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
MCMXXXIII-MCMXCVII
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.

Mirage
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
2012
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
(1905-1942)


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
Octavio Paz ~ The Love In Love
At times poetry is the vertigo of bodies and the vertigo of speech and the vertigo of death;
the walk with eyes closed along the edge of the cliff, and the verbena in submarine gardens;
the laughter that sets on fire the rules and the holy commandments;
the descent of parachuting words onto the sands of the page;
the despair that boards a paper boat and crosses,
for forty nights and forty days, the night-sorrow sea and the day-sorrow desert;
the idolatry of the self and the desecration of the self and the dissipation of the self;
the beheading of epithets, the burial of mirrors;
the recollection of pronouns freshly cut in the
garden of Epicurus, and the garden of Netzahualcoyotl;
the flute solo on the terrace of memory and the dance of flames in the cave of thought;
the migrations of millions of verbs, wings and claws, seeds and hands;
the nouns, bony and full of roots, planted on the waves of language;
the love unseen and the love unheard and the love unsaid: the love in love.”
― Octavio Paz
Oscar Wilde ~ On Poets
A poet can survive everything but a misprint.
~Oscar Wilde
Jean Genet ~ On Revolution
The main object of a revolution is the liberation of man... not the interpretation and application of some transcendental ideology.
- Jean Genet
Louise Erdrich ~ Risk Your Heart
“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.”
Louise Erdrich - The Painted Drum
I ~ Poem By Tom Sheldon
Know that space dilates with your own breath;
sing out, as a bird in the desert
from the shadowy rafters of its own high perch-
Our senses cannot fathom this darkness, so
learn the transformations through and through
staving off the inevitable is futile, non-efficacious and fruitless
Be the meaning of this strange encounter;
at their crossing, be the glowing center.
Immerse yourself at the precipice
With the words: I am.
Tom Sheldon
I © Copyright Tom Sheldon