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ALTphotos Photography Community :: For Creative Photography
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Apr 1, 7:40pm
6 reviews
photography, writing, oceans
http://altphotos.com/Gallery.aspx?a=Photo&photoid=335791
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τ ϒ
And even in our sleep
Pain which cannot forget
Falls drop by drop
Upon the heart
Until in our own despair
Against our will
Comes wisdom through
the awful grace of God.
--Aeschylus, as quoted by Robert F. Kennedy ~
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ALTphotos Photography Community :: For Creative Photography
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Jan 18, 6:00pm
1 review
photography, poetry, oceans, anne-sexton
http://www.altphotos.com/Gallery.aspx?a=Photo&photoid=332500
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I say Live, Live because of the sun,
the dream, the excitable gift.
--Anne Sexton, from "Live" ~
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ALTphotos Photography Community :: For Creative Photography
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Jan 18, 6:00pm
1 review
photography, oceans, umbrellas
http://www.altphotos.com/Gallery.aspx?a=Photo&photoid=332557
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ALTphotos Photography Community :: For Creative Photography
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Jan 13, 9:44am
4 reviews
literature, photography, poetry, writing, rainer-maria-rilke
http://altphotos.com/Gallery.aspx?a=Photo&photoid=328184
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Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves ... Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.
--Rainer Maria Rilke, excerpt from "Letters to a Young Poet" ~
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ALTphotos Photography Community :: For Creative Photography
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Jan 12, 5:23pm
1 review
photography, poetry, carlos-barbarito
http://altphotos.com/Gallery.aspx?a=Photo&photoid=236033
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She said:
If you cling to me you will cling to life,
you will travel and you will not meet
the rhinoceros or the tiger;
you will go without arms and without a shield
into the midst of the combantants.
The rhinoceros will have nowhere to put its horn,
nor the tiger its claws, nor the blade its edge.
Death will find no place.
--Carlos Barbarito, excerpt from "Bestiarium of love" ~
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ALTphotos Photography Community :: For Creative Photography
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Jan 12, 5:22pm
1 review
photography, poetry, brian-stang
http://www.altphotos.com/Gallery.aspx?a=Photo&photoid=332316
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Incremental and particulate, they flow through the shores, lap into the sand, cycle into the abyss. Pre-production plastics have become the sand of every beach. From the daily release of thousands of balloons at the amusement park, miles of ribbon sink in the channel offshore, entangling fish and creating webs of fanciful carnage. Birds choke on plastic bags. I hear about the dead coral reefs. I drive among the warehouses of convenience, the numbered loading docks of the junk-mailing center, the oil refinery, the unctuous sunset, the city skyline seething with the silence of distance.
But there are the inescapable ridges, the geometry that flows in muscular fractals from the mountain peak to the bay. And there remains the systole and diastole, the tidal pull, the strings of atoms vibrating at the core of matter, the rhythm of unimaginable permeation, complexity and vastness, making myself and everyone else in the world mere, aggregate, transient, indivisible.
Inside the walls of the capital city, oil paintings by silverbacks line the hallways. The sports played here are those of charts and diagrams. I look very closely and see the kings of the line living in caves against the hill and I think I see something of the lost geometry of porcelain cups. There is an abundance of salt in the ground. I want to leave immediately but know there will be no place for me anywhere else, so rarified and dependent have I become.
The new world is a performance, a kind of coverage. I wake in a soup of sun. I am in a room far from my own without words or ideas.
I am walking at night down a florescent hallway lined with dozens of doors. Only one is open. There is a man inside the small room working. Usually, his door is closed like all the others. I pass by and see him staring intently at the screen and typing, with his chin raised slightly in order to see through the bottom portion of his bifocals. Behind him, there is a bright background of colored tapestries, the origin of which I am unsure. I imagine he is working on an enormous project, a lifetime of work, brick by mental brick. He is competent and tenacious, maybe even brilliant. And I think I could never do something like that, working here every night in such grand loneliness. And then I pass by later and notice him smiling at the screen and think he's just checking his email or surfing the Internet. And I wonder how he could waste his life like that. I walk outside.
--Brian Strang, excerpt from "the eye" ~
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фото.сайт | остальное | &9792;
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Jan 1, 12:52pm
1 review
photography
http://www.photosight.ru/photo.php?photoid=1988130
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Happy 2008!
"It's the year 2008,
but where are the flying cars?
I was promised flying cars!
---paraphrased from Avery Brooks ~
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Underwater Ballerina by ~Burnouthappy on deviantART
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Jan 1, 12:22pm
1 review
photography, poetry, e-e-cummings
http://burnouthappy.deviantart.com/art/Underwater-Ballerina-65650991
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love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail
it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea
love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive
it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky
E.E. Cummings,
"love is more thicker than forget"
☆
Please see "decapitalization of E.E. Cummings; NOT e.e. cummings"Ш
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Before and after life...: Photo by Photographer Gundega Dege - photo.net
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Jan 1, 10:42am
1 review
photography, poetry, brian-stang
http://www.photo.net/photodb/photo?photo_id=3750951
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You become tender with a light inside of your broken sleep. The bed seems to turn beneath you at night and there is no way to outrun this artful confusion. You feel a light tapping that is meant to be an imitation of human touch. You see the people around you through a gauzy film, a translucent membrane, the disassociation of similitude. When you awake, you find that you are covered in gelatin--the reduced hooves and bones of animals--and need to loosen yourself from the world of process.
This the actual location of your life and thought--wire through your retinas discovered only recently. You touch the skin on your arm to check for a living warmth within. In their enormous boardrooms, these proportions do not exist. There is only the unifying principle of accumulation, a network that is itself virtual, composed of waves and incapable of error or excess. You watch for signs of life but see only spectacle--rippled muscles, panting heads, streaking jets, embodiment machines. In this landscape, where is sentiment? What are your strategies for finding it? You can find no answers but continue to look for signs.
--Brian Strang, excerpt from "swimming" ~
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ALTphotos Photography Community :: For Creative Photography
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Jan 1, 10:40am
1 review
photography, poetry, bw, brian-stang
http://www.altphotos.com/Gallery.aspx?a=Photo&photoid=332204
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Under this actual moon, you see that the world is flooded by writing nobody can read. You walk over canals on floating bridges. One man is able to cross without a bridge because he is not real and because the water is actually a thick green sludge, water in only the loosest sense, in the same sense that you are water. There are safety gates and automatic hammers. Some go swimming but you cannot. There is too much writing gathering on the surface of the canal. You feel the quiet and disquiet of this place but people continue to swim effortlessly, refreshed from the heat. You cannot join them but you cannot leave either, so you watch and wish that you knew nothing of the plastic heads, atriums and carnage, that you too could penetrate the surface of the water. The pages continue to collect on the surface, blown here by a hot afternoon wind, covering the canals, the swimmers and the city itself, until you too are wrapped within the pages.
--Brian Strang, excerpt from "swimming" ~
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