Wednesday, 24 June 2009


The Hand Of Disappearing

Every Time he puts his hand
On a spot of shadow
Shadow leaps
And dress it a glove.
Which way do you prefer her:
To be with you
Thinking of someone else
or to be
with someone else
thinking of you?
like a sleeping human
Dreaming that he is
sleeping beast dreaming that he is
sleeping human.
He doesn’t write
About her
on paper
he throws himself
on her
paper after paper.
You would love me the most:
when you lift up your hand
off me
I disappear.
Your hand
is the hand
of disappearing.

Monzer Masri

Born, lived, wrote, loved..and so near to death! been in a very few places.. Kavala, Diar baker, Lodeve...Paris.. and Londen latly... to read poetry.. My favorite place is Beirut..

Thursday, 18 June 2009


Émile Nelligan born in Montreal in 1879..
In 1896, published some of his first poems under the pseudonym "Émile Kovar." influenced by French poets as Verlaine and Baudelaire. His poems were unique and almost revolutionary in Quebec where patriotic and Romantic poetry reigned. He stressed the subjective impression, the power of words and the music of language. He wrote about nostalgia and melancholy, and the conflicts of being a poet.
In 1897, Nelligan joined the École littéraire de Montréal, a literary movement that sought to break free from the restrictive style of poetry that was so dominant in Quebec. At around this time, Nelligan's father tried to send him off to England as a Merchant Marine, unhappy with his son's choice of vocation. Nelligan continued to publish poems in local journals, and in 1898, he was readmitted into the École littéraire de Montréal, where he would often read his poems to the gathered crowd. In 1899, however, he was confined to an asylum due to mental illness. He died there in 1941.
In 1903, although only 23 of his poems had been published, Nelligan's friend Louis Dantin and his mother collected 107 poems and published them as Émile Nelligan et son oeuvre. .
Depressed, inward-looking, sometimes closed in his small room on the second floor of 260 Avenue Laval, sometimes walking in the city center, Nelligan likes to attend Bonsecours walked and Jacques-Cartier, if stops at a church. We know few women in his entourage (Edith Larrivée, Idola Saint-Jean or Barry Robertine). It would, they say, lived a pastoral idyll with a Swiss German in the fall of 1895, but we do not know much, the same mystery surrounds some Gretchen in 1897. Women at Nelligan, sometimes real, sometimes fictional (artist, apparition, mythic allusion, negress lointaine) is beautifully embedded in the imagination. And above all the world dreams of love reflected in his poems, the portrait of his mother and the plans of St. Cecilia's fear of loving.

St. Cecilia" by John William Waterhouse (1895)
The Gold Vessel Le Vaisseau d’Or
Translated from the French by Loup Kibiloki

It was a massive Ship carved out of solid Gold,
Its masts reaching azure, she sailed on unknown
With Aphrodite of love spreadeagled at the prow,
hair dishevelled and naked under excessive sun.
But it came that a night the ship struck the great reef
On treacherous Ocean where the Siren was heard.
The horrible shipwreck tilted the hull aslant
Deep down the abyss depth, immutable coffin.
It was a Gold Vessel. Her diaphanous sides
were revealing treasures that the secular crew,
Disgust and Neurosis, and Hatred, fought over.
What’s left of it under the brief abating storm?
What became of my heart, empty deserted ship?
Alas, it has sunk down in the abyss of Dream.

Friday, 12 June 2009


Edward Weston
One of the true regenerative artist: an awakener of the eye and the evolving mind it serves. Regeneration was a quality that Weston brought to photography for more than three decades, defining both the limits and the generosities of his medium. Point Lobos was only one of his subjects, though he returned to it again and again, and took his last photograph there. His career spanned crucial years in American photography, and a restless pursuit of his art created a body of work that ranged over nudes, still lifes, industrial scenes, portraiture, landscape
In 1937 Weston became the first photographer to receive the prestigious Guggenheim Fellowship. For a year, he traveled around the western United States with Charis Wilson, creating large-scale landscapes, a subject he had not pursued in depth since his time in Mexico.

The grant was renewed in 1938, part of which Weston spent at his new residence in Carmel, developing and printing negatives made in the preceding months.Weston created some 1,400 negatives during this remarkably productive time, and his visual approach became increasingly expansive. His deliberate, methodical technique of the late 1920s and early 1930s, when he spent hours creating single still life arrangements in his studio, gave way to greater spontaneity and an embrace of diverse views. His frame now encompassed hills, valleys, and coastlines, not just the rocks and tree stumps found there. He directed his attention to less static subjects, incorporating moving elements such as breaking waves or drifting clouds. , and any other subject that touched his visual imagination

Wednesday, 10 June 2009


Among the Blue

Somehow I wish could say
it was indifference not love
that found the coordinates
for cormorants among the blue
the blue-white gulls

tell you that we have lived once
and will not come this way again

say to you that as long as art
teaches language of recovery
eternal reminders of morning
will grow on our sweat, spume,
tick softly on our lips, on our lips.

Gerry McGrath was born in Helensburgh, near Glasgow, in 1962 and studied at Strathclyde University before becominga teacher. He now lives in North Ayrshire with his wife, Kate, and young son, Liam. He worked as a teacher of modern languages for seven years until 2000. He received a Robert Louis Stevenson Memorial Award in2004. His poems have appeared in Edinburgh Review, Being Alive, in Painted, Spoken and in PN Review, and a selection were published in Carcanet's New Poetries IV: An Anthology (2007).

Friday, 5 June 2009


The Mystery of the Genesis
Jorge Jimenez Deredia is a universal artist, born in Costa Rica but Italian by adoption, an expert on the Renaissance and the first non-European in the new millennium to be asked to create a sculpture for St, Peter´s in Rome.

