Photography + poem + art
There is only the one like me, the companion man or woman, who can wake me from my torpor, set off the poetry, hurl me against the limits …
No other. Neither sky nor privileged earth,
no things which set you to trembling.
Torch, I only waltz with that one.
– René Char –
ph : Monika Cichoszewska
He who laughs most, learns best
– John Cleese –
Monty Python, 1976
Standing under the sun, but no effect, still freezing COLD !!!
I wanna scream !!!
( It’s always happens after Guy Fawkes .. that the temperature drops drastically …)
Some kind of curse !?
Ph : Kyle Thompson
The light needs only our trust
and, of course, the darkness
to work its eternal alchemy.
– Scott Hastie –
I was oppressed with a sense of vague discontent and dissatisfaction with my own life, which was passing so quickly and uninterestingly, and I kept thinking it would be a good thing if I could tear my heart out of my breast, that heart which had grown so weary of life.
– Anton Chekhov –
Ph : Kyle Thompson
Rejoicing in ordinary things is not sentimental or trite. It actually takes guts. Each time we drop our complaints and allow everyday good fortune to inspire us, we enter the warrior’s world.
– Pema Chödrön –
Though Siddhartha fled from the self a thousand times, stayed in nothingness, stayed in the animal, in the stone, the return was inevitable, inescapable was the hour, when he found himself back in the sunshine or the moonlight, in the shade or the rain, and was once again his self and Siddhartha, and again felt the agony of the cycle which had been forced upon him
– Herman Hesse – Siddhartha
Ph : Kyle Thompson
She catches the whisper
between my demon and my desire.
– Paul Valéry –
Ph : Kyle Thompson
Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound
seems from some faint Aeolian harp-string caught;
seal up the hundred wakeful eyes of thought
as Hermes with his lyre in sleep profound
the hundred wakeful eyes of Argus bound;
for I am weary, and am overwrought
with too much toil, with too much care distraught,
and with the iron crown of anguish crowned.
Lay thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek,
O peaceful Sleep! until from pain released
I breathe again uninterrupted breath!
Ah, with what subtile meaning did the Greek
call thee the lesser mystery at the feast
whereof the greater mystery is death!
– Henry Wadsworth Longfellow –
satomipoema 