#the bells of bruges
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“The act of writing itself is like an act of love. There is contact. There is exchange too. We no longer know whether the words come out of the ink onto the page, or whether they emerge from the page itself where they were sleeping, the ink merely giving them colour.”
― Georges Rodenbach, The Bells of Bruges (1897)
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#dark academia#light academia#romantic academia#art history#dutch art#literature#letters#bullet journal#notebook#diary entry#academia aesthetic#handwriting#gabriel metsu#georges rodenbach#the bells of bruges#bruges#dark academia aesthetic
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Bell Tower, Bruges, BELGIUM
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The Belfry of Bruges is a medieval bell tower in the centre of Bruges, Belgium.
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Caro Fede,
Tanti auguri di buon compleanno e ti dico subito che ti voglio un mondo di bene.
Questo è il mio momento preferito lo sai: mettermi seduta e scrivere quello che non dico a voce perché non so esprimermi, perché non trovo l’occasione giusta, il coraggio e le parole migliori.
Vorrei dirti un sacco di cose belle perché è il tuo compleanno e perché bisogna dire sempre le cose belle che si pensano di un’altra persona anche se ahimè non lo faccio spesso io…solo quando scrivo e sono “costretta” a riflettere e dire ciò che penso senza troppi freni.
Innanzitutto vorrei dirti quanto sia fiera di te per tutto quello che sei riuscito a fare e che stai facendo, per il coraggio di metterti sempre in gioco, per la tua estroversione, per il tuo senso dell’umorismo, per la tua immensa pazienza e il buon cuore che metti sempre in tutto quello che fai.
Ti ammiro veramente per tutte queste meravigliose qualità e riconosco il tuo essere superiore rispetto a me in questo. Se sono qui accanto a te è perché ho profonda stima di te per queste e altre tue mille sfaccettature (oltre che per l’amore chiaro).
Sei la persona a cui mi sento legata più di chiunque altro, mi sento capita, mi sento apprezzata e amata.
Mi sento male all’idea di perdere una persona come te.
Mi spaventa l’idea di andarmene per un anno senza di te che sei la mia àncora dal giorno in cui ci siamo trovati, ma ho bisogno di farlo perché è così che si diventa grandi. So che non è facile essere la mia àncora.
So di non essere una persona senza difetti e facile con tutte le mie spine e i miei buchi neri, a volte impossibili da comprendere. In alcuni momenti non mi capisco neanche io. Però ogni tanto mi sembra che tu riesca a capirmi più di quanto riesca a farlo io e mi sorprende perché non credo ci siano tante persone che riescano a capirmi, a comprendere i miei momenti bui, il mio umorismo e i miei sorrisi che a volte non lo sono.
Recentemente su Instagram ho letto un post che diceva “Qual è la persona con cui hai condiviso i momenti migliori della tua vita?”. E ti giuro che io mi sono sforzata di pensare a un’altra persona che non fossi tu ma non ce la facevo proprio. Ora non voglio dire che i bei ricordi sono solo con te perché sarei un’ipocrita ma se randomizzando chiudessi gli occhi e pensassi a dei momenti belli della mia vita, sicuramente per la maggior parte di questi ci sei tu nell’immagine nella mia testa. Perché è così che mi succede, soprattutto la sera quando vado a letto. Appena ho pensato a questa cosa non ti nascondo che ho provato dell’amarezza nel pensare che i ricordi più belli ce li avessi con il mio ex ragazzo, però poi ho pensato a quello che mi dice sempre Franci M. ovvero che bisogna essere grati di quello che c’è stato perché non è detto che nella vita tutti possono provare questo tipo di amore che noi abbiamo provato, a non tutti è concesso e non tutti riescono a trovarlo e io e te siamo fortunati e siamo ancora più fortunati degli altri perché siamo qui ora.
Ti regalo alcuni miei ricordi.
Leuven, il sole e il parco, Batman.
Bruges, Gent e il ristorante marocchino ad Anversa.
La quarantena e il campo da golf.
