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Corona
Tweetalige uitgave met werk van de laatste tien jaar van de Nederlandse beeldend kunstenaar Jan Mulder, gemaakt naar de gedichten 'Die Ewigkeit' en 'Corona' van Paul Celan. Met een tekst van oud-conservator Stedelijk Museum Jan Hein Sassen die over Mulders werk zegt: 'Een poëtische vertaling in verf van de condition humaine, zoals de filosoof Octavio Paz schreef, die in onze cultuur gekenmerkt wordt door een constant heen en weer geslingerd worden tussen rationaliteit en romantiek. Tegelijkertijd zie je de beweeglijke felheid van New York, de mediterrane kleuren van het Griekse eiland Paros en het heldere licht dat door de bomen op de Oudegracht in Utrecht valt: de drie plaatsen die zijn leven markeren.'
Hardcover
Published January 1, 2016
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August 31, 2018
Corona
Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.
From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:
then time returns to the shell.
In the mirror it's Sunday,
in dream there is room for sleeping,
our mouths speak the truth.
My eye moves down to the sex of my loved one:
we look at each other,
we exchange dark words,
we love each other like poppy and recollection,
we sleep like wine in the conches,
like the sea in the moon's blood ray.
We stand by the window embracing, and people look up from
the street:
it is time they knew!
It is time the stone made an effort to flower,
time unrest had a beating heart.
It is time it were time.
It is time.
Poem by Paul Celan
Translated by Michael Hamburger
Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.
From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:
then time returns to the shell.
In the mirror it's Sunday,
in dream there is room for sleeping,
our mouths speak the truth.
My eye moves down to the sex of my loved one:
we look at each other,
we exchange dark words,
we love each other like poppy and recollection,
we sleep like wine in the conches,
like the sea in the moon's blood ray.
We stand by the window embracing, and people look up from
the street:
it is time they knew!
It is time the stone made an effort to flower,
time unrest had a beating heart.
It is time it were time.
It is time.
Poem by Paul Celan
Translated by Michael Hamburger
Displaying 1 of 1 review