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| by alessandro gottardo |
31 October 2010
begin here
"For, despite the accumulation of experience, one must always be ready to begin again, until it's someone else's turn to begin without us, and we are completely free from the pain of love, from the pain of attachment--the price we pay to be involved."
- The Coming and Going of Strangers, Simon Van Booy
27 October 2010
26 October 2010
24 October 2010
a love story
today, a lovely stormy sunday,
i chanced upon simon van booy's
it is a collection of short stories but
it was accidentally placed
in the poetry section of the bookstore.
i put down the other poetry books in my arms
and began reading the first story,
which shares the same title with the book.
it was a poignant read.
i was glad the weather felt the same.
"...Hannah and I waded through snowy fields,
past old gates and fallen trees,
laughing and calling out
as our bodies disappeared from view.
The shadows remained.
Gifts from the fallen, not lessening our happiness
but guiding it, deepening it,
and filling us with the passion
we would need to sustain our love
in the coming days.
A gentle reminder
that what we have is already lost."
---
simon van booy grew up in the united kingdom
but now lives in new york.
he is a widower and a father
to a five-year old girl.
23 October 2010
wanderlust
#10. Get lost.
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| places of creation of natural water paintings |
"Big enough to get lost on.
Small enough to find myself.
That's how to use this island.
I came here to place myself
in the world.
Iceland is a verb
and its action is to center."
- Roni Horn
Still Life
(Vilhelm Hammershøi: The Poetry of Silence)
still life
with a woman
a table
a chair
the back of her neck
a door
a window
light and shadow
a woman waiting by the window
watching shadows
weighing light
21 October 2010
18 October 2010
17 October 2010
16 October 2010
indian summer
"I was not prepared: sunset, end of summer. Demonstrations
of time as a continuum, as something coming to an end..."
of time as a continuum, as something coming to an end..."
- Louise Glück
15 October 2010
to be a bird, to be a song
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| photo by neamoscou |
When the Birds Sing
At dawn, before their wings can be told
from leaves, when light is still
a streak, like flying.
from leaves, when light is still
a streak, like flying.
On dim days when all the fields go
veiled, and any named thing might be
something else.
veiled, and any named thing might be
something else.
Late, when a woman can no longer
take back what she has told
her man, they sing, and
take back what she has told
her man, they sing, and
she is alone, she thinks, in the barrens
of her own heart, and yet she knows
the birds are there.
of her own heart, and yet she knows
the birds are there.
- Lola Haskins
14 October 2010
13 October 2010
11 October 2010
10 October 2010
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