Lisbona, io e te su un motorino a Cascais.
Viareggio, Puccini, io e te sulla ciclabile che andiamo a prenderci una granita.
Sardegna mentre ti guardo uscire dall’acqua entusiasta del tuo snorkeling prima di andare a fare la passeggiata sulla costa fino a Santa Margherita.
Io e te sul Porsche con il vento tra i capelli.
Io, te e Ginevra sul bagnasciuga che ci abbraccia perché giochiamo con lei.
Ne avrei milioni e so che stasera quando andrò a letto e chiuderò gli occhi me ne verranno in mente altri e per 3 secondi proverò una sensazione bellissima che non so spiegarti proprio bene: è come se mi si gonfiasse il petto ma allo stesso tempo mi si stringesse il cuore. Io sono veramente grata. Immensamente grata perché mi è stata concessa una cosa così bella.
Se devo essere sincera pensavo che la nostra relazione sarebbe stata una funzione esponenziale crescente ma a quanto pare le relazioni non sono come la matematica e le cose non sono così “lineari” e forse la nostra equazione è un po’ più complicata di una semplice y = 2^x . Fa niente Fede alla fine sapremo quale sarà la nostra equazione e sarà tutto più chiaro.
Con amore,
Tua Ema/Tati/Bubu.
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Thread about Joanna of Castile: Part 4: The birth of her children
Juana of Castile had six children. Here is a list of her children and their birthdates:
Eleanor of Austria: Born on November 15, 1498.
Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor: Born on February 24, 1500.
Isabella of Austria: Born on July 18, 1501.
Ferdinand I, Holy Roman Emperor: Born on July 10, 1503.
Mary of Austria: Born on June 18, 1505.
Catherine of Austria: Born on February 14, 1507
Eleanor of Austria was born a year after her uncle's death, the precedent heir to the Spanish throne, John, Prince of Asturias, and four months after her mother's sister's death, Isabella of Aragon, Queen of Portugal.
Clearly disappointed that their first child was a girl, Eleanor, Philip
required Juana to pay for the infant’s nursemaids and attendants.
“The Archduchess may provide for the places in the household of this child because it is a daughter,” Philip asserted. “When God grants us a son, I shall provide for his household.”
God did grant them a son. Juana gave birth to Charles in March 1500, much to Philip’s joy: fireworks raced across the sky, church bells rang, and Philip gave Juana a magnificent and costly emerald as a reward. Their third child, prudently named Isabella after Juana’s mother, was born in July 1501. Because Juana was pregnant with Isabella when news of Prince Miguel’s death and her subsequent inheritance reached her, she and Philip were unable to start for Spain until the autumn of 1501, a couple of months before her twenty-second birthday. For the death of Prince Miguel at Granada on 20 July 1500, five months after the birth of Charles, at Ghent, would convert Juana into heir apparent, and her lost homeland into her future and destination.
On 15 July 1501, she gave birth, in Brussels, to her third child, Isabella (later queen of Denmark).
A new Spanish envoy, Juan Rodríguez de Fonseca, bishop of Córdoba, reported that Juana seemed eager to serve her parents and was widely thought to be “very sensible (cuerda) and very level-headed (asentada).” Opinion was divided as to whether she should do more to promote Spanish interests.
On July 10, 1503, Juana gave birth to her fourth child, Ferdinand I, Holy Roman Emperor, in Alcalá de Henares, Spain.
On 15 September, feverish and in pain, the queen gave birth to a
third daughter. Marie, the later Mary of Hungary, was baptized on 20
September at the church of Notre Dame de Sablon. Juana’s seclusion and captivity had long deprived her of her children and, during those rare moments when Philip tried to use them to soften her stance towards him, she had found it unsettling. But she now sought to maximize her time with them. Early in November, Philip left Brussels for Mechelen and Antwerp on the first leg of the second Spanish journey. Juana set out separately, intending to travel through Ghent and Bruges, and, Querini noted, she “has had all the children brought from Malines [Mechelen] and takes them with her to enjoy their company …”
Juana gave birth to her last child and daughter, Catherine of Austria in Torquemada, a town in the province of Palencia, Spain. Catherine was born on February 14, 1507, in the Torquemada Castle. When she was pregnant with her last child, Catherine of Austria, Joanna's mental instability had already worsened. She gave birth while she was in the town of Torquemada, and it is said to have been a difficult and complicated birth.
