January 1, 2025 6:54 pm

Meeting Bench

HARDLY ANYTHING, BY FRANCIS CABREL: When poetry feel into musical notes

“So here is all I am good at some wind blowing through bamboo chests, pieces of sky to be put on your eyelids and some more hung to your neck. It’s nothing but usual sky, some blue you can see everywhere, still I have put all my craft into it, on top of our whole story. You see, it’s hardly …

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ANDREA DEL SARTO: Master of the Florentine Renaissance tradition

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AGNOLO BRONZINO: Among the finest painters of the late the Florentine Renaissance

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WAITING FOR THE SPRING: Bright colors of seasons away, who never went out

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YOU HAVE SAID – Poetry, by Yukitsuna Sasaki

“You said you wanted my son! You’re stupid! Water running seething in the river breaks the vortex sound you are my arms. A verse of poetry is straight oscillates in the steam that rises shaking the earth. “ (By Yukitsuna Sasaki)

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DIE OF NOT TO DIE – Poetry, by Paul Éluard

  “Your eyes are an arbitrary income countries where no one has ever known what it is that a glance nor known the beauty of the eyes, beautiful stones, the drops of water, closets beads. Bare stones, without skeleton, O my statue. The blinding sun holds you place mirror and it seems to obey the evening of powers is that …

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JE L’AIME A MOURIR, BY FRANCIS CABREL: When poetry feel into musical notes

“Moi je n’étais rien, mais voilà qu’aujourd’hui. Je suis le gardien du sommeil de ses nuits. Je l’aime à mourir. Vous pouvez détruire tout ce qu’il vous plaira, elle n’aura qu’à ouvrir l’espace de ses bras pour tout reconstruire, pour tout reconstruire. Je l’aime à mourir. Elle a gommé les chiffres des horloges du quartier. Elle a fait de ma …

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FROM THE COLLECTION “SOUL” – A poem by Birgitta Trotzig

“I see in the green area indefinitely, whispering infinite body of whispers, languages, languages and green eyes, reflexes and mobility, moisture, sparks of light – how they are separate, I do not have a separate, I’m in an eye, everything is mirages and whispers, light in a dark mirror errs increasingly far into the woods reflection”.

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AFTER EARLY MORNING – Poetry, by Inger Christensen

AFTER EARLY MORNING “After the first morning I look for the faint flue language. Again and again I kiss the memory of the waken! waken! The sun and the wings that will mix,, in brown steam morning. What you have given to my thoughts is the opposition of the sting hidden in my flower pounds. What you have given me …

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LITTLE TRIP TO THE SCANDINAVIAN POETRY: Tomas Tranströmer

COUPLE – by Tomas Tranströmer   “Shuts off the light, but its white bell jar still gleams an instant, before vanishing altogether as a tablet in a glass of darkness. Then he gets up, and the walls of the hotel they rush into the darkness of the sky. The movements of love are exhausted, and they sleep, but most secret …

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