E.e. Cummings ~ You Are…
“Yours is the light by which my spirit's born: - you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.”
― E.E. Cummings

Christian Rohlfs,
Dancing around the Ball of the Sun, 1916
Rainer Maria Rilke ~ Evening
Slowly the evening puts on the garments
held for it by a rim of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands divide from you,
one going heavenward, one that falls;
and leave you, to neither quite belonging,
not quite so dark as the house sunk in silence,
not quite so surely pledging the eternal
as that which grows star each night and climbs-
and leave you (inexpressibly to untangle)
your life afraid and huge and ripening,
so that it, now bound in and now embracing,
grows alternately stone in you and star.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~
Claude Monet - 1840-1926 - The sunken road in the cliff at Varangeville - 1882
Anna Akhmatova ~ Waking Dreams
Forgive me, that I manage badly,
Manage badly but live gloriously,
That I leave traces of myself in my songs,
That I appeared to you in waking dreams.”
― Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems

Anna Akhmatova. Slepnevo.1914
Anna Akhmatova ~ In The Evening
The garden rang with music
Of inexpressible despair.
A dish of oysters spread on ice
Smelled like the ocean, fresh and sharp.
He told me: "I'm a faithful friend!"-
And lightly touched my dress.
How different from embraces
The touch of those two hands.
That's how one strokes a cat or bird
Or looks at slender lady riders...
Just laughter in his quiet eyes,
Beneath his light gold lashes.
And the despondent voices of the violins
Sing out beyond the hanging smoke:
"Give blessings to heaven above
At last you're alone with your beloved."
March 1913
Charles Baudelaire ~ On Life And Poets
“The beautiful is always bizarre.”
― Charles Baudelaire

"An artist is a kaleidoscope endowed with consciousness...an ego athirst for the non-ego, and reflecting it at every moment in energies more vivid than life itself, always inconstant and fleeting. The poet is like those wandering souls who go looking for a body, he enters as he likes into each man's personality. For him alone everything is vacant...The man who loves to lose himself in a crowd enjoys feverish delights that the egoist locked up in himself as in a box, and the slothful man like a mollusk in his shell, will be eternally deprived of. He adopts to his own all the occupations, all the joys and all the sorrows that chance offers."
Charles Baudelaire
With The Rain (a Requiem) ~ Poem By William (chili) Gonzalez
Let me sleep
Leave me be
Let my eyes close
Leave my soul to fade away, forever more
Let me rest in peace
Leave my blood to freeze
Let me travel to the unknown
Leave the body; it’s just flesh and bone
Let my spirit wander in darkness
Leave memories of past in fondness
Burn this coffin, for I am not there
This burden is not for you to bear
Do not lament or shed tears
When serenity comes, I will be near
When you are lonely in silence of night
I will embrace you with all of my might
I will finally be at peace, no pain
How I will miss you, my tears will come with the rain
I am the air and the fog
Take a deep breath, I will feel your heart call
You are not alone, this you must remember
I will always remain, like a dying fire’s ember
In a place of tranquility. Taken away too soon (?)
Do not fear what is in store, what the future holds, do not feel gloom
Night falls again, I walk in the obscure
Never ending love / forever pure
In Memoria M.T.A
William (Chili) Gonzalez
Silent Wood ~ Poem By Elizabeth Siddal
O silent wood, I enter thee
With a heart so full of misery
For all the voices from the trees
And the ferns that cling about my knees.
In thy darkest shadow let me sit
When the grey owls about thee flit;
There will I ask of thee a boon,
That I may not faint or die or swoon.
Gazing through the gloom like one
Whose life and hopes are also done,
Frozen like a thing of stone
I sit in thy shadow – but not alone.
Can God bring back the day when we two stood
Beneath the clinging trees in that dark wood?

Photo of Elizabeth Siddal  ca. 1860
Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal (25 July 1829 – 11 February 1862) was an English artists' model, poet and artist who was painted and drawn extensively by artists of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, including Walter Deverell, William Holman Hunt, John Everett Millais (including Millais' 1852 painting Ophelia) and most of Dante Gabriel Rossetti's early paintings of women.   (Wikipedia)
Mirage ~ Poem By Christina Rossetti
The hope I dreamed of was a dream,
Was but a dream; and now I wake
Exceeding  comfortless, and worn, and old,
For a dream's sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,
A weeping willow in a lake;
I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt
For a dream's sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;
My silent heart, lie still and break:
Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed
For a dream's sake.

