Issues – Page 71 – Amsterdam Quarterly

Bryan R. Monte – AQ15 Spring 2016 Art Reviews

14 March 2016/in Review

AQ15 Spring 2016 Art Reviews
by Bryan R. Monte

Living in the Amsterdam School. Amsterdam Stedelijk Museum, 7 April to 28 August 2016
Document Nederland: Carel van Hees fotografeert het onderwijs. Rijksmuseum, 24 March to 12 June 2016

Living in The Amsterdam School

If you’ve ever wondered what happened when the optimistic, fin de siècle, organic Arts and Crafts and Art Nouveau movements crashed into the trenches of the First World War, visit the Living in the Amsterdam School exhibition now at Amsterdam’s Stedelijk museum. This carefully-researched exhibition will show you the lavish interiors created as these movements entered the dark, expressionist wood created by this Dutch movement (1910-30). And since this exhibition concentrates on carefully reconstructed interiors and objects, the visitor is able to get a feel for what it was like to live in a stylish 1920s Amsterdam home, work in an office or shop at some of the Netherlands’ most prominent department stores.

Instead of seeking solace in the simple, natural forms as the Arts & Crafts/Art Nouveau movement had done, the Amsterdam School sought escapism and adventure in the exotic possibly as a reaction, but also perhaps as a precursor of the coming financial and political disasters. Characteristics of the Amsterdam School include unusual use of colour (red, orange, and yellow detailing on dark backgrounds), unusual wood detailing and carvings and exotic influences and designs. It’s worth visiting this collection of Amsterdam School artwork because as director Beatrix Ruf said at the press conferences it “is the largest ever assembled.”

The exhibitions first gallery includes a pyramidal display of the distinctive somewhat-tear-shaped clocks (similar in shape to Amsterdam School building towers) in various but mostly dark woods with orange, red and black accents. This is part of the 300 clocks collected for the exhibition and which also mimic the shape of the tops of the towers of the Amsterdam School buildings where mainly large, exterior clocks of similar design were displayed. (One design in particular, by Hildo Krop, contains long, thin, seated memento mori figures at the top of each clock). This gallery’s exhibition is also augmented (as in some others) by a film, music or video. (In this gallery, it is a silent film about Amsterdam School architecture exteriors).

The next gallery includes the reconstruction of an office with a large table and several very solid chairs and coffee table (One needed a very strong back to move this characteristically heavy massieve furniture) Further galleries include furniture for the home including first living, dining and bed rooms including photos of some of their occupants involved in various activities such as knitting next to the hearth, reading, etc. The dark wood furniture in this collection, some by Peter Lodewijk Kramer, creates a very den-or cave-like interior. A notable exception to this a suite of black and white bedroom furniture by Joseph Crouwel which stunningly presages the streamlined clean lines of Art Deco.

Another aspect of the Amsterdam School included in this exhibition is sculpture including the Modernist looking Girl (three-quarter figure) sculpture and the cast concrete Man with Wings (who looks more like a demon with wings from The Lord of the Rings) both by John Rädecker. Hildo Krop is also represented by his wood closets with wooden sculptures both above and in the cornices. Some of Krop’s work can also be found today on some of the city centre’s sculptured bridge pillars.

The exoticism of the Amsterdam School movement is given further explanation by its use in film theatres and department stores. In the 1920s, going to these two buildings was a type of escape, the first for a new form of entertainment—film, the second to a sort of retail adventure. These are demonstrated for example, by photos of the Tuschinski theatre’s Pieter den Besten’s native American designs (mural and lamp) and in The Hague’s Bijenkorf department store’s by two, giant, dark-wood, carved staircase padauks with details of flautists, a harpist and theatre masks by H. A. van de Einde. Toordorp is also represented by an expressionist (almost ’60s hippieish) brightly-painted wooden changing screen.

The last three galleries include even more gems. In the antepenultimate gallery, objects are displayed on shelves similar to those used in depots. These objects include firescreens, ceramics, a cradle, and an exquisite chest of drawers by Louis Bogtman of batik-patterned wood and wrought-iron from a private collection which demonstrates how Eastern styles affected the Amsterdam School.

