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‘Er is geen slotregel, maar die komt er wel’ – Zeyar Lynn (Myanmar)

dinsdag 5 juni 2018 10:06

We moesten er even van bijkomen, zo mooi. Poetry International kijkt terug op een in meerdere opzichten fantastische 49e editie van het Poetry International Festival Rotterdam. De dichters die de afgelopen week in Rotterdam de wereldomspannende Nation of Poetry bezielden brachten sterke en indringende poëzie waarin de actualiteit – die van dichtbij, van ver weg, die van overal - zichtbaar en hoorbaar aanwezig was en waaruit een pleidooi sprak voor vrijheid, verbeelding en inclusiviteit. Het publiek werd meegezogen door verhelderende gesprekken en interviews, door ingetogen en meeslepende voordrachten en bijzondere cross-overs en samenwerkingen tussen festivaldichters, dansers en muzikanten, en het deed dat in groten getale.

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49th Poetry International Festival Rotterdam

Wednesday 21 February 2018 12:02

Any meeting with a poem carries a certain danger, as those few lines just may stick with you for the rest of your life. Before you know it, you’ve got another goal. One you never even knew would suit you. Suddenly boundaries have to be moved, aspirations realised, visions expressed, and dreams chased. Yes, you need to watch out for those poets. For the 49th time they will convene in Rotterdam, their bags full of those kinds of astonishing, hope-inspiring, rage-inducing, uniting and disjointing lines. Every poem is a world unto itself. So there’s a lot to discover, meet, discuss and celebrate at the 49th Poetry International Festival Rotterdam. Let’s meet between the lines!

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Festival poem


anti-bird, mechanical american,   
you, without a name in my tongue,  
how come when I look at you I see myself 
as a desert-dweller    

whilst hovering above the city
where I live, you

reduce to sand,     
powerful hand     

taker of lives
where there is hardly any water,

from this water-land
I address you thirstily,

you don’t answer, extension
of what is less nameless

all the more undetectable   
and therefore as monopolic as    

death, where is your bzzzzzzz

when I close the curtains, turn off
the light tonight, which makes me sleep-

less, to all appearances recover
for yet another day

being of value in this desert-
economy, which you,

demiurge, high up
above us, grains, create and oversee?

Instagram by @poetry_int


Sunday: Poetry at the arboretum