Sunday, February 20, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Edward Estlin Cummings...poem & drawings...
i like my body when it is with your
i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,
and possibly i like the thrill
of under me you so quite new
previous posts EE CUMMINGS
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Eilish McCarrick... paintings
Conjoined 7 (2008)
Conjoined 1 (2007)
from her series Conjoined, you can see more at her page E McCarrick
Friday, February 11, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
For Benjamin PERET...
Max Ernst - illustration for La Breis Galante 1949 by Benjamin Peret
TOM TOM 1 for Benjamin Peret
even the river of earth blood
even the blood of the ruptured sun
even the blood of a hundred nails of sun
even the blood of the suicide fire beasts
even the blood of ashes blood of salt blood
of bloods of love
even the flaming blood of the fire bird
herons and falcons
rise and burn
AIME CESAIRE
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Edmond Jabès ... poem...
From "Groundless,"
by Edmond Jabès (b. Cairo, 1912–d. Paris, 1991)
Translated by Keith Waldrop
I
No-man's-land, obsessed page
A dwelling-place is a long insomnia
in the hooded trails of a mine.
My days are days of roots,
love's yoke extolled.
The sky is always to cross and
foreground to be bed with new nights.
I form, in my weeds,
a wedge in the wall's opaque brightness.
The earth is steeped in
empty dreams of travel.
VI
Land beyond night, which the sun wrenches from
meditation, from the thorns of doubt.
Flowers parade their artful candor. The stems
emulate grand adventures in space.
Honey flows between stones
which this cement will join.
VII
Around the branches, the world mimes its hunger.
So many cries for a tree, fragrant god to
plant, to bend by a magic round. . .
My secrets are orchards.
There is no trick to the mystery.
* with thanks to Ruairi
Unica Zürn... drawing...
she opens out, forming a shining star
made of countless new arms and legs
made of countless new arms and legs
and necks and heads,
she becomes a beautiful, flower-like monstrosity....
Thursday, February 3, 2011
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