Zoeken in deze blog

PAINTINGS BY EMMY VERSCHOOR

VOOR EMMY

Voor Emmy

Zijn het pluimen of bladeren
die ontsnappen uit je binnenste hartkamer
of is het de gloed van de kleur van kloppend bloed
hunkerend naar de stilte van rimpelloos
Water?

Als haar handen vloeibaar worden
krijgt de piano vleugels op het doek
Een boom verbijt haar vergezicht
In de diepte luisteren wortels verrukt
naar de zachte braille van haar bestaan
Tuinen hangen van de wolken
omlaag, omhoog groeien vreemde bloemen
uit een ingebeelde notenbalk.

Guido Vermeulen
14 november 2011


Muziek bij de video: Claude Debussy

donderdag 29 december 2011

2012 Haiku


From Miche Art Universalis, Belgium

Translation from the Dutch

HERONS TOGETHER

ALSO ON A NEW YEARS DAY

PROTECT PASSING TIME

GV

A CAUSE DE NICOLAS






Artist book production by Janine Weiss, Switzerland
inspired by the French painter NICOLAS DE STAEL

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicolas_de_Sta%C3%ABl

Life Is Short, Break The Rules.


“Life is short, Break the Rules.
Forgive quickly, Kiss SLOWLY.
Love truly. Laugh uncontrollably
And never regret ANYTHING
That makes you smile.”
― Mark Twain

donderdag 22 december 2011

MOON SHADOW


Ephemeral art work from Marilyn Dammann who passed away in 2005

Song lyrics CAT STEVENS

Oh, I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin and hoppin' on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow

And if I ever lose my hands, lose my plough, lose my land,
Oh if I ever lose my hands, Oh if.... I won't have to work no more.
And if I ever lose my eyes, if my colours all run dry,
Yes if I ever lose my eyes, Oh if.... I won't have to cry no more.

Oh I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow

And if I ever lose my legs, I won't moan, and I won't beg,
Yes if I ever lose my legs, Oh if.... I won't have to walk no more.
And if I ever lose my mouth, all my teeth, north and south,
Yes if I ever lose my mouth, Oh if.... I won't have to talk...

Oh I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow

Did it take long to find me? I asked the faithful light.
Did it take long to find me? And are you gonna stay the night?

Oh I'm bein' followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow
Leapin' and hoppin' on a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow

donderdag 15 december 2011

TRAPS OF AIR


Large painted envelope for Laurence Gillot in France.
Around poem fragment from Jacques IZOARD, from the collection PIEGES d AIR, published by LE FRAM editions Belgium (a magazine also publishing books, from another friend of mine and a great poet 2: Karel Logist)

Translation of words on the painted envelope:

Do not cry anymore
Pretend to whisper
that the thread of water
has slashed your veins

LES AILES ROUGES DE LA GUERRE


Small painted envelope, inspired by the poetry collection THE RED WINGS OF WAR by Emile Verhaeren.
This book was dedicated to Maurice Maeterlinck, writer of the Blue Bird.
Mailed to Niklas Heed in Sweden.

woensdag 14 december 2011

WOMAN CAUGHT BETWEEN ROCKS AND TREES


Poem I wrote around a photo from Kerri Pullo, USA


Woman caught between rocks and trees


Dedicated to Kerri Pullo and Simonne Pauwels


She eats a sandwich made of stolen sea food
Worms in driftwood wanna speak to you,
she says with a swift waitress voice
to the smallest sea coast she ever saw.

In the bedroom he plays Bach because
nobody else will warm these sheets of music.
She wears an angel on her hat, goes thru his head,
because her heart swims with the dreams of disappearing fish.

I’ve buried my eyes under the giant roots of trees,
they are almost a thousand years old, he tries to explain in vain.
I’ve buried mine in rocks, she simply sings
with a seductive mermaid voice to make peace between them
as soft as possible and as understanding as the sounds of spoon and room.
He acts with hidden words instead of uncovered leaves:
I did not know rocks were almost mirrors in the golden sun!

