BAHNHOFSTRASSE

.....
James Augustine Aloysius Joyce (2 February 1882 – 13 January 1941) was an Irish expatriate author of the 20th century. He is known for his landmark novel Ulisses (1922) and its controversial successor Finnegans Wake(1939), as well as the shor storycollection Dubliners (1914) and the semi-autobiographical novel A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (1916).
Although he spent most of his adult life outside Ireland, Joyce's psychological and fictional universe is firmly rooted in his native Dublin, the city which provides the settings and much of the subject matter for all his fiction. In particular, his tempestuous early relationship with the Irish Roman Catholic Churchis reflected through a similar inner conflict in his recurrent alter ego Stephen Dedalus . As the result of his minute attentiveness to a personal locale and his self-imposed exile and influence throughout Europe notably i n Paris, Joyce paradoxically became one of the most comospolitan yet one of the most regionally focused of all the English Language writers of his time

Alone

The noon's greygolden meshes make

All night a veil,

The shorelamps in the sleeping lake

Laburnum tendrils trail.

The sly reeds whisper to the night

A name-- her name

And all my soul is a delight,

A swoon of shame.

Bahnhofstrasse

The eyes that mock me sign the way

Whereto I pass at eve of day.

Grey way whose violet signals are

The trysting and the twining star.

Ah star of evil! star of pain!

Highhearted youth comes not again

Nor old heart's wisdom yet to know

The signs that mock me as I go.

Be Not Sad

Be not sad because all men

Prefer a lying clamour before you:

Sweetheart, be at peace again -- -

Can they dishonour you?

They are sadder than all tears;

Their lives ascend as a continual sigh.

Proudly answer to their tears:

As they deny, deny.

HOT LINE

Parveen Shakir (1952 – 1994), author of Khushboo, Sad-Barg, Khud-Kalami, and Mah-e-Tamam, is one of the most popular poets in Pakistan. All her verse is written in Urdu and, along with other women poets of her generation, she was responsible for developing a new expression for women’s poetry in Pakistan.



A Message

It’s the same weather.
The rain’s laughter
rings in the trees, echoes.
Their green branches
wear golden flowers
and smile thinking of someone.
The breeze is a scarf, again the light-pink.
The path to the garden that knows us
is looking for us.The moment of moon-rise
is waiting for us.


Hot Line


How he used to complain to me!
So many people
come between us
we cannot talk.
In the season’s first rain,
first snow,
full-moon nights,
evening’s mild fragrance,
morning’s blue cool,
how helpless!
How the heart aches!



Today between him and me
there is no third
There can be contac
with a slight movement of the hand.
But how many seasons have passed
since hearing that voice.
It is not hard for me to call upon him,
but the truth isthe voices and the accents
do not have the same tone
The tune is the same but the hearts
are not close enough.



translated by Alamgir Hashmi

POINT LOBOS

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

THE PATH OF SEA STARS

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
______________________________________________

HAROLD NORSE AND THE BEAT HOTEL

The hotel, the patronne Madame Rachou and the stair well.
Owing to the less stringent laws in force at the time,
the smoking of hashish and marijuana was, among some
of the residents, a social activit y like any other in the hotel.
The distinctive smell would, day or night, drift from
someof the ill-fitting doors on to the stairs..beat Hotel

Harold Norse was part of the magical interlude of "The Beat Hotel". Along with William Burroughs and Brion Gysin he playe d a pivotal part in the seeds that led to cyberspace.

Excerpts from "Beat Hotel":

"Bob sat up straight in bed, straining to listen. Nothing. Voices crackled as from an old radio and figures strirred in some numb echo-chamber of his brain, like newspapers down a windy street. He felt enclosed in a soundproof room. He had no idea where he was. He looked around without comprehension, not even knowing what city he was in. Low rapid monologue, nervous whisper of junk journey, endless trips -- "... in Tangier, for example, I dug Arabic from Hebrew -- same language you see -- you get these programs from Radio Cario -- I can tell what they're saying -- school broadcasts for example: Little Mohammed, says teacher, what do you do when you meet a Jew? Kill him. Little Mohammed, what do you do when you meet two Jews? I call ten Arabs to kill 'em...Good-natured laughter and applause. Like Little Mohammed is six years old, dig. And didja know Jews ain't allowed to ride camels because that way they're higher than an Arab...?"
"Aladdin and Titania still in Tangier?"
"Too stoned to move...three years in the Casbah..empty palace..mosaicwalls...six kids...rush mats...a cat...a groundhog..nah, I forgot...somebody ate the groundhog...made groundhog soup..."
"Man, all they ever eat is brownies, majoun brownies...hash, honey, sesame seeds, anise, dates, cinnamon...check runs out each month...the bread goes for hash and grass...even the kids are stoned...contact high...they were conceived high, Aladdin says.,.those little girls giggle all the time...lean against each other for support and giggle...never talk ..."
"Aladdin don't say much...and Titania...has any one ever heard her say a word?"
"They're living in the UNIVERSE, man...no gas...no water...no electricity...only the blinding light of the void...in hotel universe...hotel nirvana..."
"Blue dream of space...celestial flash of blue light in crystal blue silence...on blue mosaic floors...lattice light on silent mosaic heads..."
"Aladdin's a joint machine...sits and rolls till he's catatonic...a holyroller...shit is his religion...best dealer in Tangier...you always get a good count."
"Yeh, best mind in the business...except for Leary..."
"They're buddies...on the astral plane...Communicate via astral post office... Saves money in stamps ...."

