The Unseen Moon – Noordhaus

Jonah and tales of personal introspection

Noordhaus x Spaces present
an evening of poetry, theater and performance art.

Sea of people far from home | Stories in a blur
How much of your influence on me | Is a result of my influence of you?

We called six Netherlands based authors to submit thirteen total new works, and present them (in order of appearance) as follows:

Authors

Dan van der Giezen
^{read by Szymon Brańka}
Diana Gabriela Dumitrascu

Britt Davis
^{with musical accompaniment by Amber Jansen}
Mihai Tanase

Diana Gabriela Dumitrascu

Amber Jansen
Luz Mercedes and Matti Kutzner
Hannah Cabanes Popove
Marin Sorescu
^{interpreted by Oisín Moyne}
Hannah Cabanes Popove
Diana Gabriela Dumitrascu

Works

Untitled

Among the other eccentrics and crazy men
Past
No one at home to speak to us
Knock Six Times

Untitled
The anatomy lesson of Dr. [REDACTED]
Inventory of intimacy I
Inventory of intimacy II
Whirlwind / Wervelwind
MEREL: Moving Entangling Rigidity, Echoing Landscapes
Air Dry
Jonah [excerpt from Scene Three]

Slowsand
Desperation

What it’s not is very telling
Everything is a bit about absence
You are partly what you miss
Craving is itself a state of being.

Diana Gabriela Dumitrascu – Inventory of intimacy II

It's always too cold,
or too warm,
too bright,
too dark.
The smells heavy,
and sounds colourful,
the senses overwhelm action.

Isolation is friendly,
and I am alone.
The depths of myself,
come and go;
like dew on grass.
Others and infinite,
trying to be totalities,
never recognised
or perceived.

[...]

Daan van der Giezen – Untitled

Szymon Brańka reading Daan van der Giezen

On my living room carpet, we smoke one and a half each and he asks me what we're supposed to do when we feel lost. “keep moving”, I reply. He asks why. He says the runner is too long and the light at the end is low and flickery.
A maw, taunting.

[...]

Hannah Cabanes Popove – Slowsand

[...]

We always miss out on something in life and that's why we need to be born again and again. The soldiers especially miss out on Peace. They're so used to sleeping through the noise of drums and voices that at the first silence they open their eyes, opening them so wide that grass and birds enter as into craters of extinguished volcanoes. Sleepwalkers miss the unseen moon, waking in graves, treading gently on coffin lids, then climbing onto the tip of a grass blade which hurls them towards the yoke of that strange planet.
[He pauses]

[...]

Marin Sorescu – Jonah