Meeting Benches World art in all forms

YVES TANGUY 1/6 – He was born and died in January, wrapped in the winters of Paris and Woodbury. In 1924, the surrealism enters his life, reading the magazine “The Surrealist Revolution.” At the age of 28, he exhibited his paintings at the Galerie Au Sacre du Printemps in Paris (with Arp, Ernst and Masson, Miró and Picasso). Despite his …

SHADOWS So I thought of you and I have written so much about you, not to know who you were. In so many rooms I slept, without you by my side, and many are the houses in which I lived, without you. There are many cities where I met you. There are many things that I need, or lost due …

WORDS IN THE FORM OF CLOUD OF DUST I open the window overlooking anywhere. The window that opens inward. The wind lifts snapshots mild, towers of dust swirling. They are higher than this house. They are within this paper. Fall and get up. Before you say anything, to fold the sheet disperse. Whirlwinds of echoes aspirated, inspired by their own …

FAREWELL Farewell, forget and forgive. And burn the letters, such as a bridge. And that is your courageous journey, which is straight and simple. And there is darkness for you to shine a bit of silver stars, there is hope to warm your hands close to your fire. There are blizzards, snow, rain and the crackle of flame furious, and …

KARLOVASSI BAY Old houses inhabited by the boos of the night boats. By lampshades hang small wooden ships built with care from the hands of sailors convicted. For years and years now they are locked. Rust, salt, moths, termites have corroded doors, windows, floors, stairs, locks, bars. Here once children played with a dog as big as a lion. Naked …

DAYS IN WHITE In these days, I get up with birches and on the forehead I restart interlock the strands of wheat, in front of a mirror of ice. Amalgamated to my breath, flakes milk: so early it has easy foam. And where the glass fogged with breath appears, painted by a child finger, yet your name: innocence! After a …

A love story, one that fly from San Francisco to Poland, to the story of the concentration camps where Japanese Americans were imprisoned during the Second World War. Reading this novel you will know a woman (Alma, cultured and wealthy), who decides to make the last part of her life in San Francisco, in a residence for seniors. Normality of …

SOLITUDE LITTLE FEARS THE EMBRACEMENT The solitude fears little the embrace. I am explaining to two hungry blackbirds, behind the window with their beaks holed up in feathers, that loneliness is nothing more than hunger and that (at least for them) the embrace can mean the piece of bread. I have to convince them that Lent is still far away. …

NIKE You are like the Nike of Samothrace in Paris, oh sleepless love: also hurt, with the same fervor you tend arms mutilated, and you fly. (Maria Pazlikoswka)

NOTHING WILL COME MORE Nothing will come more. There will be no spring. Millennial almanacs, it predict at all. But even summer and other things bearing the beautiful summer attribute, nothing will come more. You must not cry, says music. No one else said anything. (Ingeborg Bachmann)

LAYER Love each time whitens the soul like a room. Overlaps the previous one on the other, sull’azzurrino away with tiny flowers, come the field poppies, then the light yellow with roses. And somewhere in a corner all peels off. Petals as you browse the layers of paint, and if I tried to scratch with a fingernail, would shine in …

I BELIEVE I believe in the good things and the good, I believe in friendship, I believe in love. In what is above reason, and whose origin in the world do not see, in what it has in its goal. I believe in the inspiration of the poet, I think in every heartbeat. In an eternal life and superior, in …

SAME OLD LOVE Take away your things and go You can’t take back what you said, I know I’ve heard it all before, at least a million times I’m not one to forget, you know I don’t believe, I don’t believe it You left in peace, left me in pieces Too hard to breathe, I’m on my knees Right now, …

STITCHES I thought that I’ve been hurt before But no one’s ever left me quite this sore Your words cut deeper than a knife Now I need someone to breathe me back to life Got a feeling that I’m going under But I know that I’ll make it out alive If I quit calling you my lover Move on You …