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La Mode illustrée, no. 31, 30 juillet 1893, Paris. Robe garnie de ruches. Robe en crépon de laine et soie. Robe en taffetas changeant. Modèles de chez Mmes Coussinet-Piret, rue Richer, 43. Ville de Paris / Bibliothèque Forney
Robe garnie de ruches.
Robe en mousseline de laine lilas pâle à dessins et surah lilas. La garniture de la jupe se compose de deux ruches plissées, froncées deux fois au milieu. Le bord supérieur de la jupe est couvert par une bande de surah étroite. Le corsage est recouvert en forme d'empiècement avec du surah froncé deux fois, formant une petite tête à l'encolure, et se continuant jusqu'à la taille; on couvre les bords de cet empiècement sous un volant plissé en même étoffe. Les manches en mousseline de laine, sont garnies de ruches plissées en surah, froncées deux fois.
Dress in pale lilac wool muslin with designs and lilac surah. The trim of the skirt consists of two pleated ruches, gathered twice in the middle. The upper edge of the skirt is covered by a narrow surah band. The bodice is covered in the form of a yoke with surah gathered twice, forming a small head at the neckline, and continuing to the waist; the edges of this yoke are covered under a pleated flounce in the same fabric. The wool muslin sleeves are trimmed with surah pleated ruches, gathered twice.
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Robe en crépon de laine et soie.
Cette robe, en crépon vieux rouge, est garnie de dentelle de Bruges et d'entre-deux de dentelle; on fixe sur la jupe-cloche deux rangs d'entre-deux; la ceinture est ornée d'un entre-deux. Le corsage froncé est orné d'entre-deux et de bretelles en dentelle.
This dress, in old red crepon, is trimmed with Bruges lace and lace insertions; two rows of insertions are fixed on the bell-skirt; the belt is decorated with an insertion. The gathered bodice is adorned with lace insertions and straps.
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Robe en taffetas changeant.
Robe en taffetas changeant bleu d'eau et paille; la jupe-cloche est garnie avec cinq volants froncés étroits et avec une ceinture fermée sous une rosace. Le plastron du corsage-blouse est fait en surah paille; col droit; les bords de ce plastron sont couverts de trois volants en taffetas changeant, plissés, posés l'un sur l'autre.
Dress in water blue and straw changing taffeta; the bell-skirt is trimmed with five narrow gathered flounces and with a closed waistband under a rosette. The plastron of the bodice-blouse is made of surah straw; straight collar; the edges of this plastron are covered with three flounces in changing taffeta, pleated, placed one on top of the other.
#La Mode illustrée#19th century#1890s#1893#on this day#July 30#periodical#fashion#fashion plate#description#Forney#dress#collar#gigot#Modèles de chez#Madames Coussinet-Piret#ruffles
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Bells for a New Year
Bells in the Rain
Sleep falls, with limpid drops of rain,
Upon the steep cliffs of the town.
Sleep falls; men are at peace again
Awhile the small drops fall softly down.
The bright drops ring like bells of glass
Thinned by the wind, and lightly blown;
Sleep cannot fall on peaceful grass
So softly as it falls on stone.
Peace falls unheeded on the dead
Asleep; they have had deep peace to drink;
Upon a live man's bloody head
It falls most tenderly, I think.
—Elinor Wylie
In Tenebris
All within is warm,
Here without it's very cold,
Now the year is grown so old
And the dead leaves swarm.
In your heart is light,
Here without it's very dark,
When shall I hear the lark?
When see aright?
Oh, for a moment's space!
Draw the clinging curtains wide
Whilst I wait and yearn outside
Let the light fall on my face.
