Monday, January 15, 2018

Carloluigi Colombo paints



Kabir Deb writes


Take off your clothes 
You would find nothing of me there 
Take off your skin with a scalpel 
Death would greet you, not me 
Puncture your heart, you would fail 
It's the only option for lovers to find love 
March in a road full of strangers 
Everyone with their need, slithering like a dead leech 
Not able to find the blood it needs to live 
We believe it is a predator, but it's survival 
Go towards that march, unknowingly 
Stand beside a hungry farmer, with roped neck 
Feel how death is predating his living spirit 
You would find me in those screams, full of character 
Walk aside a homosexual human, kissing his love 
Not to be called a gay, but a revolutionary 
You would find me in those red & black salivas
Find the leaves of a tree, when hair flutters 
Kissing a girl of her height, two soft lips meeting 
Not to be marked as lesbian, but as a mother only
You would find me in the edge of those lips  
Stop beside a growing young corpuscle 
Circled by a group with a handful of musical instruments  
Beat those instruments with full force 
You would find me in the vibration of elimination  
It is not the beauty that nurtures me every time
Rather the shape of my love is like a pottery class 
Virtual body of it figures her way from a conjunction. 
-- Pierre Adrien Dalpayrat

 -- Robert Bicker


    --after Yun Dongju

That summer day
passionate poplars swayed
with arms reaching open
to caress 
the blue bosom of the sky.
A narrow point of earth in the shadow of a boiling sun.

Under a sky draped like curtains from heaven
rowdy showers and lightning,
pulled by dancing clouds
fled southward,
the wide blue sky stretched
summoning a round moon and wild geese

A full young heart rides the wings of idealism.
On this day of yearning
he mocks the tears of withering autumn.

--tr. Duane Vorhees

Anoucheka Gangabissoon writes

Existential Dramaturgy

If everyone was true to themselves
If everyone lived like an open book
Displaying at will the emotions they carry
Enunciating at will about that which troubles them
Appreciating openly about that which appeals to them
Disapproving openly about that which repels them
Pray, what would it have made of this world?

A better one?
Where living would have been fair, just, and warm
Or a hellish one?
Where everyone would have been wary of their peers
Spitting at their faces
Each time they would dare to paint their inner cosmos
As graffiti on walls?

Why, if everyone was true to themselves
And hid not 
In closets, skeletons, old and rotting
If everyone displayed at will
And expected me to be same
Why, would I have been a bloomed rose
Meant to be plucked and to be admired
Would I have been a blushing doll
Too scared to lift up my eyes to glance at the world
As it probes me
Would I have been a much coveted fruit
Meant to be savored and enjoyed for my taste
Would I have been a soothing melody
Setting everyone at ease with my calming effects?

Pray, I trust I would have been such
If I did dare to be true to myself
But, cowardly and inhibited
I choose, rather, to hide behind an image
To pretend that which is in me
Is not
To act as if I care not
To smile when I wish to swirl like a tornado
To be gentle when I am raging with a fiery fire
To be a stone when I am imbibed with human emotions!

But this world itself is not as it seems
This world itself pretends to be what it is not
This world itself revolves upon uncertainty and confusion
So, living as one of its offspring
I am to be true to her own essence!
 Image result for human tornado paintings
 Tornado -- Catalin Ilinca

David Russell reads

Musician’s testament