miércoles, 31 de marzo de 2010

klimt + ferlinghetti

They are kneeling upright on a flowered bed
       has just caught her there
                                    and holds her still
      Her gown
                     has slipped down
                                               off her shoulder
He has urgent hunger
                      His dark head
                                  bends to her
And the woman the woman
     turns her tangerine lips from his
             one hand like the head of a dead swan
               draped down over
                                          his heavy neck
                        the fingers
                            strangely crimped
                                         tightly together
       her other arm doubled up
                           against her tight breast
          her hand a languid claw
                                      clutching his hand
           which would turn her mouth
                                                    to his
  her long dress made
                    of multicolored blossoms
                            quilted on gold
   her Titian hair
                    with blue stars in it
And his gold
                   harlequin robe
                               checkered with
                                             dark squares
    Gold garlands
                         stream down over
                                          her bare calves &
                                              tensed feet
Nearby there must be
                    a jeweled tree
                              with glass leaves aglitter
                                   in the gold air
 It must be
                             in a faraway place somewhere
      are silent together
                                 as in a flowered field
                   upon the summer couch
                                                which must be hers
    And he holds her still
                                   so passionately
             holds her head to his
                                 so gently so insistently
               to make her turn
                                       her lips to his
 Her eyes are closed
                              like folded petals
      will not open
                               is not the One
Short story on a painting of Gustav Klimt, Lawrence Ferlinghetti

sábado, 27 de marzo de 2010

vuela esta canción

para tí, lucía,
la más bella historia de amor
que tuve y tendré

miércoles, 24 de marzo de 2010

van gogh + rexroth

There are no images here
In the solitude, only
The night and its stars which are
Relationships rather than
Images. Shifting darkness,
Strains of feeling, lines of force,
Webs of thoughts, no images,
Only night and time aging
The night in its darkness, just
Motion in space in the dark.
It is a night full of darkness,
And space, and stars, and the hours
Going by, and time going by,
And the night growing old, and all
The webs, and nets, of relationships
Changing, and it is Spring night
In Provence, here where I am,
And under the half moon the almond
Buds are ready to burst. Before noon
The blossoms will open, here by
This peach colored house amongst
The steel gray pines and the gray
Limestone cliffs. Now the buds
Are round and tight in the dim
Moonlight, in the night that
Stretches on forever, that had
No beginning, and that will
Never end, and it doesn't mean
Anything. It isn't an image of
Something. It isn't a symbol of
Something else. It is just an
Almond tree, in the night, by
The house, in the woods, by
A vineyard, under the setting
Half moon, in Provence, in the
Beginning of another Spring.

jueves, 18 de marzo de 2010

think twice

Go ahead: say what you're thinking. The garden
is not the real world. Machines
are the real world. Say frankly what any fool
could read in your face: it makes sense
to avoid us, to resist
nostalgia. It is
not modern enough, the sound the wind makes
stirring a meadow of daisies: the mind
cannot shine following it. And the mind wants to shine, plainly, as
machines shine, and not
grow deep as, for example, roots. It is very touching,
all the same, to see you cautiously
approaching the meadow's border in early morning,
when no one could possibly
be watching you. The longer you stand at the edge,
the more nervous you seem. No one wants to hear
impressions of the natural world: you will be
laughed at again; scorn will be piled on you.
As for what you're actually
hearing this morning: think twice
before you tell anyone what was said in this field
and by whom.

daisies, louise glück

sábado, 13 de marzo de 2010

Looking for a Source of Diversion

A dentist in London laid it on George, me and wives, without telling us, at a dinner party at his house. He was a friend of George's and our dentist at the time, and he just put it in our coffee or something. He didn't know what it was; it's all the same thing with that sort of middle-class London swinger, or whatever. They had all heard about it, and they didn't know it was different from pot or pills, and they gave us it. He said, 'I advise you not to leave,' and we thought he was trying to keep us for an orgy in his house, and we didn't want to know, and we went to Ad Lib and these discotheques, and there were these incredible things going on.
It was insane, going around London. When we went to the club we thought it was on fire, (...). We thought, 'Shit, what's going on here?' We were cackling in the streets, and people were shouting, 'Let's break a window,' you know; it was just insane. We were just out of our heads. When we finally got on the lift, we all thought it was on fire, but there was just a little red light. We were all screaming like that, and we were all hot and hysterical, (...).
God, it was just terrifying, but it was fantastic. I did some drawings at the time, I've got them somewhere, of four faces saying, 'We agree with you!' (...). And then George's house seemed to be just like a big submarine. I was driving it, they all went to bed, I was carrying on in it, it seemed to float above his wall which was eighteen foot, and I was driving it.
(...) The second time we had it was in LA. We were on tour in one of those houses, Doris Day's house or wherever it was we used to stay, and the three of us took it, Ringo, George and I. (...).
Peter Fonda came, and that was another thing. He kept saying [in a whisper], 'I know what it's like to be dead,' and we said, 'What?' and he kept saying it. We were saying, 'For Christ's sake, shut up, we don't want to know,' and he kept going on about it (...).

John Lennon interviewed by Jann S. Wanner for Rolling Stone Magazine, January 21, 1971.

lunes, 8 de marzo de 2010

give spring a chance

i'm going to see the folks i dig
i'm coming home to california

jueves, 4 de marzo de 2010

para variar


lunes, 1 de marzo de 2010

a pedido del público

mi sono innamorato di te perché non avevo niente da fare