EXHIBITION THINKING 2

THINKING FURTHER

Than just than the water became a mirror as the wind called behind.
It revealed silence in noise, in uproar, sound echo  echo, silence in noise
sound source of silence, underwater while above, on the surface feathers
still there, like screams of geese and line clouds of wasted journeys
silence my mind

paint reality

to see what you and me can’t see
don’t want to see
a laced wing, laced netting, filigree cord sting
intertwine, interweave, mix it all, give it silence
klingerly klang of a horse shoe on concrete

glace wing

see beyond time
THAN
a feather comes with thousand drops
to do what hasn’t been done
camera under water under surface reality
dare to see surplace reality shattered movement

under or above thats the question

a boat past, waves come all moves
wobble bobble zobble
into reappearing silence, moved to be stuck
a drop reflection into a subtle action
reaction of a fraction into
inner moment, inner movement
shadows reflection, than just than

moved to be stuck

the boat pushes her under where i lay surprised
faces what to see, no longer care
all them 1.000.000.000 drops
just one little feather
feels so good, so beautiful, attractions
in that one tiny moment of passing

that feather

by elegant, glamour on a surface movement
shift in charm, to relocate me and
seeing beyond, seeing inside reflection, under drops
we only see outer reality
stir, switch, leave, transfer

drop reflections

seeing in three dimension
i have to go now, i need a piss
my inner calling
how to make 2D into 3D with an inner feeling
kijk nou

een veertje dat me heeft leren zien, leren kijken, een ander perspectief.

it will never be sure when or how we see not knowing how to show

mAgdA september 2017 alblasserdam

 

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PRICE OF ART

I woke up with you in mind hearing your shouts, seeing your act art you said art

as i wait for the first bird song you wait for the first embarrassment

you have a name, you have a fame, you teach to earn

scream to act art you say

the thousand fine lines a question the embarrassment

PRICE OF ART DROPS

RAIN DROPS IN THE AIR

Looking further into some facts

the aim for the shame

searching for what is lost

inside a scream of silence a scream of taal

en nog eens taal

Vergeefse woorden zoeken naar menselijke mening, menselijke redenering

ik herinner, terwijl de vogel mij niet ziet

een vermenging van woordeloze Beelden

Verbeelding van menselijk gezag

het gezegde van een FLITZZZZ

onderweg van het weg zijn van de

PRICE OF ART BRIDGE

WALKING IN THE RAIN

roaring trucks, zooming first cars

into the silence faling raindrops, rolling of leaFs

circles

somebody else has been here, footprint from behind

shout for what is lost, what will be lost

only without the anger, leaving that embarrassment

a shout of silenced grieving, act silent walking, over a noisy track

should i act this sadden dance to get attention for loosing

perhaps it is the falling of failing

PRICE OF ART FINGERS

FINGERS

dat ik bewandel na de nacht

een druppel hier            een druppel daar

een gloeiende plaat, in ieder hoek

taal zeg je een vergeten woord van het niet willen weten

stilletjes nat worden voor het zien van dat kunstzinnige moment

kunst waar vind je dat, aan een hangende tak zonder bladeren

het niet weten voelt veilig aan

nee, laat maar     ik wil het voelen

achter de pijn van verliezen ligt de glorie van schoonheid

DIE komt zonder prijs

dansend over een bank, terwijl de bankrekening loopt leeg

genietend van een teer moment, regen valt niet leeg

PRICE OF ART SEED

SEED

treecreeper crawls away vertical movement

now

the rain truly falls

100 1000000

one hundred million

for a piece of skull

money of dead reminder of bulbs 1640

art for few collecting emptiness, no tax on art

10,000 times 10,000

art against reason a silent reminder of what i don’t want

is het een kunst om iets te maken waarvan iedereen zegt wat knap

of

PRICE OF ART CAMPER

CAMPER IN THE RAIN

is het een kunst om iets te maken wat jezelf niet echt snapt

een vergeten liedje van herman van veen met blijvende gedachte goed

walking back through the rain leaving art well behind

i sell what i create

artinisme off

dripping drops make no difference

i see your anger of lost words

leaf your act of desperation

its all a vague nothing on lendless paper

PRICE OF ART REGEN WEG

REGEN WEG

ik ga verder met mijn zin

zinloos dwalen tussen woorden van niets

lege druppels in jouw haar

warme bries in mijn gedachte

verder heeft het geen

ZIN

 

