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 [...]
“Just imagine living in a world without mirrors. You'd dream about your face and imagine it as an outer reflection of what is inside you. And then, when you reached forty, someone put a mirror before you for the first time in your life. Imagine your fright! You'd see the face of a stranger. And [...]
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, [...]
As a continuity with last week's post about the book Letters of Note, here is a much smaller book, without images this one, Letters of Note : Love, a collection of love letters compiled by Shaun Usher. "First published in 2020, Letters of Note: Love is a compulsive collection of the world's most entertaining, inspiring and powerful letters with [...]
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 [...]
“when i sleep, i know no fear, no, trouble no bliss. blessing on him who invented sleep. the common coin that purchases all things, the balance that levels shepherd and king, fool and wise man. there is only one bad thing about sound sleep. they say it closely resembles death.” Mirror is a 1975 art film directed by Andrei [...]
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, [...]
"'Where does our story take place, and when?' asked Cocteau at the start of Orphée. 'It's the privilege of legends to be ageless. Comme il vous plaira. As you please.” Ann Wroe, Orpheus: The Song of Life (Painting : Edward John Poynter, Orpheus and Eurydice) In the upcoming weeks, I will be studying the myth of Orpheus [...]
“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 [...]
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“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 [...]
« Rien ne se crée, rien ne se perd, tout se transforme. » (Lavoisier) Metamorphosen is a composition by Richard Strauss for 23 solo strings : ten violins, five violas, five cellos, and three double basses, typically lasting 25 to 30 minutes. It was composed in the last days of WWII. Strauss saw the world he knew in ruins around him. Germany was occupied by [...]
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 [...]
I made an Instagram post yesterday explaining the reasons and motivations behind Le nouveau Zèbre. If you have not seen it, you can read it here. Now I have been thinking and this is how I'll be organizing this magazine. On Mondays, I'll publish a post concerning classical music. What I'm listening to, an album [...]
(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 [...]
I purchased this beautiful book showcasing some of Cy Twombly’s work (paintings, photographs, sculptures...). Twombly moves me, in a poetic way. I am very sensible to the chaos he creates on his canvases, to the blurred settings of his photographs, not to mention that his subject of choice is very often the rose, and if [...]
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 [...]
Élévation Au-dessus des étangs, au-dessus des vallées,Des montagnes, des bois, des nuages, des mers,Par delà le soleil, par delà les éthers,Par delà les confins des sphères étoilées, Mon esprit, tu te meus avec agilité,Et, comme un bon nageur qui se pâme dans l'onde,Tu sillonnes gaiement l'immensité profondeAvec une indicible et mâle volupté. Envole-toi bien loin [...]
On vient de mourir mais je suis vivant et cependant je n’ai plus d’âme. Je n’ai plus qu’un corps transparent à l’intérieur duquel des colombes transparentes se jettent sur un poignard transparent tenu par une main transparente. Je vois l’effort dans toute sa beauté, l’effort réel qui ne se chiffre par rien, peu avant la [...]