All posts filed under: Art

‘Angel on High’ and other poems by Aoife Read

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Angel On High   An angel came to me today, small and full of memories a hodgepodge of worn paint, and yellowed glue chipped on her edges and thick with the scent of my youth. Imperfect, old, barely there. You promised her to me when I was as small as her. Imperfect, young, barely there. You said to me, “When I die, you can have this angel, and she will always look after you, even when I’m not around anymore, to do it myself.” It took more than the two years since your death for her to find her way to me but today she finally found me. I’ve placed her somewhere high. Given her pride of place amongst childhood trinkets, things that I can’t bring myself to part with remnants of my smallness. top shelf, where all the best stuff is. She’s surrounded by gold now, real gold. The gold that grazed your weary flesh as you breathed your last. Rested on your pulse as you passed from one void to the next. The …

‘Fire relies on the leaves of gum trees’ and other poems by Dominique Hecq

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Hushed   Light pours down the unrelenting sky to earth ribbed and ridged with the tough stroke of Drysdale’s brush I track down words for hues and shades in books envy the skill of artist-explorers who forged new ways of seeing The cries of crows fall Through blues onto rusty ochres pulsing with raven dust This place stills my tongue Pulse   1   Somewhere in this night lives a light that turns in the open throat of time.  2   When the sky waits for rain birds squat in silence and longing is but one great sweeping movement that makes the earth quake. 3   The clock stands still in the heat, and I fear the mimicry of clichés— like a comma usurping all punctuation.   4   No, I don’t believe in the silence drying up on your lips.   5   I dream the wish that inhabits you is a space opening up a gap into the night.   6   What I write gleams like the moon pulsing in a sea …

Poems by Valentina Colonna translated by Pawel Sakowski

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  Ho raccolto un’ombra quando salivo le scale. Stava giusto scendendo.   Mentre toccavo le tegole ho perso un’idea. Rotolava avvolta tra i panni. Poi il vento ha smosso le fila: è scivolata travolta di vuoti.   Il carro stava giusto passando. – Flatus Fluit Ad Fortunae Fossam –   Ho appena cambiato l’acqua ai fiori.˜ I picked up a shadow when I was going up the stairs. It was just going down.   While I was touching the tiles I lost an idea. It rolled down wrapped in cloths. Then the wind moved the strings: and the idea slid away overwhelmed with emptiness.   A cart was just passing by. – Flatus Fluit Ad Fortunae Fossam –   I have just watered my flowers. Mentre cammino in terrazza la banda suona e ti dico “La senti?” Mi insegue da una parte all’altra del perimetro di confine al mio riso perché non sentano i vicini quest’allegria dei miei anni spaiati al vento. Così suona nella casa di fronte poi dietro in piazza, davanti al secondo piano …

Making ‘Den of Sibyl Wren’ by Salma Ahmad Caller

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  Notes on Salma Ahmad Caller’s process for the making of ‘Den of Sibyl Wren’.    The Den of Sibyl Wren is my response to A Hierarchy of Halls (Smithereens Press, 2018) by Christine Murray. It is my response to words Chris wrote about how she feels about this poem, and what she sees in her mind’s eye.    Details of the image ‘Den of Sibyl Wren’ by Salma Ahmad Caller  Materials: Watercolour, Indian ink, collage, graphite and gold pigment on Fabriano acid free paper 57cm x 76.3cm     My process involves an intense working back and forth with words and images in my imagination. I write a lot as part of my creative process as an artist, and these writings help me create and develop the visual image. The so-called ‘visual’ image is to me embodied, materialised, haptic and tactile. So the ‘image’ in poetry and metaphorical writing is almost the same as the visual image in art, to me. So there is not a huge gap between text and image. Not in …

Patterns of Sensation – the bodies of dolls by Salma Caller

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Silk Velvet Purse Doll Tiny invisible stitches hold rivets that hold rivulets Of silk ending in the darkness Where dreaming continues The sleeping and dreaming of her invisible body Silk Velvet Purse Doll A mille-feuille A body of a thousand layers A thousand gauze tissues A thousand substances Concealing a darkened chamber Entombing A heavy velvet pouch Profligate sensual reclining body feeling inwardly Reaching caressing touching exploring the textures of the inside of a dark and empty space Where nothing is also everything A costly ornate body of sensation Silk velvet skin silk thread silk tassel nerve endings Silent silken hair spreading A dense and tactile embroidery surrounds her slits tips lips edges and borders Wires closely over-sewn create Her ribs Brushing stroking heating and burnishing Made a body that is close textured lustrous gleaming and smooth Intricate and laborious twisting and twirling of twines Tiny invisible stitches hold rivets that hold rivulets                        Of silk ending in the darkness           …