Category : General

felted sculpture by Marjolein Dallinga for bloomfelt.com

28 January ,departure of Tinie and Francois

De Wolken

Ik droeg nog kleine kleren ,en ik lag
Lang – uit  met moeder in de warme hei ,
De wolken schoven boven ons voorbij
En moeder vroeg wat ik in de wolken zag.
En ik riep: Scandinavië, en : eenden
Daar gaat een dame,schapen met een herder,-
De wond’ren werden woord en dreven verder,
Maar ‘k zag dat moeder met een glimlach weende
Toen kwam de tijd dat ‘k niet meer naar boven keek,
Ofschoon de hemel vol wolken hing
Ik greep niet naar de vlucht van ‘t vreemde ding
Dat met zijn schaduw langs mijn leven streek
-Nu ligt mijn jongen naast mij in de heide,
En wijst me wat hij in de wolken ziet,
Nu schrei ik zelf ,en zie in het verschiet
De verse wolken waarom moeder schreide 
Martinus Nijhoff

felted sculpture by Marjolein Dallinga for bloomfelt.com

12 januari,2016 Snowflakes

A walk

By R.M Rilke
Translation Robert Bly
My eyes already touch the sunny hill
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has its inner light,even from a distance-
and changes us,even if we do not reach it,
into something else,which hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on,
answering our own wave….
but what we feel is only the wind in our faces

inspiration for bloomfelt.com

1 january ,2016

One Art

The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intend
To be lost that their loss is no disaster
Lose something every day,accept the fluster
Of lost door keys ,the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther,losing faster;
places,and names,and where it was you meant to travel
None of these will bring disaster
I lost my mothers watch.And look!my last ,or
next -to- last,of three loved houses went
The art of losing isn’t hard to master
I lost two cities,lovely ones.And vaster,
some realms I owned,two rivers,a continent
I miss them,but it wasn’t a disaster.
-Even losing you( the joking voice,a gesture
I loved) I shan’t have lied.Its evident
The art of losing isn’t hard to master
Though it may look(write it !)like disaster
Elisabeth Bishop

inspiration for bloomfelt.com

11,December 2015

            HOPE

“Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without words –
And never stops -at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale -is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little bird –
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest lands –
And on the strangest sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity –
It asked a crumb – of me
Emily Dickinson 

Bloomfelt - back in Quebec

25 October, 2015 back home in Quebec

 William Blake, being a sort of victim of the Industrial Revolution …..was a great poet, a great songwriter an activist, a philosopher a visionary. He have us beautiful books, paintings, ideology – and yet William Blake in his life was never appreciated. He had no real succes. He was often ridiculed. He died poverty-stricken,but he also died full of joy. He never let go the language of enthusiasm . So I try to remember now when I feel sorry for myself to give a little thought of William Blake.

Patti Smith,
M Train