امروز ۲۹ آوریل و ۹ اردیبهشت، روز جهانی رقصه.

برقصید، حتا با غصه. با همه‌چیز.

“We all have our la-la-la song. The thing we do when the world isn’t singing a nice tune to us. We sing our own nice tune to drown out ugly. Fern and I colored and sang.”

- Rita Williams-Garcia
- One Crazy Summer

#Novel #ChildrensBook One Crazy Summer, Rita Williams-Garcia
🌿 @booksandtrees

میلان کوندرا خیلی بازیگوش و بانمکه. پس از مدت‌ها دوباره دارم یکی از کتاب‌هاش رو می‌خونم و حس می‌کنم یک پیرمرد خوش‌مشرب نشسته کنارم، با جدیت حرف می‌زنه و با همون جدیت کاری می‌کنه قهقهه بزنم. 🦆

- همین پیرمرد بلا 🤍

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish you sat on the sofa
and I sat near.
The handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin-bound.
Though it could be, of course,
the other way around.

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish we were in my car
and you'd shift the gear.
We'd find ourselves elsewhere,
on an unknown shore.
Or else we'd repair
to where we've been before.

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish I knew no astronomy
when stars appear,
when the moon skims the water
that sighs and shifts in its slumber.
I wish it were still a quarter
to dial your number.

I wish you were here, dear,
in this hemisphere,
as I sit on the porch
sipping a beer.
It's evening, the sun is setting;
boys shout and gulls are crying.
What's the point of forgetting
if it's followed by dying?

—Joseph Brodsky, A Song
@kmnag

«اگر هنر قرار باشد چیزی به انسان بیاموزد، این است که شبیه هنر شود، نه شبیه انسان‌های دیگر. حقیقتا اگر فرصتی در کار باشد که انسان بتواند چیزی غیر از قربانی یا آدم‌بده‌ی زمانه‌اش بشود، آن فرصت در واکنش غریزی او به دو سطر پایانی تندیس آپولوی ریلکه نهفته‌ است که می‌گوید:
تندیسش با تمامی نیروی ماهیچه‌ها بر سرت فریاد می‌کشد
زندگی‌ات را دگرگون کن!»

- جوزف برودسکی
- اگر حافظه یاری کند

We cannot know his legendary head
with eyes like ripening fruit. And yet his torso
is still suffused with brilliance from inside,
like a lamp, in which his gaze, now turned to low,

gleams in all its power. Otherwise
the curved breast could not dazzle you so, nor could
a smile run through the placid hips and thighs
to that dark center where procreation flared.

Otherwise this stone would seem defaced
beneath the translucent cascade of the shoulders
and would not glisten like a wild beast's fur:

would not, from all the borders of itself,
burst like a star: for here there is no place
that does not see you. You must change your life.

- Rainer Maria Rilke, Archaic Torso of Apollo