Poem I wrote a while ago on edibles with some Fence Books and Nightboat books in my mind….
Po
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“All know that the drop merges into the ocean, but few know that the ocean merges into the drop.”
— Kabir
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Jack Spicer, “A New Poem”
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Untitled (Toad/Water) (c. 1955-57)
Ray Johnson, American, 1927-1995
Collage of cut colored, printed, coated, and painted papers, with brush and pink ink, yellow wax, and touches of graphite, on board
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Ray Johnson. Untitled [James Dean in the Rain], ca. 1953-59.
collage on illustration board
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In 1923 René Clair asks writers and artists their opinion about "seventh art" and Louis Aragon replies: "I like films in which there is no philosophy or poetry. Poetry isn’t something you look for, it’s something you find."
Poet and puppet artist Pierre Albert-Birot: "The work of art begins where imitation ends. I remember the first film comedies very dimly. It seems to me that they were really creative and, what is more, dynamic, truly born of the new medium of expression put at man’s disposal."
Poet, novelist, and filmmaker Jean Cocteau: "On the first day, since people were dazzled by the invention (of cinema), the mistake began. They photographed stage plays. Gradually these plays became cinematic plays, but never pure cinema. Such progress can only be disastrous."
Fernand Léger: "In the future, I hope for this: A cinematic concept that finds its own methods. As long as the film is based on fiction or the theater, it will be nothing. As long as it uses stage actors, it will be nothing."
Pierre Mac Orlan: "Cinema is the only art that can render our era literally in expressionist form, with all its secret rhythms which music has already grasped, but which the art of writing cannot render because language imposes a rigid framework that cannot be dislocated."
Another impressive answer from Paul Valéry: "I think that there is a need to institute an art of pure cinema, or cinema reduced to its own means. This art should steer clear of those—theater or novel—that deal in speech."
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and the moon never stops leaving its seal on black events
Line from "Beyond" by Bei Dao, 1993
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André du Bouchet
SANG
…sang
tel qu’
est
pour le dire
de surcroît
accouru sourdre
un mot
le mot est là
pas moi.
André du Bouchet, « Axiome », Ici en deux, Paris, Mercure de France, 1986, p. 159.
18th Poetry International Festival Rotterdam, 1987
[Cession] [Du bord de la faux] [En pleine terre]
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What are your favorite Arabic poems, if you have any?
These are some of my favorites:
An Ocean Without Shore, Ibn ‘Arabi
Fragment from Al-Buhturi’s Wolf
From the Luzumiyat of al-Ma’arri
From the Diwan of al-Ma’arri
Reality, Rabia al-Basri
Love, Rabia al-Basri
The Enchanter of Dust: Psalm, Adonis
The Wound, Adonis
I Pray Behind My Shadow, Bahija Massri Adelbi
The Spirit Bows to the Will of Love, Munir Mezyed
The Manner of Sand, Mahmood al-Braikan
Exculpation, Khalil Mutran
Revolt Against the Sun, Nazik al-Mala’ika
Myths, Nazik al-Mala’ika
Who am I?, Nazik al-Mala’ika
A Stranger at the Gulf, Badr Shakir al-Sayyab
An Alphabetical Formation, Faraj Bayraqdar
A couple of fragments from Sanieh Salh
Sorrows of the Black City, Muhammad al-Fayturi
Shadows, Wadih Sa’adah
The Strange Grief, al-Shabbi
A Storm in the Dark, al-Shabbi
A Body, Al-Saddiq al-Raddi
Annihilation, Muhammad Afifi Matar
Fragments from ‘Quartet of Joy’, Muhammad Affifi Matar
Mural, Mahmoud Darwish
We Will Choose Sophocles, Mahmoud Darwish
Clouds, Ounsi el-Hajj
Smoke Bloom, Nadia Anjuman
Boat to Lesbos, Nourri al-Jarrah
Your body is my map, Nizar Qabbani
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