Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Works of Art.... Songye "Kifwebe" Mask





 African masks will not make you invisible. 
They neither hide, nor diguise, nor mask. 
The gods that founded our earthly life in Africa send masks 
to transmit energy to their children...

from Mirrors by Eduardo Galeano


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The Songye tribe is located in the southeastern region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

The most well known and highly sought after mask of the Songye tribe is known as the "Kifwebe" mask. These masks are typically associated with abstract shapes as well as beautiful textured lines and linear scarification. The lines are usually painted with alternating black and white stripes, which give an almost hallucinating effect. Kifwebe masks can be male or female, with crested comb structures identifying male masks, the higher the crest, the more powerful the mask as well as the greater the spiritual power of the dancer. 



Monday, February 21, 2011

Rosaleen Norton... poem excerpt






Light's Black Majesty : Midnight Sun: Lord of the wild and
living stars:
Soul of Magic and master of Death;
Panther of Night... enfold me.
Take me, dark Shining One; mingle my being with you,
Prowl in my spirit with deep purrring joy
Live in me, giver of terror and ecstasy
Touch me with tongues of black fire.
Fed with the fire at the Black Opal's centre,
I drink living silver in moon-quickened streets,
And star-voices ringing:
All Strangeness is with me
Towering, invisible, changing the Earth
Hatred and heavens are blending within me: They beat in the
pulse of the stars,
For a god in my heart cries with primitive splendour

....

And I hear, through the seething of luminous silence-
Secretive, vibrant, the sound of the Solitude-
Calling of others like me.
Quietly they come, flitting softly a secrets; light-footed,
velvety, swift...
With eyes gleaming green, lambent flame of the Opal.
Kindred... we signal our quick recognition.
I am I ... but I know we are we
Panther of silence; god of Night; Lord of the wild inhuman
stars:
You are my own; teeming soul of solitude.
Here is no lonelines, secret Master-
You, Dark Spirit are with me.

RN

accompanying piece for "Black Magick" below





previous Rosaleen Norton post




Monday, February 14, 2011

Edward Estlin Cummings...poem & drawings...



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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


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previous posts EE CUMMINGS



Sunday, February 13, 2011

Eilish McCarrick... paintings




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Conjoined 7 (2008)

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Conjoined 1 (2007)


from her series Conjoined, you can see more at her page E McCarrick



Monday, February 7, 2011

For Benjamin PERET...





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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