The penultimate room in the exhibition has dozens of characteristically tear-shaped, dark, metal, hanging electric lamps demonstrating the new influence electricity was having on home interiors. Across from the lamps are distinctive stained-glass windows for both commercial and home use.

The exhibit’s final room contains a collection of Amsterdam School exhibition posters of shows, revivals and retrospectives. In the centre of the room is a red, yellow and white bedside table by Hildo Krop, which looks strikingly similar to the simple angular, Mondrian-coloured Modernist furniture made by Gerrit Rietveld. It demonstrates how Dutch interior design and this long-lived, multi-media artist (1884-1970) reinvented themselves again in the 1930s.

There’s probably something to satisfy everyone’s interest in early 20th Dutch interiors from chairs, tables, sofas, beds, desks, paintings, rugs, lamps, windows, posters, art magazines, photos, film, video and music. Visitors with children will probably be grateful for the “Build Your Own Clock” hands-on activity area, about two-thirds of the way through the exhibition, for visitors with children. Here children can construct and customize (detail and colour) their own Amsterdam School style clock. There are three different styles (5 minutes for the easiest, 15 for the most difficult). The clockworks, however, must be purchase downstairs at museum shop.

Even though Dr. Marjan Groot spent 10 years researching and collecting the Living in the Amsterdam School’s over 500 objects, gallery visitors are not overwhelmed by either too many objects or too much information. Her selection provides a rich overview that is exhaustive but not exhausting for the visitor. It is both scholarly and tasteful and the perfect length for a morning or afternoon museum visit.

Document Nederland

Document Nederland is a series of approximately 180 photos of the Dutch educational system in Rotterdam, by Rotterdam photographer and filmmaker Carel van Hees, currently on display at the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. This series is a year-long, longitudinal, photographic documentation of Rotterdam’s educational system from infants school to university and is part of a larger series of photographic documentation, which was begun in the mid-1970s which has almost annually documented changing or controversial aspects of Dutch culture such as unemployment, elections, the broadcasting media, youth, post-WWII neighbourhoods, healthcare, refugees among other topics. The exhibition was given an enthusiastic introduction by Rijksmuseum director, Wim Pijbes. Pijbes also mentioned the unusual way Van Hees’ poster-size photos of the Dutch educational system are presented by the Rijks—in lightweight frames, which visitors can page through. In addition, these photos are illuminated by spotlights hung above in an otherwise darkened room which this reviewer found a very compact, yet intimate way to present such a large collection.

Van Hees’ photos capture Rotterdam’s educational institutions as modern, constructive and multi-cultural. Hees’ photos of the RDM Campus Albeda College welders show the strength and beauty of two young men whose dirty, heavy protective clothing—helmet, steel-toed shoes, fireproof gloves and aprons—reminds me of Lewis Hine’s iconic Powerhouse Mechanic Working on Steam Pomp (1920) or his 1930s Empire State Building girder riveters. It’s understandable why this photo was used to promote the Document Nederland series.

This static photo is contrasted by another more lively group of predominantly female, shipping and cruise school students (Scheepsvaart en Transport College) in their dark blue, uniform dresses clumped together and bursting with laughter whilst their two male colleagues or instructors remain (shyly?) almost hidden in the background. Van Hees’ photos also document constants in the Dutch educational system such as student teacher conferences at the elementary OBS Bloemhof and secondary OSG Hugo de Groot and graduation ceremonies at the polytechnic Zuiderpark VMBO and Erasmus University, where the facial emotions and intensity of interaction are the same and only the size of the desks and types of gowns are different.

Van Hees’ photos reveal the Dutch educational system’s merocratic aspiration to be open and accessible to all classes, races and genders. When asked during the press conference which of his photos he found the most iconic of the Dutch educational system 2016, Van Hees directed me to two, large portrait photos presented side by side in the gallery. One was of a student in coat and tie from the prestigious Ermaains Gymnasium. The other was of a student in an orange worksuit from the Zuiderpark VMBO. Van Hees’ commented in a brief interview (to be presented in AQ15 next month) that although the two young men both came from “two different educational programs, (they) were still two fellow citizens from the big city.”

