essere carne nella bocca del suo cane

from Το άξιον εστί (axion esti), odysseas elytis

Fri, 17 May 2013 04:22:55 +0800

from Το άξιον εστί (axion esti), odysseas elytis

"I take off my shirt, I show you. I shaved the hair out under my arms. I roll up my pants, I scraped..."

Fri, 17 May 2013 03:02:05 +0800

“

I take off my shirt, I show you.
I shaved the hair out under my arms.
I roll up my pants, I scraped off the hair
on my legs with a knife, getting white.

My hair is the color of chopped maples.
My eyes dark as beans cooked in the south.
(Coal fields in the moon on torn-up hills.)

Skin polished as a Ming bowl
showing its blood cracks, its age, I have hundreds
of names for the snow, for this, all of them quiet.

In the night I come to you and it seems a shame
to waste my deepest shudders on a wall of a man.

You recognize strangers,
think you lived through destruction.
You can’t explain this night, my face, your memory.

You want to know what I know?
Your own hands are lying.

”

- carolyn forché

the vision of sage Markandeyahimachal pradeshearly mid 20th...

Fri, 17 May 2013 02:29:57 +0800

the vision of sage Markandeya
himachal pradesh
early mid 20th century
opaque watercolor with gold and silver or tin on paper
Philadelphia Museum of Art

” as Markandeya beheld the child, all his weariness vanished.
indeed, so great was his pleasure that the lotus of his heart, along
with his lotus eyes, fully blossomed and the hairs on his body stood on
end. confused as to the identity of the wonderful infant, the sage
approached Him: just then the child inhaled, drawing
Markandeya within His body like a mosquito. there the sage found the
entire universe arrayed as it had been before its dissolution. “

Guru Nanak’s meeting with the demon Kaliyugafrom a...

Fri, 17 May 2013 02:17:00 +0800

Guru Nanak’s meeting with the demon Kaliyuga
from a manuscript of the Janam Sakhi
(probably) Murshidabad, west bengal
1800-1850 circa
colors on paper
Asian Art Museum of San Francisco

canto nomade per un prigioniero politico - banco del mutuo...

Tue, 14 May 2013 00:08:24 +0800

canto nomade per un prigioniero politico - banco del mutuo soccorso

e voi donne dallo sguardo altero
bocche come melograno, non piangete

perché io sono nato, nato libero

SPESSO, QUANDO PARLO DEL SOLE,MI S’IMPIGLIA NELLA LINGUA...

Wed, 08 May 2013 21:08:53 +0800

SPESSO, QUANDO PARLO DEL SOLE,
MI S’IMPIGLIA NELLA LINGUA UNA
GRANDE ROSA TUTTA ROSSA.
EPPURE MI E’ IMPOSSIBILE TACERE.

Odysseas Elytis/Οδυσσέας Ελύτης

pinelopation: Ναοί Στο Σχήμα Τ’ Ουρανού από τον Μίκη...

Wed, 08 May 2013 09:00:25 +0800

pinelopation:

Ναοί Στο Σχήμα Τ’ Ουρανού από τον Μίκη Θεοδωράκη

(Temples In The Shape Of The Sky by Mikis Theodorakis)

This music piece for orchestra is a part of the oratorio composed by Mikis Theodorakis called “To Axion Esti”, inspired by Odysseas Elytis’ poem with the same name.

beetroot, my love

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 22:13:14 +0800

beetroot, my love

spittingonhegel: Θανάσης Παπακωνσταντίνου - Πεχλιβάνης

Sun, 14 Apr 2013 21:46:36 +0800

spittingonhegel:

Θανάσης Παπακωνσταντίνου - Πεχλιβάνης

ASTRO B.: Che il tempo allora si sia fermato lo so perché oggi ancora davanti al...

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 08:51:00 +0800

ASTRO B.: Che il tempo allora si sia fermato lo so perché oggi ancora davanti al...:

astroisgoodforyou:

Che il tempo allora si sia fermato lo so perché oggi ancora davanti al campo lo ritrovo intatto. È un fruscìo immobile. Capisco d’avere innanzi una certezza, di avere come toccato il fondo di un lago che mi attendeva, eternamente uguale. L’unica differenza è che allora osavo gesti bruschi, penetravo nel campo gettando un grido alle colline familiari che mi pareva mi attendessero. Allora ero un bambino, e tutto è morto di quel bambino tranne questo grido.

– C. Pavese, da Il campo di granturco, in Feria d’agosto

black radish, Ulisse Aldrovandi

Mon, 08 Apr 2013 17:13:00 +0800

black radish, Ulisse Aldrovandi

pumpkin, Ulisse Aldrovandi

Mon, 08 Apr 2013 17:08:49 +0800

pumpkin, Ulisse Aldrovandi

leah reena goren

Mon, 08 Apr 2013 07:41:20 +0800

leah reena goren

Synaulia - Pastorale Synaulia is a team of musicians,...

