Article
POETRY INTERNATIONAL FESTIVAL CLOSING SPEECH
What was it?
June 14, 2014
I still can’t figure it out. What made this festival one of the most special and memorable in years? Was it the unique combination of the poets and the quality of their work? The unbelievable dedication of the people behind the scenes?
Was it the moving and surprising tones of tenor Oscar Verhaar, and his interpretation of Jules Deelder? Was it Deelder’s own emotion after watching Remco Campert’s video message? The full house during the opening? The Norwegian couple that have spent their entire annual holiday week in the Rotterdam Municipal Theatre? The two translators who kept the audience on the edge of their chairs for nearly half an hour with a discussion about the word ‘the’.
Was it the poet sitting at a kitchen table on the Paradijslaan in Kralingen with five ukulele players, practicing country songs? Was it Beavis and Butthead in the Gallery Tour, the Schlager team of De Hyacinth and Chet Baker, dope and gin on stage, interviews with ‘geek’ and ‘gangster’ poets, the juxtaposition of polymers and imperial dreams, or NRC journalist Arjen Fortuin’s endorsement of Poetry International’s headstrong choices?
Was it the other international festival directors who thought they had landed in heaven? The mobile phones in the packed auditorium during ‘Poetry and Science,’ lighting up every time the Dutch scored another goal? The difference between the letter ‘y’ in French and in Dutch? The swearing, burping, and smoking matron who writes poetry? Was it the self-assured people on their way to the Dandelion Salon? The artist and the poet counting out loud together for an hour?
Was it the role of 2000 neckties, the script for the family breakfast, the goat that abides by the civil pact, the sun that crossed the sea? Was it the seed of a thought, the language of dogs and how you can best make fun of a horse? The number of meals can you take in tonight without being crushed by your own progress? The overwhelming evidence that Kojak is the best series ever? Is it the coffee in the ‘solidarity’ club, the tent of witnesses, or Abraham Lincoln’s jacket? The man who waited 80 years for his father? Was it the naked emperor peels, the unsteady ground beneath the girl in front of the mirror, or Shaka Zulu and his retinue of Smurfs?
The circumstance is banal in contrast to the words that describe it, as Habib Tengour correctly states. The words that have been spoken these past few days have all been beautiful, touching, disturbing, shocking, bizarre, and rich.
Thank you to all the poets, translators, musicians, and singers, all the directors and stage managers, all the programmers and former programmers, here in the hall. All the staff of Poetry International, all the volunteers, all the technicians and Municipal Theatre employees, the enthusiastic media.
And a special thank you to you, dear public. Thank you for being here, and for telling everyone you know that you were here.
Until next year.
The 45th Poetry International Festival has come to an end. We laughed, we cried, and most of all, we heartily enjoyed the variety of poetry, music, and visual art that filled this past week. At the closing event Bas Kwakman delivered the following speech, looking back on the festival and its guests:
Ladies and gentlemen,I still can’t figure it out. What made this festival one of the most special and memorable in years? Was it the unique combination of the poets and the quality of their work? The unbelievable dedication of the people behind the scenes?
Was it the moving and surprising tones of tenor Oscar Verhaar, and his interpretation of Jules Deelder? Was it Deelder’s own emotion after watching Remco Campert’s video message? The full house during the opening? The Norwegian couple that have spent their entire annual holiday week in the Rotterdam Municipal Theatre? The two translators who kept the audience on the edge of their chairs for nearly half an hour with a discussion about the word ‘the’.
Was it the poet sitting at a kitchen table on the Paradijslaan in Kralingen with five ukulele players, practicing country songs? Was it Beavis and Butthead in the Gallery Tour, the Schlager team of De Hyacinth and Chet Baker, dope and gin on stage, interviews with ‘geek’ and ‘gangster’ poets, the juxtaposition of polymers and imperial dreams, or NRC journalist Arjen Fortuin’s endorsement of Poetry International’s headstrong choices?
Was it the other international festival directors who thought they had landed in heaven? The mobile phones in the packed auditorium during ‘Poetry and Science,’ lighting up every time the Dutch scored another goal? The difference between the letter ‘y’ in French and in Dutch? The swearing, burping, and smoking matron who writes poetry? Was it the self-assured people on their way to the Dandelion Salon? The artist and the poet counting out loud together for an hour?
Was it the role of 2000 neckties, the script for the family breakfast, the goat that abides by the civil pact, the sun that crossed the sea? Was it the seed of a thought, the language of dogs and how you can best make fun of a horse? The number of meals can you take in tonight without being crushed by your own progress? The overwhelming evidence that Kojak is the best series ever? Is it the coffee in the ‘solidarity’ club, the tent of witnesses, or Abraham Lincoln’s jacket? The man who waited 80 years for his father? Was it the naked emperor peels, the unsteady ground beneath the girl in front of the mirror, or Shaka Zulu and his retinue of Smurfs?
The circumstance is banal in contrast to the words that describe it, as Habib Tengour correctly states. The words that have been spoken these past few days have all been beautiful, touching, disturbing, shocking, bizarre, and rich.
Thank you to all the poets, translators, musicians, and singers, all the directors and stage managers, all the programmers and former programmers, here in the hall. All the staff of Poetry International, all the volunteers, all the technicians and Municipal Theatre employees, the enthusiastic media.
And a special thank you to you, dear public. Thank you for being here, and for telling everyone you know that you were here.
Until next year.
© Bas Kwakman
Translator: Megen Molé
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