Saturday, February 21, 2009

e.e. cummings


now all the fingers of this tree(darling)have
hands,and all the hands have people;and
more each particular person is(my love)
alive than every world can understand

and now you are and i am now and we're
a mystery which will never happen again,
a miracle which has never happened before--
and shining this our now must come to then

our then shall be some darkness during which
fingers are without hands;and i have no
you:and all trees are(any more than each
leafless)its silent in forevering snow

--but never fear(my own,my beautiful
my blossoming)for also then's until


Photo:weheartit
via: loveology

Friday, February 20, 2009

Leonard Cohen playing the restored Beacon Theatre in NYC


The Beacon Theatre was designated by Chicago architect Walter W. Ahlschlager and opened in 1928. The 2,800-seat Beacon Theater is a fantastic Art Deco treasure, built as silent pictures began talking and as vaudeville capitulated to the movie palace era. In 1979, the historic venue was designated a national landmark. The three-level auditorium is distinguished by 30-foot statues of Greek women on each side of the proscenium arch. Other features include an open-air lobby, bronze front doors, ornate moldings, white marble floors, and corridor murals depicting elephants, camels and traders. Known for its flawless acoustics,

:Rolling Stone Review
:Leonard Cohen at the Beacon Theater, NYC-Tonight

Poetry


And it was at that age...poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river
I don't know how or when,
no, they weren't voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street it called me,
from the branches of the night,
abruptly from the others,
among raging fires
or returning alone,
there it was, without a face,
and it touched me.

I didn't know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
something kicked in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first, faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of one who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations
the darkness perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the overpowering night, the universe.

And I, tiny being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars.
My heart broke loose with the wind.
Pablo Neruda








:Roksana Mical photography
:via we heart it

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Coming Home...



Words

You are always
with me,
there is never
a separate

place. But if
in the twisted
place I
cannot speak,

not indulgence
or fear only,
but a tongue
rotten with what

it tastes- There is
a memory
of water, of
food, when hungry

Some day
will not be
this one, then

words, like a
clear, fine
ash sifts
like dust,

from nowhere.


Robert Creeley









: In Public
: New York Times
: Op-Chart A Year in Iraq and Afghanistan

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

All the World is Green

Unemployment is humiliation.

Santiago, Chile

:New York Times

Monday, February 16, 2009

When you have nothing, anything is possible.


AfriGadget: Using African ingenuity to solve everyday problems


"What if you live in a slum in one of Africa’s big cities and you can’t afford to buy a soccer ball? You make one yourself, of course, tying plastic bags together with a piece of rope. This invention symbolizes the ethos of AfriGadget, a group blog devoted to using African ingenuity to solve everyday problems. This photograph was taken in Kibera, one of the continent’s largest slums, located in Nairobi, Kenya. It appears on the site with the words: “When you have nothing, anything is possible.”


:Photo: Erik Hersman
:AfriGadget via:Ode
:Other resources-csg kibera
:Blacksmith Institute

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Free


TypeBound is the name of an exhibit curated by Craig Saper at the University of Central Florida. It consists of books as sculpture from Florida collections, and a number of typewriter poems borrowed from the great concrete & visual poetry collection of Marvin and Ruth Sackner (of Miami). "Two of the book’s most fundamental elements—-its bindings and its type—-are separated and examined for creative possibilities as they are freed of their basic, traditional functions.":via al filreis

Listen to a 5-minute podcast interview with Craig Saper, originally recorded at WUCF-FM or Orlando.