Carel van Hees at Document Nederland: Carel van Hees fotografeert het onderwijs exhibition, March 2016, Rijksmuseum Amsterdam. Photo Copyright © 2016 by Bryan R. Monte.

The art of Van Hees’ photos is indeed his excellent portraiture of these students’ world whether he captures them in class, socializing in groups, with boy/girlfriends, sitting alone or sometimes even anonymously from behind, their clothing, hairstyles and posture still revealing something about their backgrounds and outlook.

That said, my one criticism of Van Hees’ photographic series is even though he was given permission to restrict himself to Rotterdam, in doing so, he missed documenting some pressing issues in rural areas such as the closing of small, local elementary schools and/or the lack of high-speed internet for some of these schools which is also a concern for the Dutch educational system albeit a minority and a peripherally geographic one.

This criticism aside, however, Van Hees provides an excellent overview of the Dutch, urban educational system anno 2016. He shows young people from infants to university in all social and economic groups in class and socializing with their peers. The value of these photographs is not only as a historical document, but also as sensitive, moment opnamen as Van Hees referred to them, in which he has captured the students’ hopes, fear, frustrations, activities and achievements artfully.

In addition to Van Hees’ photoseries, the photographic work of ten, secondary school finalists in the Jong Nederland competition that Van Hees judged were on display at the Rijksmuseum’s Teekenschool (which I was surprised to discover was older than Amsterdam’s own Rietveld Art Academy, and in fact, actually gave birth to this institution). Sashia de Boer (Het Lyceum, Alkmaar) won the Document Junior photo competition for her series of retro-punk photos shot in vintage ‘70s clothing against ’70s-style school backgrounds captured in the stylistic black and white photographic grittiness of that era. She will participate in a six-month internship with Van Hees at the Rijksmuseum before, according to Van Hees, going on to study at the Rietveld Academy.

Two other students whose work I feel is also worth mentioning is that of Rosalie van der Does (Wassenaarse Adelbert College) and Joelle Tahapary (Kalsbeek College, Woerden). Van Der Does, who took her national, second-form finals at 19 due to a disability, shows the challenges she faced in her photographs, especially one in which she appears to be standing still and everyone around her moving so quickly that they’re blurred and another in which she lying down, eyes closed, her right hand covering the right side of her face. On the other hand, Tahapary’s photos are abstract, kaleidoscopic and look somewhat like modern stained-glass windows. All ten sets of finalists’ photos on display at the Rijkmuseum’s Teekenschool document successfully the creativity engendered by the Dutch educational system in general and by this Jong Nederland competition, specifically.

Thea Droog – Makassar from The M.S. De Tegelberg

14 March 2016/in Memoir

Makassar from The M.S. De Tegelberg
by Thea Droog

Mientje heard the grown-ups talking softly as they sat on the terrace.

She listened and recognized the deep voice of her father, the gentle but perfectly clear words that Aunt Laurien said. She narrowed her eyes a bit at the short, scornful laugh of Uncle Hoogeveen.

She couldn’t fall asleep. Tomorrow they had to embark but nothing had been packed yet. Hadn’t anyone thought about that? They didn’t have suitcases of course, but they didn’t even have large bags. Mien brooded for days over this, but when she asked one of the adults, she received no direct answer. Then dad said somewhat annoyed: “That’ll be all right, girl. You go play,” Aunt Laurien stroked her head.” Don’t worry, Mientje” And mum didn’t seem to pay much attention to her since dad had come back from Singapore.

“Dad and I will take care of that, you only have to play.”

Play! Here in Makassar you had to play, even if you did not know how.

In Kampili, the concentration camp where she had lived for three years, it was better not to play. The Japs were everywhere and could, at any moment, shout an order that you didn’t understand. You could not run away, and you were struck if you disobeyed. Therefore, she had always acted outside the barracks as if she was doing something she was told to do. It couldn’t look like play or doing nothing.

Usually she was inside somewhere. Early in the morning she was sometimes taught by a nun in the wooden school building, but each day at 11 AM, the mica splitting began: fairly light work to be done by the girls under fourteen. The thin slices of mica, which fell apart, were used for the Japanese war effort. Mientje had, like the other children, learned what that difficult word meant so they all worked as slowly and as awkwardly as possible.