Wed, 03 Apr 2013 03:13:00 +0800

Synaulia - Pastorale

Synaulia is a team of musicians, archeologists, paleorganologists and choreographers dedicated to the application of their historical research to ancient music and dance, in particular to the ancient Etruscan and Roman periods.

The name comes from the Greek synaulia, which in ancient Rome referred to a group of instruments consisting mainly of wind instruments.

The group was founded and at first sponsored by the Rijksmuseum van Oudheden in Leiden, Netherlands in 1995 by Italian paleorganologist Walter Maioli and choreographer and anthropologist Natalie Van Ravenstein.In the beginning the Synaulia’s main task was mainly educational: the reconstruction of ancient musical instruments for the Dutch archeological center, Archeon.Later the scope was widened to include a more profound study into Italy’s music and dance focusing primarily on ancient Rome..

ific-e: one more

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 00:25:18 +0800

ific-e:

one more

What you have heard is true. I was in his house.His wife carried a tray of coffee and sugar....

Fri, 15 Mar 2013 08:00:00 +0800

What you have heard is true. I was in his house.
His wife carried a tray of coffee and sugar. His
daughter filed her nails, his son went out for the
night. There were daily papers, pet dogs, a pistol
on the cushion beside him. The moon swung bare on
its black cord over the house. On the television
was a cop show. It was in English. Broken bottles
were embedded in the walls around the house to
scoop the kneecaps from a man’s legs or cut his
hands to lace. On the windows there were gratings
like those in liquor stores. We had dinner, rack of
lamb, good wine, a gold bell was on the table for
calling the maid. The maid brought green mangoes,
salt, a type of bread. I was asked how I enjoyed
the country. There was a brief commercial in
Spanish. His wife took everything away. There was
some talk of how difficult it had become to govern.
The parrot said hello on the terrace. The colonel
told it to shut up, and pushed himself from the
table. My friend said to me with his eyes: say
nothing. The colonel returned with a sack used to
bring groceries home. He spilled many human ears on
the table. They were like dried peach halves. There
is no other way to say this. He took one of them in
his hands, shook it in our faces, dropped it into a
water glass. It came alive there. I am tired of
fooling around he said. As for the rights of anyone,
tell your people they can go fuck themselves. He
swept the ears to the floor with his arm and held
the last of his wine in the air. Something for your
poetry, no? he said. Some of the ears on the floor
caught this scrap of his voice. Some of the ears on
the floor were pressed to the ground.

the colonel, carolyn forché

"Call me a wild thing. I run sometimes. Sometimes I sleep beneath the ancient tree. My belly is..."

Fri, 15 Mar 2013 07:46:17 +0800

“Call me a wild thing. I run sometimes. Sometimes I sleep
beneath the ancient tree. My belly is softer than my back.
There are things inside of me that are overgrown with blackberries.
They are plump with the sun, ready to stain fingers.
There is a room where a woman with a loom weaves.
She is making a fabric, like skin, white as a ghost. The light
passes through it. Her body is like lace.
The light passes through it.
Its corners curl into shapes and beautiful patterns.
She lays herself before me on top of the table
and places my teacup onto her chest.
They are both trembling things.
She covers her body with teacups, balancing,
braces herself for any movement in the earth.
The earth is a trembling thing. I lat at her feet
and kiss her ankle.
We are all trembling things.”

- Anis Mojgani, excerpt from This House (via thehomosexualheartthrob)

calathea is love

Fri, 08 Mar 2013 03:00:14 +0800

calathea is love

morakot (emerald), directed by apichatpong weerasethakul

Tue, 05 Mar 2013 02:10:02 +0800

morakot (emerald), directed by apichatpong weerasethakul

Eye Am: Axion Esti (Worthy It Is) ~ Ode 10*

Mon, 04 Mar 2013 10:01:00 +0800

Eye Am: Axion Esti (Worthy It Is) ~ Ode 10*:

THE BLOOD of love empurpled me
And neverseen joys shaded me
I corroded in the south-wind of men
My Distant Mother, Rose Unwithering

Out at sea they awaited me
Their three-masted boats fired at me
Was it sin for me too to have a love
My Distant Mother, Rose Unwithering

One time in July her large eyes
Opened halfway inside my heart
To illumine virgin life for a moment
My Distant Mother, Rose Unwithering

And since then the aeons’ rages
Have turned against me shouting out
“May he who saw thee live in blood and stone”
My Distant Mother, Rose Unwithering

Again I looked like my country
Mid stones I blossomed and I grew
And I pay back the murderers’ blood with light
My Distant Mother, Rose Unwithering

ode X

Το άξιον εστί (Axion Estí)
Οδυσσέας Ελύτης (Odysseas Elytis)
Μίκης Θεοδωράκης (Mikis Theodorakis)