 

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2nd European Festival of Poetry, 2011

by • May 2nd, 2011

Note the 17th of September in your diaries: That is the day you can come to the Permeke library in Antwerp to enjoy the poets, performers, musicians and singers. The program is coming together nicely. The performances are finding their level, how to show and let hear what we want to communicate. Poets from five countries will be present. Some poets you might have met and heard last year and that would be an occasion to get reacquainted with them and some are first timers and not of the least.  We’ll be honoring a few Grandes Dames of poetry who turn 70 and 75 this year. 7 of the poets come from outside of Belgium: 3 from The Netherlands, 2 from Germany, 1 from France and one from the US. Although work of more than one American poet will be read  and performed.
So note the date: September 17, 8 PM.

As an appetizer a short poem by Sherman Alexie from one of the main features of the festival:The sounds of harbour, the upcoming third volume in this series: Harbors of the West.

Migration, 1902
The salmon swim
so thick in this river
that Grandmother walks
across the water
on the bridge
of their spines.
*
Migratie, 1902

De zalm zwemt zo
dicht op elkaar in deze rivier

dat Grootmoeder over
het water loopt

op de brug
van hun rug.

 

With permission of Hanging Loose Press

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Carne vale

by • March 7th, 2011

Golden shoes
and lace
on a bony knee
of aged Sundays
and pearl
around necks of
sagging flesh
waiting
in excitement
for the procession
of shared solitude
Behind the ardent rows
the beauties
pass
no need yet
for this wait
that brings out but
saints
Their time is to night
the fiesta of the flesh
forgotten the
Carne vale
of their mothers in the street
A carnival in Valencia… Brides walking to the sea


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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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