Then she had to watch her three-year-old brother Johnny until mum had finished work. She was mum’s confidant, like her brother Ap: they could keep secrets and ensure that things were in order and that Johnny got his plate of food at the distribution and was not pushed aside. Also, she had to be careful that the boy did not attract attention and therefore, perhaps provoke the Japs’ anger.

She still especially watched out, now the Japs had lost and they were released from the camp. Now she lived in a real house in Makassar and they had a whole room for the four of them. The Hoogeveens lived in another room with their two children and Aunt Laurien slept in the dining room. Manja and Peter Hoogeveen and Ap and Mientje had rummaged through the garden and outbuildings thoroughly for hiding places. Who knows where they might still need them, because the Japanese still walked occasionally through the city.

There was something else that Mien had to look out for: more and more men came to live at her house. She was not used to men. Would they be the boss, just like the Japs? Every man asked the children: “And? Do you still remember me? “But Mien didn’t recognize any of them. Uncle Hoogeveen was the first to come back to town from his men’s camp. He had found this house, and he had collected them from the Kampili women’s camp, so he had lived there before and the women and children had joined him. Then came Aunt Laurien’s husband. Then suddenly one afternoon, papa appeared. (Come home, mum said). A long and wide, thin man with black hair, who was somewhat familiar, but who still looked like a stranger.

“That’s my Mientje” – his voice was so loud. He placed his arm around Mientje. She understood that she had to remain standing – Mom smiled so happily towards her – but she was frozen with fear because she was trapped and could not escape if necessary. Imagine if a Jap suddenly came inside! She could not even stand up in that embrace. She could not run away to protect Johnny, nothing. After that she stayed a safe distance from dad, so he could not hold her tightly again.

Her father! Mien didn’t really know him anymore. In the camp they had often and eagerly talked about the time he would be with them again, in their own house in Makassar. And now he was there. They lived in another house, where they only had one room, but they were together again. Mien sometimes looked with wonder at mum as she put an arm around dad’s neck and kissed him. Mum was very happy that he was there. She did not mind, as he held her, that she could not get away. But Mien’s heart was anxious when dad came closer, he wanted to play the boss, like the Japanese always did—and she did not quite know what tricks she could use to evade his orders. And mum just laughed when Mien wanted to discuss her problems with her.

Now the adults had decided that they were going to leave for Holland. Everyone in the house had been able to book passage aboard the MS De Tegelberg, which awaited them in Batavia. And tomorrow they would all leave on a smaller ship that would take them from Makassar to Java.

They came out of the camp with nothing, because in the last fire the last of their belongings had gone up in smoke. Mien knew very well that the mattresses and mosquito nets, on and under which they slept, were new and could only be rolled up in the morning.

But what about the pans that they had bought and Johnny’s new clothes? The stuff they found in the ashes and that they were never supposed to lose: the brass table bell whose clapper was tied up with string, and the bag of six clay marbles, the beaded blocks she had found later in four different colors? The shrapnel which Ap had brought; the feather-decorated, little slipper that you could hang up and that mum had received for her last birthday in the camp from Aunt Laurien, and that had survived everything?

And then there was the sewing box that the sweet Australian soldier had made for her. Australian soldiers had opened the camps, so everyone was very kind to them. They were welcome in every house and Mientje was not afraid of their uniforms.

Mien turned and turned in the warm bed. She heard Aunt Laurien say, “We’d better pack up and go to bed. Tomorrow morning we have to be at the dock at nine o’clock.” Mum added: “We’re taking back a lot less to Holland then when we arrived! I think it won’t take us more than ten minutes to pack. But we’ll go to bed one last night listening to the frogs in the slokan. ”

The frogs croaked deeply, sonorously and rhythmically. Weren’t there any frogs in Holland to listen to, so that you had listen to these closely again one more time? And how was mum going to pack everything in ten minutes?

Still, she was reassured. If they got up at six o’clock, as usual, maybe there would still be enough time for packing. She went over in her mind, once again, what still needed to go with them and then felt sleep come over her in slow waves.

