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14 janvier 2010 4 14 /01 /janvier /2010 07:00



You say it shatters glass,

The way I call your name,

Two syllables hurled up the stair,

Or across the field,

Hard as stone, no preludes to soften their way.

Like flat pebbles sent skimming

On the surface of a frozen pool

I watch them hop and skitter

As they find their mark

And crack the ice

Of your inattention.



                                      CAROLE CHRISTINA JACOBS

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11 janvier 2010 1 11 /01 /janvier /2010 12:03
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23 décembre 2009 3 23 /12 /décembre /2009 12:37
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Copyright: ESSAADINOV, Essaadi Mohamed Ali

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4 décembre 2009 5 04 /12 /décembre /2009 15:58



(copyright de l'artiste)


LIEN: LINK: http://artflock.com/artist/lakeillustration/



In Wales at Laugharne at last I stand beside
..his cliff-perched writing shed
....above the coursing waters
......where the hawk hangs still
........above the cockle-strewn shingle
Where he walked in a glory of all his days
....(before the weather turned around)
And aie! aie! a waterbird far away
....cries and cries again
......over St. Johns Hill
And in his tilted boathouse now
....a tape of himself is playing --
......his lush voice
........his plush voice
..........his posh accent
............(too BBC-fulsome, cried the Welsh)
..............now echoes through his little
................upstairs room
And aie! aie!
.....echo the waterbirds once again
Beyond his sounding shed
....a fig tree hides the sea
......A fishboat heeled over
........a grebe afloat far out
..........a coracle abandoned
............a rusted coaler out of Cardiff still
..............a bold green headland lost in sun
Beyond which lie (across an ocean and a continent)
....San Francisco's white wood houses
......and a poet's sun-bleached cottage
........on Bolinas' far lagoon
..........with its wind-torn Little Mesa
............(so very like St. Johns Hill)
A single kestrel soars over
....riding the salt wind
........'high tide and the heron's call'
.........................................still echoing
...........(Aie! aie! it calls and calls again)
As in his listing boathouse now
....his great recorded voice runs out
......(grave as a gravedigger in his grave)
........leaving a sounding void of light
..........for poets and herons to fill
(Drowned down in New York's White Horse Tavern
....he went not gentle into his good night)
And Far West poets calling still
....over St. Johns Hill
......to the loveliest poet of all our days
........sweet singer of Swansea
..........lushed singer of Laugharne
............Dylan of all our days

-- Lawrence Ferlinghetti, These Are My Rivers

(reprinted by permission of LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI) 

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1 décembre 2009 2 01 /12 /décembre /2009 19:53



(copyright de l'artiste)


LIEN: http://www.artbreak.com/kunle



As you say, Ann,

 Buddhas were my thing

Long ago

in flower power days

we strewed petals

to honour him

sat in a lotus-like squat

and emptied our minds.

No mantras, no noise,

no distraction

only Buddha

on his plinth and us

with our backs to him

our bottoms raised

on kapok cushions,

contemplating the wall.

Buddha took no offence

and finally broke

the shackles

in my mind

eased my aching joints

and made me –

just by his wooden–

tranquillity -

and would break free

from all that grief.


                                                           AERONWY  THOMAS

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1 décembre 2009 2 01 /12 /décembre /2009 14:51


(copyright de l'artiste)

LIEN: http://www.artbreak.com/luisPinto




Eyes float like seaweed

On perfect blue waters

To see fish bolt or approach






Look into the deep

To see fish greet you

Nature and man reconciled




Look into the depth

Fish approach, jump with joy

A meeting


                                                  AERONWY    THOMAS

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19 novembre 2009 4 19 /11 /novembre /2009 07:56



(copyright de l'artiste)


(for Molly)
by Peter Thabit Jones

Tattooed on the rocks in the midday sun,
They were hieroglyphs we understood.

Behind the boy-tall grass, we slyly sat
As patient as pyramid statue-cats.

The moments burned; the flying rooks were vultures;
The sky was blue, some brittle clouds in heaven.

Like ‘palm crocodiles’, like playtime dinosaurs,
They basked in a freedom known aeons ago.

As dry as Lazarus just from the tomb,
Legged snakes, rest lodged in them as sweet as dust.

As still as lizards photographed, like taut thoughts,
The smoke of autumn’s drug dreamed through their world.

One by one, we hurried to seize our catch;
The lizards darted, swimming though the grass,

Discarding their tails tugged off by clumsy grasps.
Then we claimed the rocks and blessed them with our laughs.

From The Lizard Catchers (Cross-Cultural Communications, 2006

LIEN: http://www.peterthabitjones.com/


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15 novembre 2009 7 15 /11 /novembre /2009 20:27

(copyright de l'artiste)

LIEN: www.kestutisjauniskis.com


The snowdrops
show their heads
above the snow.

Sleeting rain
April showers
Spring flowers

Blossom pink petals
fall to the ground
green buds unfurl...


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12 novembre 2009 4 12 /11 /novembre /2009 13:06


LIEN: http://www.georgekrevskygallery.com/


Lawrence Ferlinghetti:
Lawrence Ferlinghetti   
Evolution of a Painter
November 5, 2009 - December 19, 2009
exhibition artwork

Lawrence Ferlinghetti is not only a master of words and metaphors, but also a master of color and visual symbolism. He has been painting and drawing for as long as he has been writing. This solo exhibition is the first to take a retrospective view, giving insight into Ferlinghetti's development as a visual artist over six decades.

Ferlinghetti's art is lyrical, political, passionate, opinionated, sometimes personal, and often controversial. It occupies a distinct place in the international dialogue on culture and society. His mother's family was French and his father Italian, and both France and Italy have played key roles in Ferlinghetti's artistic career.

Ferlinghetti began his art studies in 1948 in Paris, while working on his doctorate in literature at the Sorbonne. In 1950 he completed his first painting, a surrealist composition inspired by another great author/artist, Jean Cocteau. After arriving in San Francisco in 1953, Ferlinghetti rented the studio recently vacated by Hassel Smith. Ferlinghetti explored Abstract Expressionism for a time, but the human figure has come to dominate his mature art.

The artist has affinities with the postmodern expressionism of the Italian Transavanguardia, a movement defined by the art critic, Achille Bonito Oliva. Bonito Oliva has referred to Ferlinghetti as an honorary member of a group that includes Sandro Chia, Francesco Clemente, and Mimmo Paladino. Ferlinghetti has also been embraced by contemporary European Fluxus, a neo-dadaist movement centered at the Archivio Conz in Verona. Fluxus is an art that is almost "anti-art," making use of found objects and cultural references. A Ferlinghetti painting may incorporate a quote from another poet, an image from another painter, or a recognizable icon like the Winged Victory of Samothrace. These "borrowed" elements are often put to ironic or satirical uses.

Ferlinghetti has been the subject of solo museum shows at the Butler Institute of American Art (Youngstown, OH) and in Belgium, Czech Republic, and Italy. Paintings have been acquired for the permanent collections of the Smithsonian Museum of American Art and the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco.

Evolution of a Painter will be the artist's six solo exhibition at the George Krevsky Gallery, which has represented Ferlinghetti since 1995.
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26 octobre 2009 1 26 /10 /octobre /2009 12:28
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