Wednesday, 3 June 2009


Romanian-born French poet and essayist known mainly as a founder of Dada, a nihilistic revolutionary movement in the arts.The Dadaist movement originated in Zürich during World War I; Tzara wrote the first Dada texts - La Premiére Aventure cèleste de Monsieur Antipyrine (1916; "The First Heavenly Adventure of Mr. Antipyrine") and Vingt-cinq poémes (1918; "Twenty-Five Poems") - and the movement's manifestos, Sept manifestes Dada (1924; "Seven Dada Manifestos"). In Paris he engaged in tumultuous activities with André Breton, Philippe Soupault, and Louis Aragon to shock the public and to disintegrate the structures of language. About 1930, weary of nihilism and destruction, he joined his friends in the more constructive activities of Surrealism. He devoted much of his time to the reconciliation of Surrealism and Marxism and joined the Communist Party in 1936 and the French Resistance movement during World War II. These political commitments brought him closer to his fellow human beings, and he gradually matured into a lyrical poet. His poems revealed the anguish of his soul, caught between revolt and wonderment at the daily tragedy of the human condition. His mature works started with L'Homme approximatif (1931; "The Approximate Man") and continued with Parler seul (1950; "Speaking Alone") and La Face intèrieure (1953; "The Inner Face"). In these, the anarchically scrambled words of Dada were replaced with a difficult but humanized language.

On the sea stars is among the most beautiful poetry ever written in French.
The poem fits into the "post-dadaïste" Tzara period.
dedicated to Federico Garcia Lorca.

Likely written towards the end of the years 1930s.

__The path of sea stars

Tristan Tzara poem_

What wind on the solitude of the world
so I remember human beings dearf
rail désolations aspirées by the death
beyond any heavy chasses time
the storm délectait to the nearest end
the sand is already arrondissait his hip lasts
but on the mountains of the pockets of fire
vidaient safe blows their prey light
blême and short such friend turns off
which person cannot say the words contour
and no appeal to the horizon has time to rescue
its measurable form only to his disappearance
and a Flash to another
the animal still tends his bitter rump
along the enemy centuries
through fields some parade other greed
and in its failure to profile the memory
as the wood that cracca in sign of presence
and of disparate need
There is also the fruit
and I am not forgetting the wheat
and the sweat gave them push monte throat
Yet we know the price of pain
the wings of oblivion and infinis drilling
at the underneath of life
words arriving to enter the facts
just to serve for laughs

the night horse has galopé trees to the sea
and held the reins of thousand charitable representations
It has dragged the along hedges
where men breasts caught the assault
with all whisper stuck to its flanks
among the huge rugissements to rattrapaient
while fleeing the power of water
immense they are succédaient while that of any small whisper
could not be englouits and surnageaient
in the invincible solitude where spent tunnels
forests cities harnachées seas herds
a single man to the breath of several countries
met cascading and slippery on a smooth blade
of the fire unknown introduced sometimes at night
for the loss of those sleep assembles
in their deep remember
but talk more of those that bound
to the fragile branches to the bad moods of nature
even those who suffer harsh blows
tend the neck and on their body treadmill
when birds do not picorent Sun seeds
sound rigid boots of the conquerors
they are out of my memory
birds seek other spring jobs
to their calculations of sinécures
by charming herds of affolements
the wind at their kits
that the desert them is counted
the devil for warnings
Entertainment poppies and companys
crape the cold
fear monte
dry tree
human lézarde
panes fighting
fear monte
No word is fairly soft
to bring the child of the roads
lost in the head
a man at the edge of the season
It looks at the vault
and look at the abyss
watertight bulk
headsthe smoke in the throat
the roof is dwindling
but the famous animal arc-bouté
in the attention of the muscles and weird under the spasms
teep rock éclair leak in rock
is the appetite of joy déchaine
the morning rebuilt his world
to measure his yoke

Sea robber
You te penches under the expectation
and te lèves and whenever you salues drunk sea at your feet
on the sea star road
filed by columns of uncertainty
You te penches you te lèves
salutes brassés by bands
and on the heap must yet thou procedures
even while avoiding the most beautiful need yet thou procedures
You te penches
on the sea star road
my brothers shout of pain at the other end
needed them intact
What are the hands of the sea
l’on gives men nothing
glorious path on the path of the sea stars
"alcachofas alcachofas" is my beautiful Madrid
in the eyes of Tin fruity voice
that is open to all winds
vague fire iron waves
It's the splendours of the sea
needed them intact
those renversées broken branches
on the sea star road
where leads this path it leads to pain
men fall when they want to recover
men sing because they have tasteddeath
yet must walk
It workst
he path of the stars of sea by columns of uncertainty
but it empêtre in the voice of the lianas"
alcachofas alcachofas" is my beautiful Madrid at the low lights
open to all winds
calling me - years - of the discarded
It is a head of King damn son son
It is a head is the wave that sweeping
It is yet on the path of the sea stars
hands are open
They speak the beauty of the glory
nothing as reflections of tiny heave
nand imperceptible eyes surround clignements
broken waves
seas fireball
but it is open to all winds Madrid
who tramples the floor in my head
alcachofas alcachofasthe screams capitals raidis
ouvre_ you infinite heart
that enters the path of the stars
in your numbers life as the sand
and the joy of the seas
contains the Sun
in the chest where shines overnight human
the man of today ' today on the sea star road
has planted the advanced sign of life
as it must live
the flight freely chosen of the bird jusqu’à deat
hand jusqu’à the end of the stones and ages
eyes fixed on the only certainty of the world
whose drips light rabotant trapped on the ground

Tuesday, 2 June 2009