ERICH HECKEL (1883/1970), GERMAN PAINTER: Shades of expressionism, twenty variations on the theme
MUSA: Poetry by Germain Droogenbroodt
MUSA Sailing immaculate, slipping on slate Mirror Lake, it only follows the bowsprit, the call of the seagull, sometimes he gets up, almost borders on the sky. An eagle with wings of Icarus. (Germain Droogenbroodt) http://www.amazon.com/Sruth-Ama-Irish-language-Rosenstock-Droogenbroodt-ebook/dp/B006PF8N4Y
Read More »MY LIFE: Poetry of Henri Michaux
MY LIFE Without me you go, my life. Rolls, and I have not done one more step. Elsewhere lead the battle. I leave me so. I I’ve never followed. I do not see clear about your proposals. The little that I want, I do not bring it to me ever. And for this failure, I aspire to much. A …
Read More »WORD AGAINST THE WORD: Poetry, by Charles Ducal
WORD AGAINST THE WORD Of all the words, ours are the most vulnerable, even if they are unquestionably in the mouth. No one asks, no one violent. They kiss the stars, they do not touch the ground. Other words, waving his arms and legs, skulls filled, inflamed throat. A knife in the back, translates as caress, a kick …
Read More »JAMES ENSOR (1860/1949), Belgian painter: Paint brushes and colors, but also vibrant and dimmed lights, anticipating the Expressionism
PAINTED LADIES AND GOLDEN BRIDGE: San Francisco, California, the city unique
A city spectacularly irresistible, pleasant to live, tolerant and culturally to the forefront. This is San Francisco, the city that I love deeply. http://www.sanfrancisco.travel/Â . His night views are unparalleled, observing its bay from the Golden Bridge, as well as fascinating is the modern structure of its Museum of Modern Art. When in the neighborhood of Mission you will have noted …
Read More »JACOPO ROBUSTI or TINTORETTO (1519/1594): The furious painter who used dramatically perspective and light
Jean-Frédéric Bazille (1841/1870), French painter: According impressionism and classical painting, merging people and scenarios.
DAYS IN WHITE: Poetry, by Ingeborg Bachmann
DAYS IN WHITE These days, I get up with birches, and forehead restart interlock the strands of wheat, in front of a mirror of ice. Amalgamated to my breath, sfiocca milk: so early, has easy foam. And where the glass I fogged with breath, seems painted by a child finger, yet your name: innocence! After a long time. These days, …
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