—Ford Madox Ford
To Time, New Year’s Eve
Well, my dear Time, you are not going to fool me into making myself ridiculous this New Year's Eve with a lot of bonny but impossible resolutions. I know that you are playing with me just as a cat plays with a mouse; yet even the most piteous mousekin sometimes causes his tormentor surprise or disappointment by getting under a bureau or behind the stove, where, for the moment, she cannot paw him. Every now and then, with a little luck, I shall pull off just such a scurry into temporary immortality. It may come by reading Dickens or by seeing a sunset, or by lunching with friends, or by forgetting to wind the alarm clock, or by contemplating the rosy little pate of my daughter, who is still only a nine days' wonder—so young that she doesn't even know what you are doing to her. But you are not going to have the laugh on me by luring me into resolutions. I know my weaknesses. I know that I shall probably continue to annoy newsdealers by reading the magazines on the stalls instead of buying them; that I shall put off having my hair cut; drop tobacco cinders on my waistcoat; feel bored at the idea of having to shave and get dressed; be nervous when the gas burner pops when turned off; buy more Liberty Bonds than I can afford and have to hock them at a grievous loss. I shall continue to be pleasant to insurance agents, from sheer lack of manhood; and to keep library books out over the date and so incur a fine. My only hope, you see, is resolutely to determine to persist in these failings. Then, by sheer perversity, I may grow out of them.
—from A Letter to Father Time by Christopher Morley
The Belfry of Bruges
In the marketplace of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o’er the town.
As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood,
And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood.
Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray,
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay.
At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there,
Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air.
Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.
From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.
Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,
With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes,
Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir;
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.
Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again;
All the Foresters of Flanders – mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer,
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy Philip, Guy de Dampierre.
I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old;
Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece of Gold;
Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies;
Ministers from twenty nations; more than royal pomp and ease.
I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground;
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound;
And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen,
And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between.
I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold,
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold;
Saw the light at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west,
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon’s nest.
And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote;
And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin’s throat;
Till the bell of Ghent responded o’er lagoon and dike of sand,
“I am Roland! I am Roland! There is victory in the land!”
Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city’s roar
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more.
Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware,
Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
#literature#poetry#dark academia#light academia#classic#victorian era#fin de siècle#impressionism#inspiration
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some movies/series i have seen/want to see
first slam dunk
blue giant
mary and the witch's flower
sirocco and the kingdom of winds
rascal does not dream of a dreaming girl
the tunnel to summer, the exit of goodbyes
the girl who leapt through time
wolf children
boy and the beast
mirai
belle
summer wars
in this corner of the world
metropolis anime
your name
children who chase lost voices from deep below
5 centimeters per second
the place promised in our early days
suzume
weathering with you
garden of words
little nemo
fist of the north star
vampire hunter d
vampire hunter d:bloodlust
wings of honneamise
ninja scroll
macros plus
patlabor
redline
the melancholy of haruhi suzumiya
the disappearance of haruhi suzumiya
tekkonkinkreet
the case of hana & alice
the piano forest
