Artiste
METAMORPHOSIS We've plodded through a weird and weary time, Called Winter by the calendar alone; We have beheld an earth pool-deep in slime, Image a heaven of stone. We've found life hid between the folds of mire, Sensed life in every place, heard life in tune. The earth-shell cracks with underneath desire; Spring crawls from [...]
YARILA BY SERGEY GORODETSKY First to sharpen the ax-flint they bent, On the green they had gathered, unpent, They had gathered beneath the green tent. There where whitens a pale tree-trunk, naked, There where whitens a pale linden trunk. By the linden tree, by the young linden, By the linden tree, by the young linden, [...]
THEN ...Then came the night and brought your dream In the quiet blaze of stars. And the smiling day went marching by Where the wild, breathless roses are. I long now for a May of dreams, The moment when your love appears. I'd like to blaze upon your mouth A dream-time of a thousand years. [...]
Painting by Hieronymus Bosch : The Extraction of the stone of Madness THE BIG WORDS [For Antonio Porchia] it is not yet now now is never it is not yet now now and forever is never SILENCES Death always at my side. I listen to what it says. And only hear myself. I ASK FOR [...]
in the dream we sleep, the mouth speaks true. Corona Autumn eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends. We shell time from the nuts and teach it to walk: time returns to the shell. In the mirror is Sunday, in the dream we sleep, the mouth speaks true. My eye goes down [...]
1-5. Erect no monument. Allow the rose to unfurl each year on his behalf. For it's Orpheus. His metamorphosis in this, in that. We needn't bother with other names. Once and forever it's Orpheus, when there's song. He comes and goes. Isn't it grace enough when now and then he stays on a few days, [...]
“Greenish water on my face: I will drink from you until the night opens. No one can save me. I'm invisible even to myself.” A Musical Hell (Excerpt) 1. THE SHAPES OF A PREMONITION COLD IN HAND BLUES and what is it you're going to say i'm just going to say something and what's this [...]
“Ecrivez vite sans sujet préconçu, assez vite pour ne pas retenir et ne pas être tenté de vous relire.” André Breton, Manifeste du surréalisme L'ÉTERNITÉ Ouverture des chagrins une deux une deux Ce sont les crapauds les drapeaux rouges La salive des fleurs L'électrolyse la belle aurore Ballon des fumées des faubourgs Les mottes de [...]
“I am the man whose life and soul are torment” The Color of Pomegranates is a 1969 Soviet Armenian art film written and directed by Sergei Parajanov. The film is a breathtaking fusion of poetry, ethnography, and cinema that tells of the life of 18th-century Armenian poet and troubadour Sayat-Nova. Sergei Parajanov’s masterwork overflows with [...]
“Literature is the most agreeable way of ignoring life.” Pessoa as Ricardo reis : Crown Me with Roses Crown me with roses, Crown me really With roses Roses which burn out On a forehead burning So soon out! Crown me with roses And with fleeting leafage. That will do. (I2.6.14) The Roses of the Gardens [...]
Oeuvre réalisée par Marie H. Sirois LA NUIT, quand le pendule de l'amour balance entre Toujours et Jamais, ta parole vient rejoindre les lunes du cœur et ton œil bleu d'orage tend le ciel à la terre. D'un bois lointain, d'un bosquet noirci de rêve l'Expiré nous effleure et le Manqué hante l'espace, grand comme [...]
The Second Coming is a poem written by Irish poet W. B. Yeats in 1919, first printed in The Dial in November 1920, and afterwards included in his 1921 collection of verses Michael Robartes and the Dancer. The poem uses Christian imagery regarding the Apocalypse and Second Coming to allegorically describe the atmosphere of post-war Europe. It is considered a major work of modernist poetry and has been reprinted in several collections. The [...]
(Extraits de "Les petits chants") X celui qui m'aime éloigne mes doubles ouvre la nuit, mon corps, voir tes rêves mon soleil amour XI oh ces yeux que tu as ces yeux fulgurants XII corbeaux dans mon esprit au-dessus de son cher corps c'est le grand froid de la nuit le noir passion de nos [...]
Because it all just breaks apart, and the pieces scatter andrearrange without much fanfare or notice. Because you can’t and don’t remember the step that kicked updust and left this planet—you’d give up even more now. Because the body itself—the heart’s not dead but deeper, wrapped up in curtains, a different color,among the railings and [...]