that kneeling woman
the hour of the wound rising in her
as the tide rises
through your thousand
unrevealed names
the hour of the wound rising in her
as the tide rises
through your thousand
unrevealed names
your face, darkening in the garden
my tulips, gone mad
bleeding, beheaded
their heads rolling down
my silvery back.
These images are mesmerizing and the words, to me, question. -j
ReplyDeleteAch, liebe Roxana, da bin ich wieder - zufällig - mitten in der Nacht auf Deiner Brücke..!
ReplyDeleteWieder Dein erstes Bild, das mich besonders anspricht mit den eigenartigen Gedanken: Wilder Tanz der Sehnsucht..!
Gute und Dich erfüllende Träume, damit Du stark bist für den nächsten Tag, wünsche ich Dir aus ganzem Herzen!
Renée
truly one of your finest efforts
ReplyDeletetulips! i've enjoyed this last series of images but haven;t been forward at commenting due to my rubbush bloggery. i'll trade you tulips at some point tho!
ReplyDeleteLorsqu'une fleur meurt, il ne nous reste à l'esprit que son parfum.
ReplyDeleteCette série m'évoque à la fois les tourments et la libération de l'âme, son évaporation progressive.
Très fort.
Wonderful images. Creative and dramatic.
ReplyDeleteHello,
ReplyDeleteYou raise the bar with your words, you elevate poetry, i mean it sincerely. i find a violent unrest in your words, so too the images, but i cannot make much of these colours, your words make me want to write something but i know i cannot, words have so totally forsaken me.
your words remind me of that violent croatian poem you pointed me towards last year, i do not know, after reading that poem you know, i lost the desire to play with words myself, i thought that poem was so complete, what passion that was, your poem too, what passsion it is.
i think the image of a " silvery back " is something to ponder over, it leads me to all sorts of connections and mazes, to bildungsroman novels and picaresque adventures by effervescent adventurers in countryless days, ah, what things words can do, how ruinous in the end, i admit, i must say i don't like wordy worlds but how bleak without them.
re Japanese literature, i was aware of Tanizaki and Mishima, and his seppuke comes to mind. i have been reading Natsume Soseki since january ( after reading the incomparable Karatani, where i found soseki) and i am lost in ambiguous worlds since then, as you pointed out, nothing happens in these books and sort of everything does and the depiction of mental states is so acute, so palpable that i am bewitched kind of by Soseki and his Tower of London book predates Sebaldian fiction by nearly a hundred years, what with pictures and photos and all. Have you read Soseki?
Sorry, i digress but this post by you is really very good and you excel. you are a very good poet Roxana, and i address you as if i know you really, which means that you are my kind of a poet but Plato would have banished you anyway.
Indeed, utterly, deliriously, joyously, drunkenly mad, in Baudelaire's or Rimbaud's best form, may I wake in the gutter looking up through blurred and bleary eyes to see such a vision... only Roxana could create this...
ReplyDeletema mut cu apt, scriu curand. lalelele tale exprima ora nebuna din noapte cand dimensiunile se intrepatrund.
ReplyDeletethese pictures are thrilling, a madness like a gentle caress on an exposed nerve ... a tossing of wild joy and grief ... under your gaze tulips become an invention for photographing time ... that is, time as mirror for the madness of self-recognition, the red-petalled core of the now-being surrounded always by the ghostly flickers of those other selves that one has been, or will be, or achingly might have been ...
ReplyDeleteand the poem fits so well, speaking from its moment into the “thousand unrevealed names” of all other moments with such precision ... ”the hour of the wound rising in her” and speaking here ... you perform magic :-)
Roxana, this post is so rich with feeling; I love it.
ReplyDeleteWanted you to know there is an award for you at my blog....this post.
Thanks for all this beauty. I need it today.
quelle tempête a donc soufflé sur ces tulipes au point de les dévêtir de leur couleur ,au point de fusionner leur chevelures dans cette tourmente graphique,essoufflée,captivante..
ReplyDeletetechniquement j'aime cette fusion des couleurs et des textures..ce tourbillon de folie...entre la peinture et la photographie....
toi aussi passes une bonne fin de weekend...
mes douces pensées...bises...
haunting words - as vividly visual as the photos themselves
ReplyDelete"your face, darkening in the garden
my tulips, gone mad
bleeding, beheaded
their heads rolling down
my silvery back"
thank you, dear ones, forgive me for not answering personally, sometimes it is difficult to rise through words and then i simply go hide in an image... thank you for being here with me. i'll try to answer more in detail on your blogs, soon.
ReplyDeleteRenée, so gut siehst Du ins Herz einer Tulpe hinein: ja, wilder Tanz der Sehnsucht... lass Dich ganz lieb umarmen, vielleicht treffen wir uns wieder zufaellig mitten in der Nacht...
mes douces pensees pour vous aussi, parfois quand les tulipes perdent leur tetes dans leur danse sauvage, les mots s'en vont aussi, et il n'en reste que la couleur (et le cri!).
je vous embrasse de tout coeur...
Poetess of Awe.
ReplyDeletetellement beau, tellement paisible.... merci de nous régaler!!!!
ReplyDeletej´adore quand tu joue avec les couleurs c'est magnifique!!!
ReplyDeleteKubla, i answered on Disquiet, did you see?
ReplyDeletemerci de tout coeur, chers amis, vous me comblez...
ReplyDelete