onsdag 11. november 2015
søndag 20. september 2015
torsdag 27. august 2015
A great day for Norwegian literature
This is great news for Norwegian literature!
Hans Herbjørnsrud is one of our most accomplished writers. A selection of his best short stories are to be published in England and the United States.
Hans Herbjørnsrud is one of our most accomplished writers. A selection of his best short stories are to be published in England and the United States.
Hans
Herbjørnsrud utgis nå i England og USA
Barokke noveller med uhygge på mange plan
Hans Herbjørnsrud er en av våre aller fremste forfattere. Et
utvalg av hans beste noveller skal utgis i England og USA. Samlingen vil
inneholde følgende noveller: På Gamletun i Europa, Blinddøra, Hallgrim Flatin 1966, Vannbæreren
og Vi vet så mye.
Det er det svært respekterte og uavhengige forlaget Dalkey Archive Press som har sikret seg
de engelske verdensrettighetene. Dalkey
Archive har en kresen profil. Av
forfattere de har i stallen kan nevnes: Boris Vian, Samuel Beckett, Djuna
Barnes og William Gaddis. Og av norske forfattere: Kjell Askildsen, Tor Ulven,
Stig Sæterbakken, Jon Fosse og Kjersti
Annesdatter Skomsvold.
På telefon med forfatteren skinner det igjennom hvor glad han
er for dette. "Det har enorm
betydning for mitt forfatterskap å utkomme på et slikt respektert og kresent
forlag som utgir både i USA og England ," sier han. Og legger ikke skjul på at han føler han er i
godt selskap med de andre forfatterne på forlaget.
Hans Herbjørnsrud er født i Heddal i Telemark i 1938, og
debuterte i 1979 med novellesamlingen Vitner . Hans noveller er oversatt til
flere språk, blant annet russisk, tysk, engelsk, fransk, tsjekkisk, bengali og
hindi.
I 2003 utga Gyldendal Hans Herbjørnsruds Samlede noveller. Og i 2011 kom Kaja Schjerven Mollerin
med Seks fot under. Et
essay om Hans Herbjørnruds forfatterskap. Hans siste utgivelse er Her
kan alt skje. Noveller i utvalg fra 2013.
I 1999
ble Herbjørnsrud nominert til den europeiske Aristeion-prisen, og han er to ganger innstilt til Nordisk Råds
litteraturpris. I tillegg har han mottatt en rekke høythengende priser i Norge.
Agency, Henrik Francke, rettighetsredaktør
lørdag 30. mai 2015
torsdag 14. mai 2015
lørdag 25. april 2015
Utstilling på Galleri Telemark
Lørdag 2. mai stiller jeg ut sammen med 40 andre kunstnere fra fylket vårt, på det helt nyetablerte Galleri Telemark som er lokalisert på Åbø gård i Bø.
Arbeidet jeg stiller ut er også nytt og er fra bildeserien Herbjørnsruds univers. Bildet er ikke inspirert av en spesifikk novelle, men er en slags tilstandsrapport. Verket er en visuell fremstilling av mine tanker, følelser og refleksjoner etter å ha jobbet med bildeserien over nesten to år. Underlige og fantastisk ting oppstår når litteratur og billedkunst møtes …
Ta turen!
Arbeidet jeg stiller ut er også nytt og er fra bildeserien Herbjørnsruds univers. Bildet er ikke inspirert av en spesifikk novelle, men er en slags tilstandsrapport. Verket er en visuell fremstilling av mine tanker, følelser og refleksjoner etter å ha jobbet med bildeserien over nesten to år. Underlige og fantastisk ting oppstår når litteratur og billedkunst møtes …
Ta turen!
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| Les mer her |
mandag 20. april 2015
Do not go gentle into that good night
Do not go gentle into that good night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas
torsdag 2. april 2015
Settling in...
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| Settling in and taking a break. We all wear antlers, didn't you know? |
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| This is one of the first works I made in my old studio back in 2003. Egg oil tempera and color pigments on canvas. Hmm, nostalgia... |
mandag 30. mars 2015
Moving in ...
Today I started to move 12 years worth of works from my old studio to my new work space. I think I hate stairs ...
 |
| Thanks to my good friend Jens "Strong As a Bull" Haga for helping me move! |
lørdag 21. mars 2015
The Wall
Before I can move in to my new studio there are a few things that needs to be fixed. One of them is sealing this old opening in the wall.
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| With a little help from my brother it is now done! |
torsdag 19. mars 2015
Moving out of my old studio...
Good People!
Sorry for the lack of updates lately. I am currently in the process of moving my studio. I hope to continue my work in my new studio in a week or two. I will post a few pictures as the moving progress... in the meantime... Well, here is a another poem for you to read:
Ophelia
I
On the calm black water where the stars are sleeping
White Ophelia floats like a great lily ;
Floats very slowly, lying in her long veils…
- In the far-off woods you can hear them sound the mort.
For more than a thousand years sad Ophelia
Has passed, a white phantom, down the long black river.
For more than a thousand years her sweet madness
Has murmured its ballad to the evening breeze.
The wind kisses her breasts and unfolds in a wreath
Her great veils rising and falling with the waters ;
The shivering willows weep on her shoulder,
The rushes lean over her wide, dreaming brow.
The ruffled water-lilies are sighing around her ;
At times she rouses, in a slumbering alder,
Some nest from which escapes a small rustle of wings ;
- A mysterious anthem falls from the golden stars.
II
O pale Ophelia ! beautiful as snow !
