Quote from language and myth

What poetry expresses is neither the mythic word-picture of gods and demons, nor the logical truth of abstrac determinations and relations. The world of poetry stands apart from both, as a world of illusion and fantasy - but it is just in this mode of illusion that the realm of pure feeling can find utterance, and can therewith attain it's full and concrete actualization. Word & mythic image, which once confronted the human mind as hard realistic powers, have now cast off all reality and effectuality; they have become a light, bright ether in which the spirit can move without let or hindrance. This liberation is achieved not because the mind throws aside the sensuous forms of word & image, but in that it uses them both as organs of it's own, and thereby recognizes them for what they really are: forms of it's own self-revelation."

E.Cassirer

Hoe kan je verdwalen ?
Als elke ademteug je dichter
naar huis brengt ?

F.

...

Zonder woorden, leer ik luisteren naar t'gebrul van de stilte,
hier in mij waar de dingen zich opsplitsen en ik ze samenvoeg
tot één, enkel zijn!

F.

Shaman trance, inside is outside.
I can see in your heart, blood & bones.
I can hear your muscles groan, hear the drums
become one with the pounding in your veins.



Shaman trance, a firesong and I sigh.
When the rhythm get's stonger so do I.
What do you fear, my friend, tell me
and I do battle with your dragons and beg
for you to the gods. I do all these things,
b'cause I must go the way of the heart.



Shaman trance, void is space.
I can see you birth, life & death
and come into your dreams raying visions
of the land and the spirit it breathes.



Shaman trance, an earthsong and you hear.
When so much destruction rages around,
no vision of the future is to be found.
For shamans only the earth is holy.



Shaman trance, motion is dance.
Deeper and deeper I go, in the realms
beyond the dreams, there begins the way
of fright and the preparing to the fight.



Shaman trance, a windsong and I cry.
For how we sail the seas, as scanvengers
preying on our own mother, we live.
Dumping the stuff, burning it in our
own childerens breath. How can this be?



Shaman trance, woman and man.
Bring forth there hidden desires.
See them as they are flowing through
their minds and body's mingling wires.



Shaman trance, a watersong I weep.
The guiding starts and the pain goes deep,
to places were there is no existence,
where spirits dwell hungry for love.



But the road and goal I follow are beyond them,
over the hill with gates. Don't speak, don't utter,
don't be, affraid or alone.

F.

Love and War