Luuk Imhann

De Nederlandse dichter, schrijver en theatermaker Luuk Imhann werd geboren in Monster op 8 oktober 1986. Zie ook alle tags voor Luuk Imhann op dit blog.

LELIE

laat ik groots beginnen
vijfhonderd opzichters bezochten vijfhonderd kerken
om de liefde te vangen
ze kwamen zonder handen terug –

mijn glazen raam
kijkt uit op een spoorbaan
zullen we nieuwe bossen planten
met witte bladeren
zie je ons er lopen
ik heb je lief zoals
ik lelies lief zou hebben

 


Luuk Imhann (Monster, 8 oktober 1986)

Robert Coover, Stewart O’Nan, Louis Ferron, Werner Schwab, Norman Ohler, Luuk Imhann, Else Kemps

De Amerikaanse schrijver Robert Coover werd geboren op 4 februari 1932 in Charles City, Iowa. Zie ook alle tags voor Robert Coover op dit blog.

Uit: White-Bread Jesus

“When that bully Cavanaugh rises in the middle of the opening prayer like a self-righteous Sadducee, shouldered round by all his fawning scribes and elders, to silence Reverend Wesley Edwards (was he shouting? of course he was shouting, God is deaf as a stump), neither he nor Jesus is surprised. In fact, they welcome it. Such persecutions are to be expected when what is hidden is revealed, and indeed stand as validation of it. What else is the Easter story about — for Christ’s sake? Who concurs: As they persecuted me, they’ll persecute you. A prophet in his own country, and all that, my son. But rejoice and be glad, your reward is great. His immediate reward is to have to sit beside the pulpit, biting his tongue, staring out on the sad blank faces of his First Presbyterian congregation, while the banker, having skipped ahead in the proceedings to the tithes and offerings, money being all he knows (and power, Cavanaugh knows power), speaks of the general good health of the church finances, its immediate needs (an assistant minister, for example — urgently!), and Easter as a loving family occasion. No, no, you idiot! It is a time of rejection of family, indeed of all earthly connections! Have you no ears? If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple! Leave everything — everything! — and follow me! You ignorant fool! Listen to your own son Tommy’s scripture reading: “But who do you say that I am?” Do you not know? It’s all Wesley can do to stop another noisy eruption from coming on. The indwelling Christ, too, is aboil with indignation, cursing traders and moneychangers and all their abominable progeny. A den of robbers! They are polluting the temple! Drive them out! He’s in a state, they’re both in a state.
It has been a trying couple of weeks. The Passion of Wesley Edwards. He’s not kidding, he’s endured it all in this Passiontide fortnight, from the deathly silence of God and the collapse of his faith, through all the upheavals at home and a plunge into harrowing desolation, a veritable descent into hell, to — finally — a kind of weird convulsive redemption that has left him rattled and confused and not completely in control of himself.”

 

 
Robert Coover (Charles City, 4 februari 1932)

Lees verder “Robert Coover, Stewart O’Nan, Louis Ferron, Werner Schwab, Norman Ohler, Luuk Imhann, Else Kemps”

Robert Coover, Stewart O’Nan, Louis Ferron, Werner Schwab, Norman Ohler, Luuk Imhann, Else Kemps

De Amerikaanse schrijver Robert Coover werd geboren op 4 februari 1932 in Charles City, Iowa. Zie ook alle tags voor Robert Coover op dit blog.

Uit: The Babysitter

“His little hand. clutching the bar of soap, lathers shyly a narrow space between her shoulderblades. She is doubled forward against her knees, buried in rich suds, peeking at him over the edge of her shoulder. The soap slithers out of his grip and plunks into the water. “I… I dropped the soap,‘ he whispers. She: ‘Find it.‘

***

‘I dream of Jeannie with the light brown pubic hair!‘ ‘Harry! Stop that! You’re drunk!‘ But they’re laughing. they’re all laughing, damn! he’s feeling pretty goddamn good at that. and now he just knows he needs that aspirin. Watching her there, her thighs spread for him, on the couch, in the tub. hell, on the kitchen table for that matter. he tees off on Number Nine. and – _whap_ swats his host’s wife on the bottom. ‘Hole in one!’ he shouts. “Harry? Why can’t his goddamn wife Dolly ever get happy-drunk instead of sour-drunk all the time? ‘Gonna be tough Sunday. old buddy!’ ‘You’re pretty tough right now, Harry,‘ says his host.