Angry with journalists who called the hotel a "flea-bag shrine", Harold Norse used their expression to prophesy;"The flea-bag shrine will be documented by art historians".

Patrick Shelley, the English sensualist painter, and AllenGinsberg, Room 25. Christmas 1956.
Shelley introduced me to the Beat Hotel in the winter of that year.

Light Control Panel for each of the rooms in the Beat Hotel.

The bulb glowed dimly or brightlyaccording to the amount

of electricity beiing used.

photographer Harold Chapman

ELETRIC VERSES

.....................street light & night time cities

Photo Gallery by arn at pbase.com

Electric Verses---------- bothFinnish and Swedish speaking. The site contains their

poetry in the original and translations into other languages.

EIRA STENBERG

Born in Tampere. Five collections of poetry, novels, radio plays, children's books and plays. Studied at the Sibelius Academy.

To talk of love…

the thing you can't talk about
the cul-de-sac of a looking-glass
with someone hanging upside down
from an invisible tree,
legs wrapped round a branch,
apparently grappling with gravity
and opening a mouthno cry comes out of…

Or to talk as if
love were a door
with a key called longing
and behind the door a tree flamed
into visibility,
a foetus straightened its legs and dived
up to the surface
and spoke to you the juggler,
who toss your head from hand to hand like dice,
and brought you a fresh leaf
after the deluge.

JUHANI AHVENJÄRVI

He living in Tampere. He has worked as teacher of creative writing in the University of Tampere and other places. He made his debut in 1992 in the anthology Ryhmä 92 -Group 92, edited by Jyrki Kiiskinen and Kari Levola-. Since that he has published three collections of poems, the latest of which, Yhä kiihtyvä tauko, came out in 2005.

There is no hope.
The image we
have of the eye
stays open

HELENA SINERVO

-1961 published her first collection of poems, Lukemattomiin (Untold), in 1994. Since that she has published six more. Sinervo has translated poems by Elizabeth Bishop and Yves Bonnefoy and written the lyrics for Liisa Lux’ debut song album (2002).

If the wind cannot recall, can you?

The one I thought of a thousand times
at the first hour, a thousand times at the second ,
could not recall me at all,
although the wind recalled its windward
a thousand times at the first hour, a thousand times at the second ,
and still at the third hour,
when the rooster had crowed thrice,
did the wind recall its windward
searching for early traces, covered in reminiscence.

JYRKI KIISKINEN

worked as editor in chief in the Nuori Voima literary magazine in 1991-1994 and Books from Finland in 1995-2000. He is one of the most important literary figures of his generation. He has published five collections of poems, three novels and three children’s books. He was awarded the Eino Leino Prize in 1992, Kalevi Jäntti Prize in 1994 and Yleisradio’s (the equivalent of the BBC) Tanssiva Karhu (Dancing Bear) Prize in 2000.

No one

So green that no one,
no one can say it
so green that the grass, the stand of pine trees
the clump of alders
cannot hide it
cannot describe
no one can describe it
so yellow that the dandelion, the
sun, so bright
that the water
that the light cannot break it
so deep, so warm, so quiet
is it
that no one can understand it
so icy, so dumb, so deep
is it

LEEVI LEHTO

- 1951- has published five collections of poems, Muuttunut tuuli -Changed Wind, 1967-, Rakkauden puheesta (Of Speech of Love, 1969-Ihan toinen iankaikkisuus -Quite Another Eternity, 1991- Kielletyt leikit -Forbidden Games, 1994- and Ääninen -1997- He also has published the novel Janajevin unet -Yanayev’s Dreams, 1992- and worked as translator, translating John Ashbery’s Flow Chart -Vuokaavio, 1994- among others.

You (I)
But I will couple you with the spring sky.
I have eaten angel flesh, drunk the moon from the sky,
visited China in a dream and returned to the kitchen at night:
to be my own son and close the cupboard door.

