With my clothes still wet and after being forced to leave all my stuff in the lockers, I was finally ready to be impressed by one of the books in the vitrines. We were the only visitors at the whole “UvA Special Collections”, and after the difficult and rainy bicycle ride we were no more than 10, a small group from different nationalities which in a way resembled the layout of the Complutensian Polyglot Bible.

Printed in Alcalá de Henares, Spain in 1514, it was the first bible made in more than one language, Hebrew, Latin and Greek. Translation is always a problematic thing to do, specially in such as “precise” text as the Bible but not only in terms of meaning, using the same book for more than one text seems like a pretty risky design work. The first example of such a hard labour would probably  be the Rosseta stone [x], that became the most useful tool to understand the hieroglyphs from old Egypt. Made in 196 b.C and as well in three scrips, Egyptian, Demotic, and Ancient Greek, but with a pretty classical way of arranging the different languages, in three different paragraphs.

The main characteristic that makes the Polyglot Bible specially appealing is precisely the way that the text is arranged in the page, in parallel columns of different sizes that also combine different ways of reading (as it happens with the Hebrew and the other two languages). That idea seems really modern, and the look of the page looks quite similar to the once of a modern newspaper. If I think in contemporary polyglot texts the first examples that come to my mind are the magazines from the airplanes or the mails from the school, and in both cases one language follows the other, so the same meaning never shares the same space with all the troubles that come with that. After a small mental struggle trying to remember a similar graphic structure I realize that now we can find it in something that we all use, Google Translate.

post by Juan de Porras Isla

‘Over de voortteeling en wonderbaerlyke veranderingen der Surinaemsche insecten’

Alleen al vanwege de titel verdient dit boek het om goed te worden bekeken. Er gaat zoveel bewondering maar tegelijkertijd objectiviteit en bovenal precisie van uit, dat het direct mijn aandacht trekt. Evenals het formaat overigens, wat vrij groot is – daar houd ik van. Het maakt het lezen, het bekijken van de letters en de illustraties tot iets gewichtigs. Iets heel fysieks.

De titel en het formaat maken hun beloften waar. In ‘Over de voortteeling en wonderbaerlyke veranderingen der Surinaemsche insecten’ vertelt Merian in beeld en in taal op een degelijke maar heel betrokken wijze over het onderzoek dat zij deed naar insecten, tijdens haar verblijf in Suriname. Haar observaties beschrijven de werkelijkheid, maar vullen de werkelijkheid ook aan. Het is met name dat wat ik erg mooi vind aan dit boek.
Ook haar woordgebruik vind ik bijzonder. Dat gaat natuurlijk al gauw, omdat de taal die ze gebruikt in deze tijd zo ongewoon is. Maar de manier waarop ze de woorden naast elkaar zet, met een goed gevoel voor ritme, zorgen dat de zinnen me bij blijven. Vooral deze, hoewel ik die opschreef: ‘De kleine gecoleurde bladeren, dicht onder de vrucht zyn als een rood fatyn met geele vlakken vercierd, de kleine uitspuitzels aan de kanten groeijen voort als de rype vrucht afgeplukt is, de lange blaaden zyn van buiten ligt zee groen, van binnen gras groen, aan de kanten wat roodachtig met scharpe doornen voorzien.’ De tekening begeleidt de tekst perfect; de twee slagen er wat mij betreft in om naast elkaar hetzelfde en toch ook een ander verhaal te vertellen. Geen van de twee maakt de ander overbodig. Ze vormen samen een charmant geheel.

post by Rosa Smalen

At “The printed book : a visual history”, I was most interested in the book “De letter… n” by Remco Campert and Wim Crouwel. What attracted me most was its’ hard, yet clean graphic style. The book was opened on a page that read ‘raket bom mes oorlog’, ‘rocket bomb knife war’, in thick black letters of various sizes on an orange and white background. ‘Raket bom mes oorlog’: every word gets its’ own separate line. The opposite page displays an orange ball that may remind us of the sun or, in this context, may just as well be a nuclear explosion.

As the books in the exhibition are set up in glass cases, I wasn’t able to flip through the book so, maybe because of the content of this particular page, the graphics in “Het gejuich was massaal”, a book about dutch punk the the late 70s, immediately came to mind.

Looking at the page again, something else comes to mind.

Paul van Ostaijen was a Belgian poet who started experimenting with typography in his poems in order to translate, among other things, rhythm and sound to the reader. He started in the 1910s with quite safe try-outs, mostly experimenting with different letter-spacing and word-spacing. In the 1920s, he went all out and experimented in a big way with font types and sizes. His best known example is “Boem paukeslag” from his 1921 book “Bezette stad” (“Occupied city”). In this poem, single words – keywords really – are connected and form some sort of narrative through the use of typography. In a similar way, raket bom mes oorlog are keywords but form an understandable whole due to the rhythm and context that is created through the graphics and typography.
post by Lieven Lahaye