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"Ein Haus ohne Bücher ist wie ein Zimmer ohne Fenster" -Heinrich Mann

"Alleen in mijn gedichten kan ik wonen" -Jan Slauerhoff

www.Lezenswaard.be (in EN: "Worth reading") is a handy international selection of poems & excerpts of prose in Dutch, English, French, German, etc.: click e.g. English-Poetry. Happy reading!

www.Lezenswaard.be is een handzame internationale selectie van lezenswaardige gedichten & prozafragmenten in het Nederlands, Engels, Frans, Duits en andere talen. Veel leesplezier!

"Kon de tijd maar / stil blijven staan / dan ving ik hem / in dit gedicht / en liet hem / nooit meer gaan" (G.V.)

INDEX: You can retrieve an author's NAME, a TITLE or a three to seven word QUOTE by entering it in the "SEARCH" field at the UPPER RIGHT CORNER of this screen. The authors mentioned are ALL obviously good, = very good, = outstanding, = top/very best. 3,100 authors selected, 4,200 regular readers (according to Google Analytics) from all over the world. Only for NON-COMMERCIAL, PERSONAL or EDUCATIONAL fair use. The NL, EN, FR & DE texts (Microsoft word) are authentic and are the copyright of their respective owners. All texts shown were available online before incorporation. Inclusion of an extract in this anthology does not imply endorsement of the content. The contents of this website vary continuously: please use the "CONTACT" button for having a notable text/translation added or if the authorship of a text is wrongly indicated. The editor/webmaster, De Meester ZAJ ©, will remove/modify a text of an author on demand. SELECTION CRITERIA: Formal beauty (e.g. Byron, Eichendorff), Emotional intensity (Mauriac, Elsschot), Mood creation (Nijhoff, Wordsworth), Narrative skill (García Márquez, Walschap), Social relevance (Adler, Camus), Humour/Blues (Goldoni, Theognis), Metaphysical power (Hesse, Blake), Playful sensuality (Louÿs, Van Der Merwede), Nonsensical/Surrealistic value (Lear, Rimbaud) and Universal appeal (Shakespeare, Goethe). Lezenswaard Facebook Lezenswaard on FB


Today's special


Die Insel

Hier, wo mein Haus steht,
wehte einst niedriges Gras:
ums Herz Erinnerung weht,
wie ich dereinst
mit Freunden hier sass.
Wir waren zu drein,
vor Jahrtausenden mag es gewesen sein.
Es war einsam hier,
tief, tief!
So waren auch wir.
Verlassenheit über der Insel schlief.
Dann kam der Lärm,
ein buntes Geschwärm:
entbundener Geist,
verdorben, gestorben zuallermeist.
Und nun leben wir in fremdmächtiger Zeit,
verschlagen wiederum in Verlassenheit.
In meines Hauses stillem Raum
herrscht der Traum.