So as I do not know yet how many keystrokes I am allowed to use.... maybe in future pieces will dissapear.
Keep in mind that the rhitm and rhyme might dissapear, but I still hope the images and messages will come accross.
And please,... tell me the spelling errors, so I can adjust them!
Here we go!
translation of 'opengetrokken blikje' april 2011
'while the lip of the can with lemonade curls up in a smile,
the thought sink into the fluid away to the past.....
the missed oportunities crawl down deep in the humidity of the aluminium dungeons,
dissappearing in the bitterness of its bubbles. batteling with the inner spark of resilience
the thought sink into the fluid away to the past.....
the missed oportunities crawl down deep in the humidity of the aluminium dungeons,
dissappearing in the bitterness of its bubbles. batteling with the inner spark of resilience
they glide on the circulation made out of illusions, hung up on the realilty of others...
... twirling round your head, proving that once....
Argh you are a shade in their theatre of shadows....
you move in between as the unanounced butterflystrokes from the tropics....
dust piling up in corners, wind just to be wind itself, twirling in the dust of ones own thoughts.....
... twirling round your head, proving that once....
Argh you are a shade in their theatre of shadows....
you move in between as the unanounced butterflystrokes from the tropics....
dust piling up in corners, wind just to be wind itself, twirling in the dust of ones own thoughts.....
and while the bitterness is celebrating its peak in sylables and words,
the soul of the past, bit by bit refinds her dull but deeply rooted gloss.
Sweeping away the first thin layer of dust...
only the future will know if her potential glory one day will be bright again or if it will dissapear with the lonely stroke of the swallow in the silence of the 'blue d'azur'.
translation of 'ontdooien' May 2011
Thaw
and the salt of my tears evaporate in the gentle slopes of the storming sea.
translation of 'mirages vol poëzie' May 2011
between the mirages in your head once in a while you can find an oasis of sounds
translation of 'de stem' (audioblog)
Fortunately your husband made the difference. With some editing, some more testresults, ne much needed silence in the house and ever so many recording attempts your first audioblog blossomed! You even dug up some vocal lessons from that old box and cut off that end-n. Suddenly the phoenix rose from the ashes. Dusty, wrinkled and a bit more out of breath, but she was still alive! And HOW! She quivered to to make the next recording… and so occurred.
the soul of the past, bit by bit refinds her dull but deeply rooted gloss.
Sweeping away the first thin layer of dust...
only the future will know if her potential glory one day will be bright again or if it will dissapear with the lonely stroke of the swallow in the silence of the 'blue d'azur'.
translation of 'ontdooien' May 2011
Thaw
and the salt of my tears evaporate in the gentle slopes of the storming sea.
translation of 'mirages vol poëzie' May 2011
between the mirages in your head once in a while you can find an oasis of sounds
translation of 'de stem' (audioblog)
The Voice
Once your voice filled in an open job
vacancy. Your future boss was so overwhelmed by your telephonically interview,
he almost blindly offered you the job. ‘Almost’, cause on the last nick of time
he arranged an ‘examination of the flesh’, in order to be sure the meager wage
would be used to its limits.
You were flabbergasted, your pronunciation
exactly was the thing which made you crumble inside out of pure misery. In your
childhood you did not properly spook the ‘r’. It was stuffed somewhere in
between some hot English potatoes. Swallowed, concealed and bended. It did
enrich your language, the anecdote is that already as a toddler you
acknowledged this glitch. You constantly looked up ‘r-less’ synonyms. In your
parents shop was an elevator. Everyone always talked about ‘the elevator’, only
you, little thumb you were, stubbornly used the word ‘lift’. Vocal training,
speech therapy… they did not do the trick. More then a French ‘r’ did not pass
your lips. And you so much disgusted that one and it sounded so forced it
remained shuffled between those hot English potatoes. Only in the o so much
despised French lessons it was kind of convenient. In al your childhood and
teenage years you were painfully aware of your horrible pronunciation. On top
of that you were often told you did not a r t I c u l a t e well either. Well…
whom would possible be able to address anyone with a hot potato in the mouth?
One or other Greek fellow had tried it before, only, with pebbles. Fortunately
potatoes were a lot more tasty.
It was somewhere in your twenties that he
miracle occurred. Disguised in two years of singing lessons. The repeated
breathing techniques and a suddenly given Italian aria created the escape
route. The get-a-way from hell. Of course you had started of by declaring in
all kinds of colors your inability to let that ‘r’ roll like thunder over a
tropical island. But your singing coach just neglected your exclamations.
…’Just sing’ she said.
The foundation was laid in the previous
years. The vocal training, the speech therapy. It was the needed basis to
redeem that ‘r’. Moreover a tropical storm lost all its power besides it. Your
voice forever changed its color. It was the only good thing about the whole
singing period. All the other moments were purely traumatizing. Moments that
until eternity shut you down in public when anything like ‘singing’ was
suggested. (Unless in the little hours on parties… but who the heck still talks
about ‘singing’ on those hours of the day?)
At this moment in life you are out of careers
and your voice finds itself somewhere dusty between the daily rat race. Until
today, in some small talk with a former radio host, voices and their colors
came were briefly discussed. You wondered if you still ‘got it’.. if ‘ever’ you
got it…but well…, in your professional period that was so often put to the
table in a spontaneous manner by known and unknowns. And a blind student once
confessed he thought you were a radio host the first time he heard your voice
through the corridors. (Until this day the most beautiful compliment you ever
got on linguistic territory) Others were a bit more naughty and suggested a
telephonically career which was not that ‘all ages rated’.
So it had to be true. And you started
haunting down recording possibilities. After all those years you wanted to
discover why so many people thought you to have such an agreeable voice on the
phone.
Some sniffing on the computer was rewarded
by a shabby and basic package. Your first attempts were of the same quality.
You almost gave up, they all had been mistaken and the quality of phone lines
probably were very mild to cover up that dreadful voice blaring through my
boxes. Especially as I had tried it out by singing along with a French singer
song writer. This not being the brightest of ideas should have been obvious
seen the story mentioned previously. But your stubborn nature took over
control. And yes, after some shaving of your trouth and the much needed coughs
‘something’ friendly dawned. Hmm, but as a sweltering phonevoice it did not
sound.
You decided to let third parties make the
call. In the evening, your other half was summoned on entering the premises.
Listening to the audioblog, under a little force I need to admit, he was
wondering whom had taped those sounds. … whow… and it was not even insulting
but actually quit surprised in a positive way! BINGO, your ‘voice’ was back on
track!
Swiftly you became a bit audacious and
decided you could, just as your big example, Simon Carmiggelt, could read some
of your blog pieces. You figured your blog would be a little more animated.
But…. Blogger did not want you to just post some audiopieces. Not without any
combats! TOO simple. No no, a person first should make a movie or download
everything by a third party website. Own creativity, it was not encouraged.
Only text-docs were allowed. Fortunately your husband made the difference. With some editing, some more testresults, ne much needed silence in the house and ever so many recording attempts your first audioblog blossomed! You even dug up some vocal lessons from that old box and cut off that end-n. Suddenly the phoenix rose from the ashes. Dusty, wrinkled and a bit more out of breath, but she was still alive! And HOW! She quivered to to make the next recording… and so occurred.
