Saturday, February 14, 2009

I believe in you

Cleaning Out Zaide's Apartment

His scent still lingered in the black heat
of his darkroom, where he spent decades
developing his meticulous world
of insects and flowers.
Boxes of slides
lay piled on top of one another.
Holding one to the lamplight,
I entered a different universe,
where moths silently cling to the stems
of roses.

In the bedroom
we found tie clips in the shape of airplanes
and then the slender, fragile model planes
he had built from scratch and hand-painted
bright blue with yellow emblems on the wings.

And in every drawer,
countless notes she had written to him.
He must have saved them all,
each one wedding the mundane to a private world
only the lovers themselves could know:
Hard-boiled eggs on the stove. I believe in you.

:Yehoshua Novembervia The Sun

mlle mathilde

Friday, February 13, 2009

Kiss by the window

...I want
a radiance of attention
like the candle's flame when we eat,

I mean a kind of awe
attending the spaces between us—
Not a roof but a field of stars.

from Rent
Jane Cooper 1924-2007

“Kiss by the Window” (1892),Edvard Munch, at the Art Institute of Chicago
: New York Times
Munch Museum/Munch-Ellingsen Group, Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York

Love and Death

Sonja: To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy, one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness.
Woody Allen

:The Drifter and the Gypsy

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Brilliant posting at : even cleveland today. Must visit.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

This Is For You

This is for you
it is my full heart
it is the book I meant to read you
when we were old
Now I am a shadow
I am restless as an empire
You are the woman
who released me
I saw you watching the moon
you did not hesitate
to love me with it
I saw you honouring the wind-flowers
caught in the rocks
you loved me with them
At night I saw you dance alone
on the small wet pebbles
of the shoreline
and you welcomed me into the circle
more than a guest
All this happened
in the truth of time
in the truth of flesh
I saw you with a child
you brought me to this perfume
and his visions
without demand of blood
On so many wooden tables
adorned with food and candles
a thousand sacraments
which you carried in your basket
I visited my clay
I visited my birth
and you guarded my back
as I became small
and frightened enough
to be born again
I wanted you for your beauty
and you gave me more than yourself
you shared your beauty
this I only learned tonight
as I recall the mirrors
you walked away from
after you had given them
whatever they claimed
for my initiation
Now I am a shadow
I long for the boundaries
of my wandering
and I move
with the energy of your prayer
and I move
in the direction of your prayer
for you are kneeling
like a bouquet
in a cave of a bone
behind my forehead
and I move toward a love
you have dreamed for me

Leonard Cohen

:couleurs via flickr


Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Filed under: what was I thinking...

Though I know he loves me,
Tonight my heart is sad;
His kiss was not so wonderful
As all the dreams I had.

Sara Teasdale

FOUND's Davy Rothbart hosts a Valentine's party to kick off an art show called Kick My Heart's Ass: Short Films About Love, a title taken from a found note in FOUND Magazine #3. Free admission; free drinks; great films; free peepshow.

February 11, 2009
New York, NY » Apex Art, 6 pm - 8 pm, 291 Church St., 212-431-5270


Riding the Subway, Rubbing Shoulders With Picasso

New York Times

Monday, February 9, 2009

Palace of the winds

"It is important to die in holy places. This was one of the secrets of the desert."

"We die containing a richness of lovers and tribes, tastes we have swallowed, bodies we have plunged into and swum up as if rivers of wisdom, characters we have climbed into as if trees, fears we may have hidden in as if caves. I wish for all this to be marked on my body when I am dead. I believe in such cartography- to be marked by nature, not just to label ourselves on a map like the names of rich men and women on buildings. We are communal histories, communal books. We are not owned or monogamous in our taste or experience. All I desired was to walk on the earth and see no maps."

I carried Katherine Clifton into the desert, where there is the communal book of moonlight. We were among the rumour of wells. In the palace of winds.

The English Patient, Michael Ondaatje

Sunday, February 8, 2009

All at once

Here's the good part. Unable to work at this typewriter any longer, Patchen stopped writing conventional poems. He wrote letters and poems only in a large hand scrawl. He used pens and a paint brush. He developed his "picture poems." "That's why the drawing poems and picture poems came, because he could do them relatively shortly [quickly]."

In 1960 Kenneth Patchen published Because It Is, poems-and-drawings.