Lucas Dewaele, dagboek

Life is simple, in a garden.

Life is simple, making up your mind.

Life is simple, sharing chimney’s.

Life is simple, as usual.

Life is simple, shooting chaos.

Life is simple, watching a train and an abstract carpet of asphalt.

Life is simple, without a Leica

Life is simple, an occasional holiday feeling.

Life is simple, having twice fun in Veurne tonight. (P.s. with my fuji X100f)

Life is simple, skipping colors. (P.s. with my fuji X100f)

Life is simple, having fun in Veurne tonight. (P.s. with my fuji X100f)

Life is simple, as an urban planner.

Life is simple, trying to find my way in Veurne

Life is simple, before the fun will start.

Life is simple, on the ‘quai des pauvres’.

Life is simply quietly being bored.

Life is a simple fight.

Life is simple, going from France to Flanders – 12km.

Life is simple, discovering a poem by Paul Snoek. (Or a hiding place)

(Ho provato a fare una versione italiana per i miei amici italiani. Puoi sempre correggermi…)

Ik weet het mensen

Ja, ik weet het nu al jaren en nog langer,

Dat gedichten nutteloze dingen zijn

Zoals de slierten mist die je rondom je huis

Ziet drijven voor de ramen.

Dan is het wel verkieslijker te dromen

Of met gesloten ogen aan wat leuks te denken

Tot je in slaap valt en de stilte niet meer hoort

Die net begon te knagen aan je hart.

Omdat in elk gedicht een beet van pijn

De ijskorst van je eenzaamheid doorboort,

Zoals op een verstilde zondagmorgen

Een schot de stilte verwondt in het woud.

In elk gedicht kan je met ingehouden adem

Geluiden horen die je doen verstijven,

Zoals tijdens een storm in het nachtelijke bed,

Wanneer een losgewaaide pan van je dak rolt.

Lo so, tutti

Sì, lo so da anni e anche di più,

Che le poesie sono cose inutili

Come le strisce di nebbia che vedi intorno a casa tua

Vedere galleggiare davanti alle finestre.

Allora è preferibile sognare

O pensare a qualcosa di bello con gli occhi chiusi

Finché non ti addormenti e non riesci più a sentire il silenzio

Questo ha cominciato a rosicchiare il cuore.

Perché in ogni poesia un morso di dolore

Trafigge la crosta di ghiaccio della tua solitudine,

Come in una tranquilla domenica mattina

Un colpo ferisce il silenzio della foresta.

In ogni poesia si può sentire con il fiato sospeso

Suoni che ti fanno gelare,

come durante una tempesta nel letto di notte,

Quando una padella soffiata rotola via dal tuo tetto.

Life is simple, as a princess in the shadow.

Life is simple, in between serious work.

Life is simple, pushing my fuji to its extreme limits.

Life is simple, when there is a hiding opportunity.

Life is simple, it’s about sharing.

https://www.blurb.com/b/10798506-brikkerij-de-werf-in-beelden

Life is simple, when there is no activity for a month.