night is short walk on girl
okko's inn
millennium actress
i want to eat your pancreas
a silent voice
liz and the blue bird
kimi no iro (releasing: 082024)
the heike story
dog of flanders
angels egg
giovannis island
night on the galactic railroad
to the forest of firefly lights
a letter to momo
josee, the tiger and the fish
summit of the gods
kodoku no gurume
time of eve
panda go panda
patema inverted
kabaneri of the iron fortress
orange
gravity
wayne
big boys
small lights
old enough
begrijpt u nu waarom ik huil
schindlers list
colorful (1999, 2010)
anthem of the heart
maquia
maboroshi
inu-oh
birdboy
to your eternity
banana fish
terror in Resonance
short peace
500 days of summer
summer ghost
chungking express
goodbye don glees
fleabag
one day
lost in translation
manchester by sea
blue valentine
paddington 1, 2
neon genesis evangelion
end of evangelion
evangelion: 1.0, 2.0, 3.0, 3.0+1.0
le otto montagne
the bear
met mes
call me by your name
beatiful boy
beau is afraid
chainsaw man
white lotus
sopranos
band of brothers
monster anime
pluto
master keaton
to your eternity
miss hokusai
your lie in april
march sweeps in like a lion
a place further than universe
the perverts guide to cinema/ideology
yuki yukite, shingun
everything everywhere all at once
the hunchback of notre dame
coldfish
love exposure
house
in bruges
midnight gospel
god father i,ii,iii
scarface
death parade
one punch man
mob psycho i,ii,iii
bee and puppy cat
plastic memories
violet evergarden
violet evergarden (special)
violet evergarden (movie 2019)
violet evergarden (2020/2021 movie)
anohana the flower we saw that day
erased
scavenger reign
inuyashiki
over the garden wall
bojack horseman
better call saul
breaking bad
game of thrones
severance
naruto
scrubs
moonlight kingdom
freedom writers
a sun
handmaids tale
carnival row
7 samurai
kingdom of heaven
persona
a brighter summer day
past lives
perfect days
dear zachary:a letter to a son about his father
paris,texas
time still turns pages
silent love
monster (movie)
wonka
get out
poor things
us
candyman
nope
fionna and cake
audition
on the count of three
sensitive the untold story
lucy
the creative brain
rudy
nyad
the whale
memories of murder
taxi driver
after hours
goodfellas
a clockwork orange
eternal sunshine of the spotless mind
requiem for a dream
children of heaven
my sisters keeper
hachi dogs tale
the big short
gardenstate
boyhood
perks of being a wall flower
into the wild
good will hunting
mishima: a life in four chapters
what's eating gilbert grape?
better days
king of staten island
schindlers list
meet joe black
we are who we are
cowboy bebop
yasuke
nr. 10
dead poet society
ghost in the shell
ghost in the shell sac
memories 1995
euphoria
atlanta
the vince staples show
matrix i,ii,iii
animatrix
star wars visions
castle of cagliostro
my neighbour totoro
spirited away
howls moving castle
kikis delivery service
ponyo
the wind rises
whisper of the heart
the cat returns
the boy and the heron
tales from the earthsea
from up on poppy hill
castle in the sky
nausica valley of the wind
porco rosso
princess monoke
ocean waves
only yesterday
pom poko
grave of fireflies
the tale of the princess kaguya
the neighbours yamadas
gauche the cellist
arrietty
when marnie was there
red turtle
samurai shamploo
oldboy
tales of the unusual
insidious
the face of another
rin daughters of mnemosyne
afro samurai
close
paranoia agent
bullet in your head
gladiator
american gangster
american psycho
poltergeist
eyes wide shut
mind game
if beale street could talk
heat
a time to kill
tree of life
mindhunter
blue eyed samurai
twin peaks
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Thinking about the meaning of death as it relates to In Bruges (2008) — not like in some abstract way or anything. But rather taking a look at the 3 central deaths in the movie: Ken, Harry, and the little boy. And then orienting Ray’s suicide attempt in it
The central thesis I have here is this: They all died for nothing, and I think that might just be the point? Not that it MEANT nothing, but that it was FOR nothing, the act itself didn’t amount to its aim.
The little boy died as collateral to Ray killing the Priest. It was senseless and accidental. He died because of something he wasn’t involved in and had no reason to be.
Ken jumped off the bell tower both to warn Ray and give him the gun. And while he accomplished goal number one, goal number two was rendered useless by the impact damage.
Harry killed himself because he thought he killed a little boy, and in keeping consistent with his principles he took himself out. Only it wasn’t a little boy, it was a man with dwarfism who was dressed in a costume that made him look like a boy from behind. His suicide was meant to convey to us his lack of hypocrisy, and Ray’s attempt to convince him off it meant to show us something about his frame of mind.