Charles Conder (1889)
Akosah Kwadwo ~ The Heart Is Not Yet Sweet
And then we added the colors in the rain
The hundred pins in the skeletons of dust
In the dawn and evening
Of the wedding of mourning
In the earth of the harsh country
But if the sun falls
Within you in the years
And the heart is not yet sweet
Let no one touch it
In the how many years of the sun…
Akosah Kwadwo
Painting is A Summer Night, 1890 by Winslow Homer
Daniil Kharms ~ On Poetry
“One must write poetry in such as way that if one threw the poem in a window, the pane would break.”
― Daniil Kharms

Daniil Ivanovich Yuvachev(Даниил Иванович Юёв) was born in St. Petersburg, into the family of Ivan Yuvachev, a well known member of the revolutionary group, The People's Will. By this time the elder Yuvachev had already been imprisoned for his involvement in subversive acts against the tsar Alexander III and had become a religious philosopher, acquaintance of Anton Chekhov during the latter's trip to Sakhalin.

Daniil invented the pseudonym Kharms while attending high school at the prestigious German "Peterschule". While at the Peterschule, he learned the rudiments of both English and German, and it may have been the English "harm" and "charm" that he incorporated into "Kharms".rs. It is rumored that he scribbled the name Kharms directly into his passport.

In 1924, he entered the Leningrad Electrotechnicum, from which he was expelled for "lack of activity in social activities". After his expulsion, he gave himself over entirely to literature. He joined the circle of Aleksandr Tufanov, a sound-poet, and follower of Velemir Khlebnikov's ideas of zaum (or trans-sense) poetry. He met the young poet Alexander Vvedensky at this time, and the two became close friends and inseparable collaborators.

In 1927, the Association of Writers of Children's Literature was formed, and Kharms was invited to be a member. From 1928 until 1941, Kharms continually produced children's works and had a great success.

In 1928, Daniil Kharms founded the avant-garde collective OBERIU, or Union of Real Art. He embraced the new movements of Russian Futurism laid out by his idols, Khlebnikov, Kazimir Malevich, and Igor Terentiev, among others. Their ideas served as a springboard. His aesthetic centered around a belief in the autonomy of art from real world rules and logic, and the intrinsic meaning to be found in objects and words outside of their practical function.

By the late 1920s, his antirational verse, nonlinear theatrical performances, and public displays of decadent and illogical behavior earned Kharms — who always dressed like an English dandy with a calabash pipe — the reputation of being a talented but highly eccentric “fool” or “crazy-man” in Leningrad cultural circles.

Even then, in the late 20s, despite rising criticism of the OBERIU performances and diatribes against the avant-garde in the press, Kharms nurtured a fantasy of uniting the progressive artists and writers of the time (Malevich, Filonov, Terentiev, Vladimir Mayakovsky, Kaverin, Zamyatin) with leading Russian Formalist critics (Tynianov, Shklovsky, Eikhenbaum, Ginzburg, etc.,) and a younger generation of writers (all from the OBERIU crowd—Alexander Vvedensky, Konstantin Vaginov, Nikolai Zabolotsky, Igor Bakhterev), to form a cohesive cultural movement of Left Art. Needless to say it didn't happen that way.

Kharms was arrested in 1931 together with Vvedensky, Tufanov and some other writers, and was in exile from his hometown (forced to live in the city of Kursk) for most of a year. He was arrested as a member of "a group of anti-Soviet children's writers", and some of his works were used as an evidence. Soviet authorities, having become increasingly hostile toward the avant-garde in general, deemed Kharms’ writing for children anti-Soviet because of its absurd logic and its refusal to instill materialist and social Soviet values.

He continued to write for children's magazines when he returned from exile, though his name would appear in the credits less often. His plans for more performances and plays were curtailed, the OBERIU disbanded, and Kharms receded into a very private writing life.

Source ...Good Reads