Translated by Bryan R. Monte

Thea Droog – Makassar van Het MS De Tegelberg

14 March 2016/in Memoir

Makassar van Het M.S. De Tegelberg
door Thea Droog

Mientje hoorde hoe de grote mensen zacht zaten te praten op het platje.

Ze luisterde en herkende de zware stem van haar vader, de zachte maar duidelijke woorden die tante Laurien sprak. Ze kneep haar ogen een beetje dicht bij de korte schampere lach van oom Hoogeveen.

Ze kon nog niet slapen. Morgen moesten ze zich inschepen maar er was nog niets gepakt. Dacht nou niemand daaraan? Koffers hadden ze natuurlijk niet, maar ze hadden zelfs geen grote tassen in huis. Mien piekerde daar al dagenlang over, maar als ze er iets over vroeg aan een van de volwassenen kreeg ze geen rechtstreeks antwoord. Papa zei dan geïrriteerd: “Dat komt heus wel in orde, meisje. Ga jij nou maar spelen.” Tante Laurien aaide over haar hoofd: “Maak je maar niet druk, Mientje.” En mama leek niet veel aandacht meer voor haar te hebben sinds papa terug was gekomen uit Singapore:

“Daar zullen papa en ik wel voor zorgen, jij hoeft alleen maar te spelen.”

Spelen! Hier in Makassar moest je dus spelen, al wist je niet hoe.

In Kampili, het interneringskamp waarin ze drie jaar had geleefd, kon je beter niet spelen, de Jappen waren overal en konden ieder moment weer een bevel brullen dat je niet verstond. Je mocht niet weglopen en dus kreeg je slaag omdat je niet gehoorzaamde. Daarom had ze buiten de barak altijd net gedaan alsof ze bezig was met iets dat haar was opgedragen. Het mocht vooral niet lijken op spelen, oftewel niets doen.

Meestal was ze ergens binnen. ’s Morgens vroeg kreeg ze soms les van een non in het houten schoolgebouwtje, maar elke dag begon om 11 uur het micasplitsen: tamelijk licht werk dat door de meisjes onder de veertien moest worden gedaan. De dunne plakjes waarin de mica uiteen viel werden gebruikt voor de Japanse oorlogsindustrie. Mientje had, net als de andere kinderen, geleerd wat dat moeilijke woord betekende en allemaal werkten ze daarom zo langzaam en onhandig als maar mogelijk was.

Daarna moest ze op haar broer Jantje van drie passen tot mama klaar was met werken. Ze was mama’s vertrouweling, net als haar broer Ap: ze kon geheimen bewaren en zorgen dat de dingen in orde kwamen en dat Jantje zijn bord eten kreeg bij de uitdeling en niet opzij werd geduwd. Ook moest ze goed opletten dat het jochie geen aandacht trok en daardoor misschien de boosheid van de Jap uitlokte.

Ze lette ook nu nog behoorlijk op, nu de jap verloren had en ze uit het kamp waren. Nu ze in een echt huis in Makassar woonden en een hele kamer voor hun vieren alleen hadden. In een andere kamer woonden de Hoogeveens met twee kinderen, en tante Laurien sliep in de eetkamer. Manja en Piet Hoogeveen en Ap en Mientje hadden de tuin grondig doorgesnuffeld en de bijgebouwen onderzocht op schuilplaatsen. Wie weet waar ze die nog voor nodig hadden, want er liepen nog steeds af en toe Japanners door de stad.

Er was nog iets waardoor Mien behoorlijk moest uitkijken: er kwamen steeds meer mannen in haar huis wonen. Ze was niet gewend aan mannen. Zouden ze ook de baas spelen, net als de Jappen? Elke man vroeg aan de kinderen: “En? Ken je me nog?” Maar Mien herkende ze geen van allen. Oom Hoogeveen was als eerste uit zijn mannenkamp terug in de stad gekomen. Hij had dit huis gevonden en hen toen allemaal uit het vrouwenkamp Kampili gehaald, dus hij woonde er al voordat de vrouwen en kinderen erbij kwamen. Daarna kwam de man van tante Laurien. Toen was ineens op een middag papa verschenen (thuisgekomen, zei mama). Een lange en brede magere man met zwart haar, die wel iets bekends had maar er toch als een vreemde uitzag.