Now, orienting Ray in this: He wants to die because he killed the little boy. He can’t live with that kind of guilt. And you know what Ken tells him? To save the next one. By telling him this, what he’s doing is illustrating to Ray that his death wouldn’t do anything, not for the little boy who died, and not toward any kind of amends. It’d be senseless for him to die, even if the ultimate aim of dying is his way of trying to make something right. Ray wants to die because he thinks it’s what he deserves, just as Harry kills himself because that’s what he thinks he deserves after apparently killing a child. Ken commits to dying to give Ray a fighting chance. And in turning Ray away from death, I think there’s some kind of narrative support that no. What you want won’t come of it. There’s no sense to taking yourself out of this world, because it ends when you end. There’s nothing more for you to do, once you’re gone.
You can’t fix the gun, or see the face of your victim, or save the next little boy.
#In Bruges#in Bruges 2008#brendan gleeson#colin farrell#addendum: whether Ray lived or died at the end doesn’t matter in the analysis#because guess what? he survived just long enough to save the next child.#stevie speaks
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talking abt all the books i read this year:
(chronological order of when i finished them)
CMBYN by André Aciman: didnt expect to like this bc everyone was a hater abt the movie and even people who like the movie say the book isnt as good but i actually really enjoyed it. the age gap is there and you can have opinions abt that. it starts out very boring and slow imo but gets a lot better later on. ending is great. think a lot of people get this wrong bc theyre reading it as a romance which it is not
Dept. of Speculation by Jenny Offill: really liked this one. love a failing marriage. really peculiar style that really appealed to me
Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters: its detransition baby of course i liked this one. was not what i expected it to be at all but was great
Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi: again its persepolis everyone likes persepolis
Infect your Friends and Loved Ones by Torrey Peters: not at all like detransition baby, very good anyway. pretends to be a postapocalyptic story, really isnt abt that
Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart: very dark and very graphic but also like very moving and ultimately even a bit hopeful, got completely absorbed by this one
One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez: its a classic for good reasons. actually pretty funny in places. i picked up a second hand copy of the dutch translation from the 80s or whatever and i feel like you should be reading this on the yellowed pages of a shitty paperback
Great Expectations by Kathy Acker: totally insane totally fun and totally world changing. you need to open yourself up to this way of writing or you will not enjoy it or even like. get it. i love it tho, completely changed my view of what literature could be
The Days of Abandonment by Elena Ferrante: this took me a few tries to get into properly but when i did i loved it. once again a failing marriage and cheating and divorce from a female perspective which is my favorite but this also presents a pretty unique take on it with how insane everything gets
Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 by Cho Nam-Joo: this feels really short, even compared to some of the even shorter works on here. absolutely a good read tho, but i feel like the more familiar you are with feminism and south korean culture the less you'll get out of this (i am not very familiar with south korean culture)
the Bells of Bruges by Georges Rodenbach: a classic of course. very boring first part, entertaining second part and fully insane third part. was an essential read for my trip to Bruges
Luster by Raven Leilani: this was so good. i have not stopped thinking abt the scenes in the morgue at any point. also once again marriages of course
Girl, Interrupted by Susanna Kaysen: not what i expected but still very interesting. have not seen the movie but now i feel like i should
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Retour à mon projet de présenter la plupart de mes 53880 photos (nouveau compte approximatif !)
2014. Une journée à Bruges.
La Cathédrale Saint-Sauveur. Une étrange pierre tombale et des belles orgues.
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The Belfry of Bruges
In the marketplace of Bruges stands the belfry old and brown;
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it watches o’er the
town.
As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty tower I stood,
And the world threw off the darkness, like the weeds of widowhood.
Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with streams and vapors gray,
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast the landscape lay.
At my feet the city slumbered. From its chimneys, here and there,
Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, vanished, ghost-like, into air.
Not a sound rose from the city at that early morning hour,
But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient tower.
From their nests beneath the rafters sang the swallows wild and high;
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more distant than the sky.
Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the olden times,
With their strange, unearthly changes rang the melancholy chimes,
Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the nuns sing in the choir;
And the great bell tolled among them, like the chanting of a friar.
Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms filled my brain;
They who live in history only seemed to walk the earth again;
All the Foresters of Flanders,—mighty Baldwin Bras de Fer,
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy Philip, Guy de Dampierre.
I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those days of old;
Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who bore the Fleece of Gold
Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden argosies;
Ministers from twenty nations; more than royal pomp and ease.
I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on the ground;
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk and hound;
And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke slept with the queen,
And the armed guard around them, and the sword unsheathed between.
I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and Juliers bold,
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of the Spurs of Gold;
Saw the light at Minnewater, saw the White Hoods moving west,
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden Dragon’s nest.
And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land with terror smote;
And again the wild alarum sounded from the tocsin’s throat;
Till the bell of Ghent responded o’er lagoon and dike of sand,
“I am Roland! I am Roland! There is victory in the land!”
Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awakened city’s roar
Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into their graves once more.
Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before I was aware,
Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun-illumined square.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Jacques Brel - Mon père disait
Jacques Brel 67 (1967)
Lyrics & Translation:
Mon père disait
C'est le vent du nord
Qui fait craquer les digues
À Scheveningen
À Scheveningen, petit
Tellement fort
Qu'on ne sait plus qui navigue
La mer du nord
Ou bien les digues
C'est le vent du nord
Qui transperce les yeux
Des hommes du nord
Jeunes ou vieux
Pour faire chanter
Des carillons de bleus
Venus du nord
Au fond de leurs yeux
Mon père disait
C'est le vent du nord
Qui fait tourner la Terre
Autour de Bruges
Autour de Bruges, petit
C'est le vent du nord
Qu'a raboté la terre
Autour des tours
Des tours de Bruges
Et qui fait que nos filles
Ont le regard tranquille
Des vieilles villes
Des vieilles villes
Qui fait que nos belles
Ont le cheveu fragile
De nos dentelles
De nos dentelles
Mon père disait
C'est le vent du nord
Qu'a fait craquer la terre
Entre Zeebruges
Entre Zeebruges, petit
C'est le vent du Nord
Qu'a fait craquer la terre
Entre Zeebruges et l'Angleterre
Et Londres n'est plus
Comme avant le déluge
Le poing de Bruges
Narguant la mer
Londres n'est plus
Que le faubourg de Bruges
Perdu en mer
Perdu en mer
Mais mon père disait
C'est le vent du nord
Qui portera en terre
Mon corps sans âme
Et sans colère
C'est le vent du nord
Qui portera en terre
Mon corps sans âme
Face à la mer
C'est le vent du nord
Qui me fera capitaine
D'un brise-lames
Ou d'une baleine
C'est le vent du nord
Qui me fera capitaine
D'un brise-larmes
Pour ceux que j'aime
Translation:
My father used to say
It's the north wind
that cracks the dikes
in Scheveningen,
in Scheveningen, Little One
So strong
that we no longer know who is sailing
on the North Sea
or the dykes
It's the north wind
that pierces the eyes
of men from the north,
young or old
To make sing
the chimes of blues
coming from the North
deep in their eyes
My father used to say
It's the north wind
that makes the earth spin
around Bruges,
around Bruges, Little One
It's the north wind
that has planed the earth
around the towers,
the towers of Bruges
And who makes our daughters
have the quiet look
of old towns
of old towns
Who makes our beauties
have hair as fragile
as our laces
as our laces
My father used to say
It's the north wind
that cracked the earth
between Zeebrugge
between Zeebrugge, Little One
It's the north wind
that made the earth crack
between Zeebrugge and England
and London is no longer
like before the flood,
the Fist of Bruges
taunting the sea
London is no more
the suburb of Bruges,
lost at sea
lost at sea
But my father said
It's the north wind
that will lay to rest
my body, without soul,
without anger
It's the north wind
that will put to earth
my soulless body
facing the sea
It's the north wind
that will make me captain
of a breakwater
or a whale
It's the north wind
that will make me captain
of a tear-breaker
for those I love
#Jacques Brel#Jacques Brel 67#Mon père disait#chanson#French music#French pop#pop music#old pop#1960s#1960s music#French folk#folk music
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Bruges’ compact size and perfect prettiness can make it seem a little unreal, like a classic postcard come to life or perhaps a toy town, albeit infused with the scents of beer, frites and sweet crepes. The city is characterised by cobbled lanes, canals, medieval spires and looping bridges. Life centres around its squares: Burg, dominated by the 14th-century Gothic Town Hall, and Markt, home to one of the city’s most famous landmarks, the medieval Belfry (bell tower).
