wretched thou art wherever thou art
I sit and work on a line and lean into the pain my mind continues trying to think and all I come up with is a texture without ideas
and to whatever thou turnest —
the body I have is the body I once had but they could not differ more the teacher Agnes says abstract form holds meaning beyond words
I turn the pages of the old book
the way certain feelings come to us with no discernible worldly cause the teacher Buddha says the practitioner agitated by thoughts
I have not held since childhood
makes stronger their bondage to suffering and the sting of becoming during the time illness makes me feel most tied to the material world
— Brian Teare, an excerpt from When we are on the right track we are rewarded with joy
[x]
I sit and work on a line and lean into the pain my mind continues trying to think and all I come up with is a texture without ideas
and to whatever thou turnest —
the body I have is the body I once had but they could not differ more the teacher Agnes says abstract form holds meaning beyond words
I turn the pages of the old book
the way certain feelings come to us with no discernible worldly cause the teacher Buddha says the practitioner agitated by thoughts
I have not held since childhood
makes stronger their bondage to suffering and the sting of becoming during the time illness makes me feel most tied to the material world
— Brian Teare, an excerpt from When we are on the right track we are rewarded with joy
[x]
poets.org
When we are on the right track we are rewarded with joy
wretched thou art
👍1
Ingeborg Bachmann, No Delicacies, trans. Margitt Lehbert, from Poetry (October 1998)
🔥2❤1
“Although I'm only an amateur artist, I've enjoyed making pencil sketches all my life. I've dabbled in most of the media available before computers, and now with that, too. A few years ago I made these renderings of two of the fuzzy critters here, Pica, a chocolate-point Siamese, and Nago (her son), a seal-point. They were done with a medium lead pencil on bristol board. I've finally found some of my other drawings of the cats (hooray!), these drawn on high quality vellum, which I was trying out at the time. Below are two of them, pencil sketches of Pica ("Peek") curled against Subi, and one of Subi asleep alone. When I was recovering from the broken hip I got in our freak auto accident in 1982, our friend Carol Donner suggested I try drawing to occupy me when I could only sit or recline. Good ways to get the brain going again, too, and I thank her for her empathetic "therapy"”
— Wendy Carlos’s drawings from her personal website [x]
— Wendy Carlos’s drawings from her personal website [x]
❤4👍3
“I forgot
my body’s handwriting
my shoulders’ calligraphy and the contour of my laughter
I must be naked
I’ll go beneath the sun
beside the wind
I went on a trip
the Mediterranean laughed at me
it said
Why are you afraid of the water?
The Persian empire has fallen
we’ve agreed on summer
come, with old Phoenician mariners
we’ll go sailing”
Sara Mohammadi-Ardehali, Empire of Dust, from The Mirror of My Heart, Dick Davis
my body’s handwriting
my shoulders’ calligraphy and the contour of my laughter
I must be naked
I’ll go beneath the sun
beside the wind
I went on a trip
the Mediterranean laughed at me
it said
Why are you afraid of the water?
The Persian empire has fallen
we’ve agreed on summer
come, with old Phoenician mariners
we’ll go sailing”
Sara Mohammadi-Ardehali, Empire of Dust, from The Mirror of My Heart, Dick Davis
❤2
Shirin Neshat
I Am Its Secret (Women of Allah)
1993
Inscribed on the image is a poem by Forough Farrokhzad:
I will greet the sun again
the stream that was running through me
the clouds that were like my long thoughts
the painful growth of that garden
that crossed the dry seasons with me
the heap of birds that offered me the gift of
wonderful scent of farms
my mother who lived in the mirror
and resembled my old age
[x]
I Am Its Secret (Women of Allah)
1993
Inscribed on the image is a poem by Forough Farrokhzad:
I will greet the sun again
the stream that was running through me
the clouds that were like my long thoughts
the painful growth of that garden
that crossed the dry seasons with me
the heap of birds that offered me the gift of
wonderful scent of farms
my mother who lived in the mirror
and resembled my old age
[x]
🔥6