Meeting Benches World art in all forms

POETRY IS A BOMB ATTACK CELESTIAL I’m absent, but the bottom of this there is no expectation of myself, and this expectation is another form of presence, waiting for my return. I live in the other objects, giving a little trip of my life in certain trees and certain stones, which I have waited many years. They are tired of …

They are many, they are far apart, but well reached by comfortable ferries. The advice is to arrive in the island of Corfu (if you want to visit the northern part of the archipelago), or from Kefalonia, to the southern islands. You find – even now – many tourists, but also many fishing villages and many beaches. If you want …

I WANT TO GO BACK I want to go back the ancient sweetness crying alone. So I said to her not to separate us. (Takuboku Ishikawa) http://www.amazon.com/Knowing-Oneself-Too-Well-Selected/dp/061534562X/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

DREAMS As he slept badly, he woke with anger for wanting to redo the loss. Loss of what? He was not sure. At his age, hardly love, perhaps a spasm. A narrow dense core, no more, He assured himself, breathing on his own in the dark. Why then he watched the door as if someone had come, and then walked …

  This epic story, the journey of Captain Ahab in pursuit of Moby Dick (a big white whale), has accompanied generations of readers – children and adults – for over a century and a half. Regarded as one of the great American novels, its beginning is truly one of the most recognizable of all Western literature, with its extremely realistic …

IN THE DESERT OF SOLITUDE Even in the desert of this solitude, sparkle still images drawn from your words. And in the dust and ashes of the distance, still flourish jasmine and rose dell’esserti close. Right here salt the warmth of your breath, warmed by its own scent, gently, gently. And there beyond the horizon spark, drop by drop hesitant, …

THIS TRIP   I do not know how many dreams ago began this journey, the shore of the sun, the shore of death. Like a veil sinks back into memory, apprentice of exile. Oh mirror, moon ominous. From which mountain will ask the way to the waters, the shore of the sun, the shore of death. The time has stopped, …

BETWEEN THE BATTLES AGAINST MYSELF What are my work, type of weapon and fight change, one of us always wins, usually is the other. There is a dead time, punctuated forage coitus drug talk: life. It’s too long, the wounds are closed too quickly. (Heiner Müller) http://www.amazon.com/Heiner-Muller-Reader-Plays-Poetry/dp/0801865786      

I am sure you will love this opportunity to stay. Yes, very, very safe, because the flight of stairs leading to the bedroom, the small sitting-room, to the room of the lighthouse, will offer a panorama incredibly spectacular. Certainly, this unusual suite is a little expensive, but interesting, intriguing and unusual to celebrate a special moment of your life. http://www.vuurtoren-harlingen.nl/en/ …

THAW   When we brought you home in a taxi, through the steel-grey thaw, after the coldest week in memory – even the river sealed itself – it was I, hardly breathing, who came through the passage to our yard, welcoming our simplest things: a chopping block, the frost-split lintels; and though it meant a journey through darkening snow, arms …