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Marion Hänsel
Marion Hänsel, importante rappresentante del cinema d’autore belga francofono e donna dall’immensa cultura, regista, attrice e produttrice, è stata cineasta a tutto tondo.
Ha vinto il Leone d’Argento per l’opera prima alla Mostra di Venezia del 1985 col documentario Dust.
Il suo lavoro più conosciuto è stato Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, in concorso a Cannes nel 1995.
Nata a Marsiglia il 12 febbraio 1949, era cresciuta ad Anversa. Formatasi in giro per il mondo, aveva studiato belle arti in Gran Bretagna, arti circensi a Parigi con Annie Fratellini e recitazione a New York con Lee Strasberg, il celebre direttore dell’Actors Studio.
Dopo esser partita con una serie di esibizioni sul palcoscenico aveva fondato la Man’s Films per realizzare il suo primo corto, Equilibres. La celebrità è arrivata col primo lungometraggio, Le Lit, del 1982, nominato tra i migliori film per il Premio César dello stesso anno.
Ha prodotto registi come Danis Tanovic (tra i quali il premio Oscar 2001, No Man’s Land e Cirkus Columbia, anch’esso selezionato alle Giornate degli Autori), Jacques Doillon (La puritaine, 1985) e Martin McDonagh (In Bruges, 2007).
La sua ultima opera, autobiografica, è stata Il était un petit navire.
Si è spenta a Woluwe-Saint-Pierre, in Belgio, l’8 giugno 2020.
Nel 2022 ha vinto il Premio Magritte postumo.
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Calciomercato: Dimarco, Darmian e Mkhitaryan rinnovano con l’Inter
Calciomercato: Dimarco, Darmian e Mkhitaryan rinnovano con l’Inter.
Sabato di annunci in casa Inter. Dopo la notizia giunta in mattinata del prolungamento di contratto di Federico Dimarco sino al 2027, sono arrivati nel pomeriggio anche i rinnovi di Matteo Darmian e Henrikh Mkhitaryan.
L'ex Parma ha prolungato di un anno il suo rapporto con i nerazzurri, mentre per il centrocampista armeno il rinnovo è fino a giugno 2026.
Una vita da interista vero per Dimarco, che sui social ha espresso tutta la sua gioia per il rinnovo: “Io l’Inter l’ho sognata da bambino, l’ho sfiorata, vissuta, l’ho dovuta lasciare e poi l’ho ritrovata quando ormai non ci credeva più nessuno. È lavoro ma è passione, tifo, fatica, soddisfazione, sofferenza, gioia e amore puro. È la mia vita. Grazie alla società, al mister, allo staff, ai miei compagni e a tutti quelli che lavorano ad Appiano e in sede. Grazie alla mia famiglia e a chi lavora con me. Ma soprattutto grazie a voi e al vostro affetto. Dicono sempre che viaggiare sia una delle cose più belle da fare. Vero, ma aggiungo che niente è come tornare a casa e.. restarci!”.
Il prossimo attesissimo rinnovo è quello di capitan Lautaro, con l’annuncio del prolungamento atteso a gennaio. Ora il lavoro di Marotta e Ausilio si concentra sull'operazione Buchanan, centrocampista canadese di proprietà del Club Bruges, primo rinforzo per gennaio e su quella che vede protagonista Zielinski, nuovo parametro zero messo nel mirino per la prossima stagione....
#notizie #news #breakingnews #cronaca #politica #eventi #sport #moda
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