I think I need to stop by Hidden Falls today, to visit the cathedral poplars and their murmuring by the river. June mornings, where you listen to sprinkling music of poplar leaves and become young again, shoulders loosening on each breath of the moist loamy sand-filled sun air. Armskin smelling like summers spent dirt-streaked and skinned kneed. Let’s forget that step toward the grey, for a moment, and conjure birdsong moving over skin. Down the sand let’s walk to the clearing by the river, when all the body was legs and belly and breath, warm and humming with the light of a June summer morning.
One of the most intriguing mail art calls I’ve found in some time, the Raoul Hausmann Anniversary Project’s theme is A Kingdom for Dada. You might have guessed that Raoul was a dadaist in his time. Austrian born, he moved to Germany with his family at the age of fourteen. He co-founded Club Dada in […]
via Monday Morning Mail Art Call: Raoul Hausmann — Trash Bubbles and Life’s Little Bits
Dear World, We felt we needed to say something while saying something is still allowed. We know many of you have lived under malevolent, unhinged Dictators before, but this is new for us. For its history our nation has been led by men who, despite their varying flaws and deficiencies, some of which were quite……
via Dear World, From America — john pavlovitz
Today is the birthdate of playwright and poet Federico Garciá Lorca, born in1898 in Fuente Vaqueros, near Granada in Spain.
Federico on Poets.org
In 1936, García Lorca was staying at Callejones de García, his country home, at the outbreak of the Civil War. He was arrested by Franquist soldiers, and on August 19, after a few days in jail, soldiers took García Lorca to “visit” his brother-in-law, Manuel Fernandez Montesinos, the Socialist ex-mayor of Granada whom the soldiers had murdered and dragged through the streets. When they arrived at the cemetery, the soldiers forced García Lorca from the car. They struck him with the butts of their rifles and riddled his body with bullets. His books were burned in Granada’s Plaza del Carmen and were soon banned from Franco’s Spain.
“…never let me lose what I have gained,
and adorn the branches of your river
with leaves of my estranged Autumn.”
Oh you fair elixir of life!
Dark, sensuous vitality in a cup
How I love thee!
You make me to perk my up
Your steam enlivens the nostrils.
The eye beholds you – rare cocoa jewel,
Beefy-brown, and boisterous.
O Come, you Herald,
You King of my Day and
Bring me once again
The pulsing joy of all lertness
The warming tang of you
Caresses lips and toungue
Dispells the witchery of night
With your essence coursing,
I arise like a joyful warrior
Glad am I to feel you with me
Your liquid warmth a steadying hand
Sweeping away the golden slumbers
And shaking off the gloom of night.