“Dat is mijn Mientje” – zo zwaar klonk zijn stem. Hij had een arm om Mientje heen gelegd. Ze begreep dat ze moest blijven staan – mama glimlachte zo gelukkig naar haar – maar ze was bevroren van angst omdat ze gevangen zat en niet zou kunnen vluchten als dat nodig was. Stel je voor dat er ineens een Jap binnenkwam! Ze kon niet eens in de houding gaan staan Ze kon niet weglopen om Jantje te beschermen, niets. Ze had van toen af aan goed afstand gehouden tot papa, zodat hij haar niet weer vast kon pakken.

Haar vader! Mien kende hem eigenlijk niet meer. In het kamp hadden ze vaak en verlangend gepraat over de tijd dat hij weer bij hun zou zijn, in hun eigen huis in Makassar. En nu was hij er. Ze woonden wel in een ander huis, waar ze samen maar een kamer hadden, maar ze waren weer bij elkaar. Mien keek soms met verwondering naar mama als die een arm om papa’s hals legde en hem een zoen gaf. Mama was heel blij dat hij er was. Ze vond het niet erg als hij haar vasthield, terwijl ze dan toch niet weg kon. Maar Miens hart klopte angstig als papa dichterbij kwam: hij wou de baas spelen, net als de Jap altijd deed – en ze wist nog helemaal niet wat voor trucjes ze kon gebruiken om zijn bevelen te ontwijken. En mama lachte alleen maar als Mien die zorgen met haar wilde bespreken.

Nu hadden de volwassenen besloten dat ze weg zouden gaan, naar Holland. Iedereen in huis had een plaats kunnen krijgen aan boord van het MS de Tegelberg, dat in Batavia op hen lag te wachten. En morgen vertrokken ze al, met een kleiner schip dat hen van Makassar naar Java zou brengen.

Ze waren met niks uit het kamp gekomen, want bij de laatste brand waren de allerlaatste eigendommen van iedereen in rook opgegaan. Mien begreep best dat de matrassen en de muskietennetten waar ze nu op en onder sliepen en die nieuw waren, pas morgenochtend opgerold konden worden.

Maar hoe zat het met de pannen die ze hadden gekocht? Met de nieuwe kleertjes van Jantje? Met de spulletjes die ze in de as hadden gevonden en die nooit zoek mochten raken: het koperen tafelbelletje waarvan de klepel met een touwtje was vastgebonden, en het zakje met de zes knikkers van klei, waarin ze ook de blokkralen in vier verschillende kleuren had gedaan? De bomscherven die Ap had meegenomen; het met dons versierde pantoffeltje dat je kon ophangen en dat mama voor haar laatste verjaardag in het kamp had gekregen van tante Laurien?

En dan was er nog de naaidoos die die lieve Australische soldaat voor haarzelf had gemaakt. Australische soldaten hadden de kampen geopend, daarom was iedereen heel vriendelijk tegen ze. In ieder huis waren ze welkom en Mientje was helemaal niet bang voor hun uniformen.

Mien lag te draaien in het warme bed. Ze hoorde tante Laurien zeggen: “We moesten maar eens gaan inpakken en dan naar bed. Morgenochtend moeten we om negen uur op de kade zijn.” Mama voegde eraan toe: “We gaan met heel wat minder terug naar Holland dan waarmee we hier aankwamen! Dat pakken van ons zal niet meer dan tien minuten kosten denk ik. Maar we gaan wel naar bed, nog een laatste nacht naar de kikkers in de slokan liggen luisteren.”

De kikkers kwaakten diep, sonoor en ritmisch. Waren er geen kikkers in Holland, dat je er hier nog maar eens goed naar moest luisteren? En hoe wilde mama alles in tien minuten inpakken?

Toch was ze gerustgesteld. Als ze, zoals gewoonlijk, om zes uur opstonden, was er misschien toch nog genoeg tijd voor het pakken. Ze ging in gedachten nog eens na wat er mee moest en waar dat nu lag of stond en voelde toen de slaap in langzame golven over haar heen komen.