WALKING THE LINE

The 55-minute work, entitled

Walking The Line,

was performed in the space leading from to the foot of the staircase leading to the famous Winged Victory of Samothrace, The 55-minute work, entitled Walking The Line, was performed in the space leading from Michelangelo’s The Dying Slave

with the audience sitting on the wide steps looking down into the galleries.
The historic sculpture collection created a dramatic environment as a showcase

for Jones' sinewy body and for Tibetan singer, Yungchen Lhamo,

and French percussionist, Florent Jodelet, who accompanied him.

“Bill had worked with the singer before, and the acoustics are perfect

in this great architecture,” says designer Robert Wierzel, lighting designer for the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Dance Company. “Yungchen has a mesmerizing, transformative voice,

and Florent added unique bells and interesting sounds that lingered in the space.
“We went to Paris last spring to check out a possible space,” Wierzel adds. “

The first idea was to perform under I.M. Pei's glass pyramid,

but it is a huge space that you can't really shape, and there wasn't any power

that could be easily accessed,” he explains. “We also looked at a conference hall,

but it was too small and too conventional. Bill wanted to involve the museum more.”
Eventually, it was the Denon wing, located to the right of the pyramid, that seduced Jones.

“It is an amazing space, with three galleries that together measure

more than 100 meters long,” notes Wierzel. Bjorn Amelan,

a set designer and sculptor who frequently collaborates with Jones,

added a Gerriets Vario dance floor in red, which punctuated the space

like a ribbon of color cutting through the galleries. “Bill is like a living sculpture

,” says Wierzel, whose challenges were to unify the three galleries for

the performances and to work within the restricted conditions of a museum,

and not just any museum.
“There was a small audience of 100 to 150 people, maximum,”

continues Wierzel. “This was the first time Le Louvre did something like this, I was told.”

That it was a first for the museum made some of the curators

a little nervous for their centuries-old collections. “These sculpture galleries

are usually lit by daylight, so there is very little artificial light available,” the LD notes.

“I wanted to transform the space as we do in the theatre,

discover how it would be revealed, and work with the limitations,

not against them.”
Thursday, and Saturday during the week of November 20 to 24, 2007).

“Everything had to be removed from inside the galleries,” says Wierzel.

“They closed at 6pm, and the performance was at 8:30pm,

so we had a two-and-a-half-hour window. It was much more like

an installation than a theatre piece. That impacted the lighting in a major way.”

At first, Wierzel thought about using fluorescent fixtures on the floor

in a sculptural manner, à la Dan Flavin, but opted for another idea.

“In the Roman gallery, which is the longest one and the one closest to

the seating area, there are big, beautiful arched windows that look out

into a courtyard,” says Wierzel, who was allowed to leave any lighting instruments

that were outside of the windows in place for the entire week.

He opted for nine powerful 5kW ARRI Fresnels, one shining in through

each window on a 30'-tall, ground-supported boom.

“This idea bathed the marble and architecture in a beautiful, sensual,

operatic quality of light and unified the space,” adds Wierzel.
A vestibule that serves as a transition to the galleries was a second space

where the lighting could be left up, so Wierzel placed a series of eight truss booms,

four on each side, to light the red dance floor,

with each boom sporting three ETC Source Four ellipsoidals. “

This provided very bright, specific lighting, with a different look from

the large gallery,” he says.
Lighting designer Robert Wierzel had to unify the three galleries that

made up the staging areas for the performances..

In the farthest gallery from the audience — that of The Dying Slave
— Wierzel used small PAR lamps and 12 High End Systems Studio Color

wash units on the floor, focused on the vaulted white ceiling.

“I used animation very sparingly,” he notes. As this was one space

where the lighting had to be struck when the museum was open,

the floor provided the simplest solution.
In the front of the large gallery, closest to the stairs where the audience

was sitting, Wierzel had another four booms with Source Fours that had

to come and go, as well. These lit what he refers to as the “front stage,”

where the red dance floor ended. “I wanted all the color temperatures to match,” he says. “It was all very warm, with a natural light on the marble

and on Bill's beautiful skin texture. Even the High End fixtures were color-corrected.”
Wierzel worked closely with the museum's in-house team,

“The cueing was very meditative, except for one section where the light became very aggressive, following the emotional arch of the dance.”
One Vari-Lite VL3500 fixture was also placed on the floor in front of The Dying Slave,

pointing toward the audience and mostly used as a beacon.

“This blinked like the soft blue landing lights at an airport,

then morphed into a warm, effusive light. For me, it became a doorway of sorts,

a point of transition,” Wierzel explains, adding that this light was used

for Yungchen's and Jones' entrance. “You discovered the figure was there

before the light was too bright.” Additional cues gave movement to the

lights outside the windows in the main gallery, which followed Jones as he

made his way through the space.