It's once again the (International) Day of the Book. Well, and once again I do not care, but just repeat: For me 365 days in any year are days of books, and 366 in leap-years. Anyway, on Shakespeare's 460th birthday the 408th anniversary of either his dead and the death of Cervantes just to wish a very special literary evening. May my voice not put you off the realm poetry. ;-) |
Tuesday, April 23, 2024
Beers & Books (375) – Birth & Death(lessness)
Friday, February 23, 2024
Friday, January 26, 2024
Take this Waltz
Leonard Cohen (21 September 1934 – 7 November 2016)
Federico García Lorca (5 Juni 1898 – 19 August 1936)
Thursday, January 25, 2024
Nectarious Night
And I'll dance with you in Vienna I'll be wearing a river's disguise The hyacinth wild on my shoulder, My mouth on the dew of your thighs . . . |
Wednesday, December 13, 2023
Heine's Doctrine
Doctrine
Beat the drum and don't be afraid,
And kiss the sutler!
That is the whole science,
That is the deepest meaning of books.
Drum the people out of their sleep,
Drum Reveille with the vigour of youth,
Always march ahead drumming,
That is the whole of science.
That is Hegel's philosophy,
That is the deepest meaning of books!
I have grasped it because I am clever,
And because I am a good drummer.
Heinrich Heine (13 December 1797 – 17 February 1856)
Sunday, December 10, 2023
Wednesday, November 01, 2023
Adios for a while
Saturday, October 21, 2023
In praise of ...
Digging
Between my finger and my thumbThe squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.
Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbed
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rotted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.
My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy neat the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
Seamus Heaney
Friday, May 05, 2023
Beers & Books CCCXXVIII – Bobby Sands
Bobby Sands (9 March 1954 – 5 May 1981) |
I rolled over again freezing and the snow came in the window on top of my blankets. Tiocfaidh ár lá' (Our day will come), I said to myself, Tiocfaidh ár lá. [Final diary entry]
Sunday, April 23, 2023
Rather be it Shakespeare*
and the death of Cervantes
just to wish a very special literary evening.
It's also the (International) Day of the book?
Well, yes. But isn't every day a day of the book?
Comparing the results of my recent attempts to write some sonnets myself with what I am rereading these days, I came to the conclusion, in order not to put anyone off the realm of poetry, to post rather one from the Master of Avondale.
Alack what poverty my muse brings forth,
That having such a scope to show her pride,
The argument all bare is of more worth
Than when it hath my added praise beside.
O blame me not if I no more can write!
Look in your glass and there appears a face,
That over-goes my blunt invention quite,
Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace.
Were it not sinful then striving to mend,
To mar the subject that before was well?
For to no other my verses tend,
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell.
And more, much more than in my verse can sit,
Your own glass shows you, when you look in it.
* knowing I would be fighting with a deadline, I went back to April 23rd, 2014, copied and pasted, updated the years, and voilà.
Monday, April 17, 2023
Wednesday, March 15, 2023
Beers & Books CCCXX – Small Anthology of Poetry in Spanish
This small anthology of poetry in Spanish makes me looking forward to July 19th when the following will be published: Surveying a poetic continent. |
Monday, March 06, 2023
Mo(o)nday Poetry
Cuando sale la luna se pierden las campanas y aparecen las sendas impenetrables.* |
Thursday, March 02, 2023
In memoriam Claude
Claude, February 2020 |
A MAN MUST FACE HIMSELF
I hung two sealskins on my wall....
Some people say
'Oh! the poor dear things!'
with pity in their hearts,
while chewing bloody steak
and cuddling in fur coats.
And I think of **
Jonahsie
magnificently himself: a Man,
hunter by destiny
spearing the seals,
with no guilt in his soul,
no pity in his heart,
but beaming pride
that his day-work was done:
the best for his kin---
and that's all he could do...
And I think of
Kakee, his wife,
cleaning, stretching, smoothing, sewing the skins
with a skill
as old as the Woman called Eve,
and bringing me the gift
with beaming pride:
the best for a friend---
and that's all she could give...
And I wonder why
we worry about who eats whom
when Life is a cycle?
We all prey, and we grow
feeding on each other.
A seal
a breathing tomato
an egg that could be born
a drink of pure water
a flower for a vase
some grass to walk upon
the warmth of the sun, of a smile, of a body
a poem for a soul
and stars to fill a dream.
I hung two sealskins on my wall...
A Man must face himself
and accept it!
Claude Prévost Gamble
(June 1970)
** And I think of Claude who died today two years ago.
Thanks for all. De tout coeur!
Claude during a storm on Moose River, whilst working as a nurse at an Indian hospital; James Bay, Winter 1955 |
Monday, February 06, 2023
Mo(o)nday Poetry
Federico García Lorca (5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936)
Monday, January 16, 2023
Mo(o)nday Poetry
Dice la tarde: "Tengo sed de sombra!" Dice la luna: "Yo, sed de luceros." [...] Says the afternoon: "I'm thirsty for shadow!" Says the moon: "I want stars." |
Federico García Lorca (5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936)
Sunday, January 15, 2023
Nâzım Hikmet had a dream
Yaşamak bir ağaç gibi tek ve hür
ve bir orman gibi kardeşçesine,
bu hasret bizim.
To live like a tree and at liberty
and brotherly like the trees of a forest,
this yearning is ours.
Nâzım Hikmet (15 January 1902 – 3 June 1963)
Monday, January 02, 2023
Friday, December 23, 2022
Beers &Books CCLVIX – Hölderlin
. . . |
Friedrich Hölderlin (20 March 1770 – 7 June 1843)