Meryl Stratford – Erasure

14 March 2016/in Poetry

Erasure
by Meryl Stratford

           O
crying
     Nimrud
                                 ’s

destruction
vio-
lation of
law

           present
                   and ancient
        crime

bulldozed

loss
loss

bull-
dozing

cradle of
loss

winged bulls guarding
palace gates

bulldozed

shocked
speechless

Meryl Stratford – News Photo

14 March 2016/in Poetry

News Photo
by Meryl Stratford

It looks like a day at a playground,
an invitation for adventurous children
to climb over, around, and through,
and the little girl with dark curls is
half-way through, balanced
on all fours, her hands
in one world, her feet in another.

An autumn field where wild brambles
have discarded their leaves and berries,
and now only thorns remain, so the man
behind her, who must be her father,
grasps her legs to guide her
over the barbed wire.

Peter Taylor – Reliving the Cuban Missile Crisis

14 March 2016/in Poetry

Reliving the Cuban Missile Crisis
by Peter Taylor

Roll of film
I’m keeping till I need it

get the family together
against a good backdrop
trees grass maybe a picnic
somewhere

get them
to look into the camera
not posed or smiling
just natural
so I can see the faces

say cheese
then

no pain
just
white heat

click

David Subacchi – In Dubrovnik

14 March 2016/in Poetry

In Dubrovnik
by David Subacchi

In Dubrovnik, we are told,
Two thousand enemy shells
Struck the walled town
In the nineteen nineties
During the war
For Croatian independence.

We should be able to tell
Which houses suffered damage
By the new tiles
Visible on rooftops;
Shiny and red
Compared to the originals.

But when we walked the great walls,
When we looked down from above
There were hardly
Any old tiles around.
All looked brand new
As red as the national flag.

Thousands of local people
Used to live within these walls;
Far fewer now
It’s much too expensive,
There’s no more war
But the struggle still continues.

Jim Daniels – The American Observers

14 March 2016/in Poetry

The American Observers
by Jim Daniels

St. Julien de Peyrolas

On narrow twisted streets
where stone houses scrape cars,
pre-school children parade through
the village costumed as playing cards—
Carnival in France—glowing coal
of spring sun, sky sweet soul-deep blue,
children dizzy with smooth jazz laughter—
all hearts, they are all hearts—we march
behind them to the square and watch
men pour gasoline on a giant cartoon man
and light him up in all his papier-mache
glory. The children hold hands
and sing a song in ragged rounds
while we watch and cheer.
The burning man will bring luck,
it’s explained to us, the Americans.

Americans, we watch the man burn
to nothing. Our president has taken us
to war yet again. Our son in his cardboard heart
wanders over to join us. Americans,
with all the luck in the world.

Charles Southerland – Cult

14 March 2016/in Poetry

Cult
by Charles Southerland

Carved in the bark:
Reverence me. I am Helen’s Tree.

With Helen’s beauty on the other shore,
King Menelaus brooded at the sight.
It’s your duty now and then to start a war.

A thousand ships should do it, and you swore
An oath, remember? Tyndareus? Right?
With Helen’s beauty on the other shore,

Don’t tarry long to launch the fleet before
The weather turns, Odysseus; let’s fight.
It’s your duty now and then to start a war

And end it for the sake of Greeks, restore
Our pride and treasure. Trojans are a blight,
With Helen’s beauty on the other shore.

If all Olympus watches, keeping score—
Who’s winning and losing day and night,
It’s your duty now and then to start a war

For all their pleasure, such bloodlust and gore
And sweaty wooden horses serve them right,
With Helen’s beauty on the other shore.
It’s your duty now and then to start a war.

Yolanda V. Fundora – Digital Images of War and Peace

14 March 2016/in Art

Yolanda V. Fundora finds her inspiration off the sidewalks and in the interior spaces of her digital world. She writes: “I’m mostly a visual being with an intense jealousy of the written word. I do what I can to share my physical and internal world through all things digital and occasionally with a pencil or two.”

Yolanda V. Fundora, T-Shirt Contest Winnner, digital art, 2015.

Yolanda V. Fundora, The House Martin Built, digital art, 2015.

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