"...there was a sweet confusion in Yura's soul, blissfully delirious, mournfully enraptured" - Boris Pasternak

William Carlos Williams

The rose is obsolete 
but each petal ends in 
an edge, the double facet 
cementing the grooved 
columns of air—The edge 
cuts without cutting 
meets—nothing—renews 
itself in metal or porcelain—

whither? It ends—

But if it ends 
the start is begun 
so that to engage roses 
becomes a geometry—

Sharper, neater, more cutting 
figured in majolica— 
the broken plate 
glazed with a rose

Somewhere the sense 
makes copper roses 
steel roses—

The rose carried weight of love 
but love is at an end—of roses

It is at the edge of the 
petal that love waits

Crisp, worked to defeat 
laboredness—fragile 
plucked, moist, half-raised 
cold, precise, touching

What

The place between the petal’s 
edge and the

From the petal’s edge a line starts 
that being of steel 
infinitely fine, infinitely 
rigid penetrates 
the Milky Way 
without contact—lifting 
from it—neither hanging 
nor pushing—

The fragility of the flower 
unbruised 
penetrates space

Farhad Ahrarnia

Machines

Dearest, note how these two are alike:
This harpsicord pavane by Purcell
And the racer’s twelve-speed bike.

The machinery of grace is always simple.
This chrome trapezoid, one wheel connected
To another of concentric gears,
Which Ptolemy dreamt of and Schwinn perfected,
Is gone. The cyclist, not the cycle, steers.
And in the playing, Purcell’s chords are played away.

So this talk, or touch if I were there,
Should work its effortless gadgetry of love,
Like Dante’s heaven, and melt into the air.

If it doesn’t, of course, I’ve fallen. So much is chance,
So much agility, desire, and feverish care,
As bicyclists and harpsicordists prove

Who only by moving can balance,
Only by balancing move.

 Michael Donaghy
Things change every day, Mr Nakata. With each new dawn it’s not the same world as the day before. And you’re not the same person you were, either.- Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore

Things change every day, Mr Nakata. With each new dawn it’s not the same world as the day before. And you’re not the same person you were, either.

- Haruki Murakami, Kafka On The Shore

Betty - Gerard Richter, 1988

Betty - Gerard Richter, 1988

“There are so many things I would tell you if I thought that you would listen, and so many more you’d tell me if you believed I would understand.”

— Sarah Kay (via poetryinpages)

Erykah Badu - Gone Baby, Don’t Be Long

Viviane Sassen

Snow

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes –
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one’s hands –
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

— Louis MacNeice

Helena Almeida, Pintura Habitada 1976

museumuesum:

Paul Strand, Anna Attinga Frafra, Accra, Ghana, 1964

museumuesum:

Paul Strand, Anna Attinga Frafra, Accra, Ghana, 1964

Nermine Hammam, Upekkha

Influenced by a background in film and graphic design, Nermine Hammam works in series, making prints that combine elements of painting and photography, often digitally manipulating and layering images to represent subjects in states of abandonment or altered consciousness.

When the army was called in to respond to the protests in Cairo’s Tahrir Square in January 2011, Hammam was struck by the vulnerability of the soldiers. They seemed to want to be anywhere but there.

In the ‘Uppekkha’ series she transports these soldiers into vibrant fantasy settings. Reminiscent of postcards, the series likens the events of Tahrir Square to a tourist attraction that drew the world’s attention, but was not fully understood.

V&A Museum