DABE ART

EARLY

An early morning walk on 29 July starting at 04.55 in my own words of perception.

the early morning mist longed over water
dancing skimping in distance

misty

misty

over wildFlower meadow hovers
veil of most tiniest of tiniest drops
touching everything with a dust off water
minute water forming a needed
awakening to long warm day
while short night ends

sunmist

sunmist

many will be moved
as i look for colour
that past moment
2 summers ago
somewhere else
own creation of nature
total feeling comes again
as the dream wakes on a sliding hill
as a stream it will come again

every drop a story

every drop a story

feeling warmth of growing sun
glistering silver dust thousand sparkles in one

streaks of light over the blue canvas sky
breath silence in shallow traffic
an adoring moment

streaks

streaks

nobody here
nobody there
only
a flatter of silver bird Wings
stroke movement curling in the sky
what will the day bring

early-bird

early bird

cool yellow rock
into shadow of doubt
a piece of land
mint marjoram bees
leave it all the same

ponds of drops

ponds of drops

you will not see
the end
from that bit
there

perspective of a moment

perspective of a moment

a late submission of a day gone

READ TO DISCOVER

At the moment I am working on two small poetry books which will be sold along the canals.
The question came up: should poetry be self explanatory, so people will read and understand about what you are writing? Shall Poetry be made according to the rules and regulations of language – grammar and spelling  – or can the poet just play with words?
The discussion came about due to a line in one of my poems were it looked as if the word “leave” should have been “leaf”. My answer is: it can be both, both meanings, whatever you want. When you read it in the context of the poem it even can be both, but I spelled it as leave meaning departure.
Leave has several other meanings like holiday, farewell, exit, goodbye and leave as a verb has similar meanings; depart, go, retire, pull out, set sail, abandon and next to it you have ‘leave out’  which means exclude.
In the poem:  “Where the leave touches the stream” followed by “soft reflection drifting into a motion of no direction” So it cold be both a leaf from the tree just fallen in the canal, or a departure or even a holiday. That makes it, in my opinion, special; that makes it literary art created with words, being creative with words.
If text needs to explain something you should not be creative with words but weigh the meanings of the words and use them in a clear matter.

Image

old text Cathach of St. Columba

The druid in Celtic society, as the wise people, memorised their knowledge in the form of verse and poetry. These poems are not self explanatory but a way to train your memory as the Celts didn’t use books or script to store their knowledge like the Romans did.
When we look at these old poems, specially those that were written down in Ireland, we will be puzzled as time changes language. A language is not static, so the text can’t be a true text and will always be interpreted. Even more so when a text is translated in an other language.
We use language mainly as a form of communication. Art can become a form of communication but also can be open to the imagination, poetry can be imaginable, being dream like – even unreal – that shows the beauty of poetry and language: using words in a dream like way to stimulate the readers imagination.
Language can be just like a picture we all see it in a different way, as Rene Magritte said: “this is not a pipe” under a picture of a pipe.

My poetry will be with a photo but the poem doesn’t explain the picture, both will show a way of seeing. The human imagination comes in many shapes and forms and we shouldn’t be afraid of it. Some of my poems show how I see the photo, or the moment the photo was taken this doesn’t mean that you should see it in the same way as me. The title of one book is; “the little book of drops” yet every drop shows a lot more than just a drop of water.

Sparkle

Dusky glimmer in the rain     
gives a dashing stroke without a brush,  
to avoid the flashing witty twinkle

The dropping becomes the prism without the cutting edge     
The colour palette holds the Rainbow against the light

The beast gets a revelation on her hair   
No more hiding away in the dark corner

She slowly wander to the glowing ball of water,    
hangs on while it falls from the movement of her legs,     
a lost tick

Image

What do you think?