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@thepoetryreflex
We are speaking different languages, as always
The Tree
At once he knew it was the right thing to fight for life. Yet simultaneously and persistently he questioned why? Initially, this question lived within him as a single seed in the vast land around it. Daily emotions were the winds that swept and swayed him. Nonetheless he could not shake that curious question which grew in him, from a seed, to a plantling and eventually into an old, great tree. On both hot and cold days without sensitivity, the great treeâs branches shaded him from the warmth of the sun. At times this made him shiver with discomfort. At other times, the shade cooled his hot, dry skin.
AL
Drinking water from a glass
In the midst of uncertainty By a lamp's tungsten wire warmth Adonis sweats as Venus wipes her face Life is fragile
A profile of red plump Soft brown dots on beige An air of music and fast clouds A stomach full from the boulangerie and with anxiety A ride on the Moroccan metro Balzac the consumer People walk below him in the shade of his bellyÂ
A mindâs maze: The symphony of chaos and hierarchy  Â
Workâs pain sets one free To suck sweet juices from the fruits of the trees And breath the air from their leaves AL
Obsessions
Your eyebrows Take lift by frontalis An open mouth Wet from parotid
Current flows So too the blood of the bull Its hooves kick up dust As the hammer nails The strings of expression A pianoâs sound The airâs vibration
Matador Not once Over and over Your lumbricals and interossei play their song A gift of translation Seemingly stochastic The rise and fall of the ocean Or a drink of sweet wine
Phrenic innervation, excitation, inhalation Dizzily high from the spin of a waltz The euphoria of touch, oxytocin and silk
AL
A tribute to FrĂ©dĂ©ric François Chopinâs Polonaise in A-flat major, Op. 53
COLOUR
I only wanted one time to see you laughing
Prince
Give a man a mask and he will show his true face
Oscar Wilde
I am tired. I am weary. I can sleep for a thousand years. A thousand dreams, that would awake me.
Lou Reed
Excerpt - The Master and Margarita
I started being afraid of the dark
It seemed to me, especially when I was going to sleep
That some octopus, with supple and cold tentacles was stealing up to me coming straight for my heart
I woke up, with the feeling that the octopus was nearby
Piet Mondrian - Mill in Sunlight 1908Â
Part I âManifestoâ by DH Lawrence. Emotive, textured and human. Peaceful yet powerful.Â
âThe city with all its squalor and inequalities, the pressures of time and mortalityâÂ
24. Plans
Paris Spleen
The romantic prose, âPlansâ by Baudelaire incites within me the lighter joys of life and the excitement of a playful mind, leaving the rest for another time.Â
24. Plans Paris Spleen As he walked through a large, deserted park, he mused: âHow beautiful sheâd be in a sumptuous, intricate gown on a soft evening, descending a palaceâs marble stairs opposite great lawns and ornamental lakes! Because she is by nature a princess.â Later, he stopped outside an engraverâs and, finding a print of a tropical landscape, thought: âNo, I donât want to confine such a lovely life to a palace. It wouldnât be a home. And whatâs more, the inlaid gold on the walls wouldn't leave room for her portrait. In those solemn galleries thereâd be no private corners. No question, there is where we should be, cultivating my lifeâs dream.â And as he analysed the engraving, his thoughts developed: âOn the seashore, a lovely wooden shack ringed by strange, glossy trees whose names Iâve forgotten... in the air an elusive, heady perfume... in the shack the strong scent of roses and musk... somewhere behind our small domain, masts riding the swell... around us, beyond the bedroom washed in rosy light filtered through blinds, adorned with fresh mats and strong-scented flowers, strewn with Portuguese rococo seats of dark, heavy wood (on which sheâd recline, at ease in the cool air, smoking tobacco mixed with a  little opium), beyong the veranda the noise of birds drunk on light, and the chatter of small black girls... at night, accompaniment to my dream, the lament of music trees, of sad casuarinas. Yes, that is the true dĂ©cor I was seeking. What would I want with a palace? And farther on, down a broad avenue, he noticed a charming hostelry; two laughing heads were at a window adorned with cheerful, patterned curtains. His instant reaction was: âWhat a vagabond soul I have, scouring the world for what is here beside me. Joy and happiness, there, in the first inn encountered, the inn of chance, a pleasure ground. A roaring fire, bright crockery, a half-decent supper, rough wine, a huge bed, sheets coarse but clean. What could be better?â And back indoors, alone, when Wise Counsels are no longer choked by the turbulent world, he thought: âToday, Iâve dreamt up three homes affording equal pleasure. So why force my body to new places when my soul can travel so effortlessly? And why bother to see plans through, when the plan itself is pleasure enough?â 1857, 1861, 1864, 1864 Charles Baudelaire Martin Sorrell
Poor Rimbaud drowning in the beauty of lifeÂ
Venus AnadyomĂšne Comme dâun cercueil vert en fer blanc, une tĂȘte De femme Ă cheveux bruns fortement pommadĂ©s Dâune vieille baignoire Ă©merge, lente et bĂȘte, Avec des dĂ©ficits assez mal ravaudĂ©s; Puis le col gras et gris, les larges omoplates Qui saillent; le dos court qui rentre et qui ressort; Puis les rondeurs des reins semblent prendre lâessor; La graisse sous la peau paraĂźt en feuilles plates: LâĂ©chine est un peu rouge, et le tout sent un goĂ»t Horrible Ă©trangement; on remarque surtout Des singularitĂ©s quâil faut voir Ă la loupe⊠Les reins portent deux mots gravĂ©s: CLARA VENUS; âEt tout ce corps remue et tend sa large croupe Belle hideusement dâun ulcĂšre Ă lâanus. Venus Anadyomene As from a green zinc coffin, a womanâs Head with brown hair heavily pomaded Emerges slowly and stupidly from an old bathtub, With bald patches rather badly hidden; Then the fat gray neck, broad shoulder-blades Sticking out; a short back which curves in and bulges; Then the roundness of the buttocks seems to take off; The fat under the skin appears in slabs: The spine is a bit red; and the whole thing has a smell Strangely horrible; you notice especially Odd details youâd have to see with a magnifying glass⊠The buttocks bear two engraved words: CLARA VENUS; âAnd that whole body moves and extends its broad rump Hideously beautiful with an ulcer on the anus.
Arthur Rimbaud 1870
âRuthâ by Wordsworth
A simple and playful âsix stanza, tail rhymingâ metre contrasts the visceral narrative of the verse, Ruth is a romantically structured warning against romanticism. Ruth is a poem about a womanâs upbringing, her phenomenological and emotional experience falling in love, her life and her death. Itâs about isolation, desire and the natural instinct. It leads me to believe Wordsworth was a cynic and a realist, however not entirely, and if I were to interpret his poem in one sentence, it would be this:      Young lady please take from this adventurous, British-American man not his hand in marriage, but his courage and his stupid joy in life.