Yes child, you died, carried off by a river !
- It was the winds descending from the great mountains of Norway
That spoke to you in low voices of better freedom.
It was a breath of wind, that, twisting your great hair,
Brought strange rumors to your dreaming mind ;
It was your heart listening to the song of Nature
In the groans of the tree and the sighs of the nights ;
It was the voice of mad seas, the great roar,
That shattered your child's heart, too human and too soft ;
It was a handsome pale knight, a poor madman
Who one April morning sate mute at your knees !
Heaven ! Love ! Freedom ! What a dream, oh poor crazed Girl !
You melted to him as snow does to a fire ;
Your great visions strangled your words
- And fearful Infinity terrified your blue eye !
III
- And the poet says that by starlight
You come seeking, in the night, the flowers that you picked
And that he has seen on the water, lying in her long veils
White Ophelia floating, like a great lily.
- Arthur Rimbaud
Sorry for the lack of updates lately. I am currently in the process of moving my studio. I hope to continue my work in my new studio in a week or two. I will post a few pictures as the moving progress... in the meantime... Well, here is a another poem for you to read:
Ophelia
I
On the calm black water where the stars are sleeping
White Ophelia floats like a great lily ;
Floats very slowly, lying in her long veils…
- In the far-off woods you can hear them sound the mort.
For more than a thousand years sad Ophelia
Has passed, a white phantom, down the long black river.
For more than a thousand years her sweet madness
Has murmured its ballad to the evening breeze.
The wind kisses her breasts and unfolds in a wreath
Her great veils rising and falling with the waters ;
The shivering willows weep on her shoulder,
The rushes lean over her wide, dreaming brow.
The ruffled water-lilies are sighing around her ;
At times she rouses, in a slumbering alder,
Some nest from which escapes a small rustle of wings ;
- A mysterious anthem falls from the golden stars.
II
O pale Ophelia ! beautiful as snow !
Yes child, you died, carried off by a river !
- It was the winds descending from the great mountains of Norway
That spoke to you in low voices of better freedom.
It was a breath of wind, that, twisting your great hair,
Brought strange rumors to your dreaming mind ;
It was your heart listening to the song of Nature
In the groans of the tree and the sighs of the nights ;
It was the voice of mad seas, the great roar,
That shattered your child's heart, too human and too soft ;
It was a handsome pale knight, a poor madman
Who one April morning sate mute at your knees !
Heaven ! Love ! Freedom ! What a dream, oh poor crazed Girl !
You melted to him as snow does to a fire ;
Your great visions strangled your words
- And fearful Infinity terrified your blue eye !
III
- And the poet says that by starlight
You come seeking, in the night, the flowers that you picked
And that he has seen on the water, lying in her long veils
White Ophelia floating, like a great lily.
- Arthur Rimbaud
lørdag 7. mars 2015
Sunday poem
The shadow came — a tall, thin, grey-haired figure,
That looked as it had been a shade on earth;
Quick in its motions, with an air of vigour,
But nought to mark its breeding or its birth;
Now it waxed little, then again grew bigger,
With now an air of gloom, or savage mirth;
But as you gazed upon its features, they
Changed every instant — to what, none could say.
From "The Vision of Judgement"
- Lord Byron
That looked as it had been a shade on earth;
Quick in its motions, with an air of vigour,
But nought to mark its breeding or its birth;
Now it waxed little, then again grew bigger,
With now an air of gloom, or savage mirth;
But as you gazed upon its features, they
Changed every instant — to what, none could say.
From "The Vision of Judgement"
- Lord Byron
torsdag 26. februar 2015
Literature festival: Noveller på Notodden 2015
The literature festival «Noveller på Notodden – Herbjørnsruddagene 2015» is just around the corner.
Here is the poster/program for this year’s festival (in Norwegian only).
What is very exciting about this years program is the collaboration between Hans Herbjørnsrud and Vegard Tveitan (Ihsahn/Emperor). I am sure this meeting between music and literature will be something to remember….
Here is the poster/program for this year’s festival (in Norwegian only).
What is very exciting about this years program is the collaboration between Hans Herbjørnsrud and Vegard Tveitan (Ihsahn/Emperor). I am sure this meeting between music and literature will be something to remember….
lørdag 21. februar 2015
torsdag 12. februar 2015
onsdag 4. februar 2015
A desert of inspiration
One sits down on a desert sand dune, sees nothing, hears nothing. Yet through the silence something throbs, and gleams...
-Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
søndag 1. februar 2015
About the author...
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| Photo by Magnus Stivi (Source: Wikimedia Commons) |
If you have been curious about the
author Hans Herbjørnsud, the inspiration to which I have based the "Herbjørnsruds Universe Series", you can read more about the author here:
You can also find more about his publications here (in Norwegian only):
His works have been translated into many different languages; English, German, French, Russian etc. Be sure to read him!
torsdag 29. januar 2015
Happy Birthday Anton Chekhov!
One of the worlds greatest authors Anton Chekhov was born on this day, 29 January 1860
Happy Birthday!
- No one wants to love the ordinary people in us. (From a letter to Suvorin, Nov. 24 or 25, 1888, Moscow)
Happy Birthday!
- No one wants to love the ordinary people in us. (From a letter to Suvorin, Nov. 24 or 25, 1888, Moscow)
lørdag 24. januar 2015
torsdag 22. januar 2015
Quote of the day
“There is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion.”
― Edgar Allan Poe
― Edgar Allan Poe
tirsdag 20. januar 2015
tirsdag 6. januar 2015
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