Kunst in de markt - arnhem

KIM op bezoek bij de expo van Han

woensdag middag college

Symposium 'heksendans en pelgrimstocht'
Vormen van moderne spiritualiteit @ Radboud universiteit
met Herman Vuijsje en Susan Smit

The Antlers

shamanic vision

"The danger, however, is not less real because it is imaginary; imagination acts upon man as really as does gravitation, and may kill him as certainly as a dose of prussic acid." (Frazer-The Golden bow "Tabooed Things".)

kind in de boom

Fall Song
Mary Oliver

Another year gone, leaving everywhere
its rich spiced residues: vines, leaves,

the uneaten fruits crumbling damply
in the shadows, unmattering back

from the particular island
of this summer, this NOW, that now is nowhere

except underfoot, moldering
in that black subterranean castle

of unobservable mysteries - roots and sealed seeds
and the wanderings of water. This

I try to remember when time's measure
painfully chafes, for instance when autumn

flares out at the last, boisterous and like us longing
to stay - how everything lives, shifting

from one bright vision to another, forever
in these momentary pastures.

oersoep

La muse malade

The Sick Muse

My poor Muse, alas! what ails you today?
Your hollow eyes are full of nocturnal visions;
I see in turn reflected on your face
Horror and madness, cold and taciturn.
Have the green succubus, the rosy elf,
Poured out for you love and fear from their urns?
Has the hand of Nightmare, cruel and despotic,
Plunged you to the bottom of some weird Minturnae?
I would that your bosom, fragrant with health,
Were constantly the dwelling place of noble thoughts,
And that your Christian blood would flow in rhythmic waves
Like the measured sounds of ancient verse,
Over which reign in turn the father of all songs,
Phoebus, and the great Pan, lord of harvest.
— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)


The Sick Muse

What's the matter with you today, Muse?
Are you going to tell me about last night's visions,
Heads on spikes, natives dancing a frenzied juba,
And all kinds of other stuff?
Oh you pink-lipped succubus!
You just don't want me to shoot into you.
You say you drowned, at Actium or Lepanto.
Again? What a nightmare.
I only want you to heave health
Be thinking of strongly urged Christian Things
And you tied to a bed
So, count it out and
Moan your dirge —
I'm climbing on.
— Will Schmitz

Katzenjammer

love this :-)

opklaring

The dead weather

School of seven bels