***

The babysitter lunges forward, grabs the boy by the arms and hauls him off the couch, pulling two cushions with him, and drags him towards the bathroom. He lashes out, knocking over an endtable full of magazines and ashtrays. ~You leave my brother alone!‘ Bitsy cries and grabs the sitter around the waist. Jimmy jumps on her and down they all go. On the silent screen. there’s a fade-in to a dark passageway in an old apartment building in some foreign country. She kicks out and somebody falls between her legs. Somebody else is sitting on her face. ‘Jimmyl Stop that!‘ the babysitter laughs. her voice muffled.“

 

 
Robert Coover (Charles City, 4 februari 1932)

Lees verder “Robert Coover, Stewart O’Nan, Louis Ferron, Werner Schwab, Norman Ohler, Luuk Imhann, Else Kemps”

Robert Coover, Stewart O’Nan, Louis Ferron, Werner Schwab, Norman Ohler, Alfred Andersch, Grigore Vieru, Luuk Imhann

De Amerikaanse schrijver Robert Coover werd geboren op 4 februari 1932 in Charles City, Iowa. Zie ook alle tags voor Robert Coover op dit blog.

Uit: The End of Books

“In the real world nowadays, that is to say, in the world of video transmissions, cellular phones, fax machines, computer networks, and in particular out in the humming digitalized precincts of avant-garde computer hackers, cyberpunks and hyperspace freaks, you will often hear it said that the print medium is a doomed and outdated technology, a mere curiosity of bygone days destined soon to be consigned forever to those dusty unattended museums we now call libraries. Indeed, the very proliferation of books and other print-based media, so prevalent in this forest-harvesting, paper-wasting age, is held to be a sign of its feverish moribundity, the last futile gasp of a once vital form before it finally passes away forever, dead as God.
Which would mean of course that the novel, too, as we know it, has come to its end. Not that those announcing its demise are grieving. For all its passing charm, the traditional novel, which took center stage at the same time that industrial mercantile democracies arose — and which Hegel called “the epic of the middle-class world” — is perceived by its would-be executioners as the virulent carrier of the patriarchal, colonial, canonical, proprietary, hierarchical and authoritarian values of a past that is no longer with us.
Much of the novel’s alleged power is embedded in the line, that compulsory author-directed movement from the beginning of a sentence to its period, from the top of the page to the bottom, from the first page to the last. Of course, through print’s long history, there have been countless strategies to counter the line’s power, from marginalia and footnotes to the creative innovations of novelists like Laurence Sterne, James Joyce, Raymond Queneau, Julio Cortazar, Italo Calvino and Milorad Pavic, not to exclude the form’s father, Cervantes himself. But true freedom from the tyranny of the line is perceived as only really possible now at last with the advent of hypertext, written and read on the computer, where the line in fact does not exist unless one invents and implants it in the text.”

 

 
Robert Coover (Charles City, 4 februari 1932)

Lees verder “Robert Coover, Stewart O’Nan, Louis Ferron, Werner Schwab, Norman Ohler, Alfred Andersch, Grigore Vieru, Luuk Imhann”

Luuk Imhann

Onafhankelijk van geboortedata

De Nederlandse dichter en theatermaker Luuk Imhann werd geboren in Monster in 1986. Zijn poëziedebuut “De onverschilligheid van rozen” verscheen in 2012. De verhalende dichtbundel (met tekeningen van Janne Schra) gaat over een jongen die probeert zijn liefde te verklaren aan een meisje met ogen van karamel. Telkens als hij dichtbij komt, verliest hij zichzelf in fantasieën over blinde scherpschutters en koorddansers. Het werk zit vol verwijzingen naar Chinese filosofieën, de Franse Nouvelle Vague en de werken van EE Cummings. Zijn theaterdebuut “Buffo” is geïnspireerd op het gelijknamige gedicht van Nobelprijswinnares Wislawa Szymborska. In 2013 heeft hij samen met Sietse Damen en Kim Grisel Theatergroep Nox opgericht. Daarvoor schreef hij “De onverschilligheid van rozen” en “De soldaat die 300 kilometer naar het slagveld liep”. Luuk Imhann schrijft voor Cineville (soms in samenwerking met Luuk van Huët), werkt bij poëziesite Meander en is huisdichter van Cultuurbewust.

 

SLAK / IETS DAT BEWEEGT

slakjes kruipen op mijn schuurdeur
ze slepen hun huisjes over het wit
geverfde hout over het raam van glas

als ik probeer een van hun voelsprieten
aan te raken krimpen ze ineen

wordt er van mij geen kostuum verwacht
zo makkelijk om iemand anders te zijn
leven zonder reden –

iets dat begint
iets dat zwemt
iets dat kruipt
iets dat groeit
iets dat vliegt
iets dat loopt
iets dat liefheeft
iets dat sterft
iets dat doet alsof het eindigt

 

 
Luuk Imhann (Monster, 1986)