This sentence feels quite like a quiet kiss of autumn on my lips,
such an aria and echo of her soul looking for the holes in bones.

He simply smiles.
She takes one of the rocks to show him it smiles back

Waves intervene in the debate
Wonder how to show them how to really kiss
How to kiss their naked bodies without drowning
both of them at once
How to breathe like these yielding trees near the beach,
this beach where both of them were born in different decades.


Guido Vermeulen
December 2011

maandag 12 december 2011

OUR DESTINY IS TRANSPARENCY



Small painted envelope around a poetry fragment by Achille CHAVEE (1906-1969)
Mailed to Angie and Snooky, USA.

NOTRE DESTIN DE TRANSPARENCE
LA FIN MEPRISANT LES MOYENS
L’AME JOUANT LE QUITTE OU DOUBLE
L’ETERNITE QUI NOUS ADOUBE

http://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Achille_Chav%C3%A9e

THE RED LAUNDRY



Small painted envelope for Louise Kinner in Canada, around a poetry fragment by Jacques IZOARD who was one of my close friends. He died in 2008.

Le linge est un peu rouge
puisque les cris d’oiseaux
meurent dans les vitres

The laundry is a little red
because the cries of birds
are dying in the windows

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jacques_Izoard

zaterdag 10 december 2011

On the tiny differences between swimming and flying



Small painted envelope, backing a song by Juliette Greco: «A small fish, a small bird» (for the song, see right column)

TELL ME WHERE THAT LIGHT WENT



Small painted envelope I mailed to Cernjul Viviana in Argentina,
on dust and light particles again

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nils_Bohr

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philip_Pullman

BUT THE RIVER was dead, from ANTWERP to the sea




Small painted envelope I mailed to Stefano Fossiant Sini in Italy,
around fragment of poetry by EMILE VERHAEREN from his collection TOUTE LA FLANDRE.
Verhaeren is a French Belgian poet but he caught the essence of Flanders like no other Flemish writer has done.


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emile_Verhaeren

DUST ASEMICS according to Buzz



Small painted envelope accompanied by short text:


Small painted envelope (mailed to KDJ, USA)


Het liefste wat Buzz doet is op mijn heup springen en daarop slapen. Soms maakt hij me dan wakker en begin ik hem zachtjes te strelen. Het zonlicht dat door de gordijnen valt, veroorzaakt een dans van ontelbare stofdeeltjes. Buzz ziet die wellicht voor de eerste maal in zijn prille katerbestaan en probeert die te vangen. Hij zet zich op zijn achterste poten op mijn heup, balanceert zijn piepjong evenwicht en graait met zijn voorste poten naar de stof en lichtdeeltjes die hij uiteraard niet vatten kan. Hij denkt even na en zet zich af van mijn been en zweeft even door de lucht om dan met een plof op het bed terecht te komen. Ik kijk of alles in orde is, of hij nog steeds dezelfde Buzz is, of hij toevallig en voor heel even door een andere dimensie gewipt is of niet. Hij herkent mij meteen en likt mijn arm om dan het spel met de gouden stofdeeltjes en atomen te hervatten. Ik had hem niet Buzz moeten noemen maar Lyra of Philip of Nils.

(emailed to Simonne Pauwels)


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philip_Pullman

donderdag 8 december 2011

TONGA THINKING


Even een gedicht dat ik vandaag voor jou heb genoteerd,
voorgelezen door een (oude) vrouw van Tonga, Konai Helu Thaman, die gans haar
leven onderzoek heeft gedaan over "how to learn and to teaching the Pacific"

Thinking
you say that you think
therefore you are
but thinking belongs to the depts of the earth
we only borrow what we need to know ...

Andere gedachte van de dag :
without knowing the culture of a child
you cannot teach a child

Email from Simonne Pauwels on the Fiji Isles