IMMAGINE&POESIA (IMAGE&POETRY) is an international artistic literary movement, founded at Alfa Teatro in Torino, Italy, in 2007. Since its inception, IMMAGINE&POESIA has continued to grow. Hundreds of poets and artists from all over the world have participated, and the movement now reaches international audiences.
The MANIFESTO of the movement consists of 10 points and has been translated into 30 languages. The fourth point suggests moments of cross fertilization for artists and poets in order to support the thesis that a literary text may inspire the creation of a figurative art work and vice versa: the result is a new and complete form of art.
IMMAGINE&POESIA (IMAGE&POESIE) est le mouvement international artistique littéraire fondé en 2007 à Turin, Italie, sous la Présidence d'Aeronwy Thomas fille du poète anglais Dylan Thomas. Les membres fondateurs sont: Aeronwy Thomas, écrivaine anglaise; Gianpiero Actis, peintre; Silvana Gatti, peintre; Sandrina Piras, poète et Lidia Chiarelli, coordonnatrice et idéologiste du Mouvement. En 2009 le poète américain Lawrence Ferlinghetti est devenu Membre Honoraire d'IMMAGINE&POESIA.
Le Manifeste a été traduit en 30 langues et consiste en 10 points. Le quatrième point propose aux artistes et aux poètes des moments de créativité croisée à l'appui de la thèse que les Beaux Arts et la Poésie peuvent interagir et donner origine à une nouvelle forme d'art riche et complète.
Dès 2007, année de la fondation, le Mouvement organise périodiquement des expositions et des lectures de poésies où les images et les textes littéraires sont liés.
IMMAGINE&POESIA è il nome del movimento artistico letterario internazionale fondato nel 2007 all'Alfa Teatro di Torino sotto la presidenza di Aeronwy Thomas, figlia del poeta inglese Dylan Thomas. Soci fondatori furono: Aeronwy Thomas - scrittrice inglese, Gianpiero Actis - pittore, Silvana Gatti - pittrice, Sandrina Piras - poetessa e Lidia Chiarelli - ideologa e coordinatrice del movimento. Nel 2009 il poeta americano Lawrence Ferlinghetti è diventato socio onorario di IMMAGINE&POESIA.
Il Manifesto, attualmente tradotto in 30 lingue, consta di 10 punti. Il 4° punto in particolare propone agli artisti e ai poeti di sperimentare momenti di creatività incrociata a sostegno della tesi che un testo letterario può essere la fonte di ispirazione per la creazione di un'opera d'arte e viceversa: il risultato è un'opera articolata e completa, nata dall'integrazione delle due forme espressive.
Mostre
A partire dal 2007, anno della fondazione, il Movimento propone periodicamente, in Italia e all’estero, reading poetici e mostre in cui le poesie si integrano con le immagini.
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''IMMAGINE&POESIA'' (BILD&DICHTUNG) bezeichnet die internationale künstlerisch-literarische Bewegung, welche 2007 im Alfa Teatro,Turin, Italien, unter der Schirmherrschaft von Aeronwy Thomas - Tochter von Dylan Thomas - , gegründet wurde.
Die Gründungsmitglieder waren:
Aeronwy Thomas, Dichterin und Schriftstellerin
Gianpiero Actis, Maler
Silvana Gatti, Malerin
Sandrina Piras, Dichterin
Lidia Chiarelli, Koordinatorin und Ideologin der Bewegung
2009 wurde der amerikanische Dichter, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Mitglied im Ehrenkomitee von IMMAGINE&POESIA.
Beverly Matherne, Professorin an der Northern Michigan University, ist eine sehr geschätzte Dichterin dieser Bewegung.
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IMMAGINE&POESIA o imagen y poesía es el movimiento internacional de arte literaria fundada en Teatro Alfa, Turín, Italia en 2007, con el patrocinio de Aeronwy Thomas, la hija de Dylan Thomas.
Los Miembros Titulares fueron: Aeronwy Thomas, poeta y escritor; Gianpiero Actis, pintor; Silvana Gatti, pintor; Sandrina Piras, poeta y Lidia Chiarelli, coordinador e ideólogo del movimiento.
El poeta americano Lawrence Ferlinghetti y el artista italiano Ugo Nespolo son los socios honorarios de IMMAGINE&POESIA.
Beverly Matherne, un profesor de la Universidad del Norte de Michigan, es un poeta muy apreciado del movimiento.
Los críticos oficiales del movimiento son: Mary Gorgy (Long Island, New York) y Enzo Papa, (Turín).
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维基百科,自由的百科全书 跳转到: 导航, 搜索 《形象與詩歌》(意大利文:IMMAGINE&POESIA) 是一個國際當代藝術運動, 2007年由詩人狄蘭•托馬斯的女兒艾羅威•托馬斯在意大利都靈之阿爾法歌劇院創立, 該運動的主要成員如下:作家艾羅威•托馬斯、畫家詹尼佩羅•阿克蒂斯、畫家西爾瓦娜•加蒂、詩人桑德里娜•比哈斯及思想家利迪婭•基亞雷利。 _______________________________________________________________________________________ IMMAGINE&POESIAは、ディラン・トーマスの娘であるアーロンウィー・トーマスによって支援され、イタリアのトリノにあるアルファ・テアトロに2007年に設立された、国際的な芸術と文学の活動を行う団体である。 マニフェスト [編集] マニフェスト(団体の活動内容)は20ヶ国語に訳され、10項目から構成されている。4つ目の項目は、アーティストと詩人の間における知識の交流の機会について提案しており、詩が芸術作品の創作に閃きを与え、また同じように芸術作品が詩を創作する者に刺激を与えるための支援を促している。詩と芸術作品のコラボレーションにより、斬新且つ完璧なアートを創造することを目的としている。 ___________________________________________________________________________________ «Живопись и поэзия» (итал. IMMAGINE&POESIA) — международное литературное и художественное движение, возникшее в 2007 году в театре «Альфа» (Турин, Италия) под патронажем переводчика итальянской поэзии Эронви Томас — дочери известного поэта Дилана Томаса. Членами-учредителями движения стали: • Эронви Томас — поэт, писатель и переводчик; • Джанпьеро Актис — художник; • Сильвана Гатти — художник; • Сандрина Пирас — поэт; • Лидия Кьярелли — идеолог и координатор движения. Членами попечительского совета являются известный американский поэт Лоуренс Ферлингетти[1] и итальянский художник Уго Несполо, а официальными критиками объединения — Мэри Горги[2] и Энцо Пэпа. Одним из видных членов движения «Живопись и поэзия» является американский поэт и писатель, профессор университета Северного Мичигана Беверли Матерн.
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Taro Aizu (Japan)
Taro Aizu (Japan) has been writing haiku for 20 years and gogyoshi (five-line poetry) for 12 years featuring common scenes from the four respective seasons in Fukushima. He focuses on the rural landscape and people’s feelings for the land they inherited from their ancestors. His works are translated into different languages.
https://gogyoshiartproject.wordpress.com/2013/11/27/what-is-a-gogyoshi/
Gloria Keh (Singapore).
Gloria Keh (Singapore) began serious study in mandala art and symbolism in 1996 in Melbourne.
Her teacher, Georgina Fode of the Theosophical Society, played an important role in her development as an artist. She also undertook a short study course in art therapy
Says Gloria: “ Painting provides me with a form of meditation, and I find inner peace and healing through my art.”
In occasione della Festa della Donna a Torino si celebra la Poesia al femminile con la presentazione delle sillogi poetiche di Marina Rota e di Lidia Chiarelli.
Se da un lato Marina Rota ridà voce ad Amalia Guglielminetti nel suo intenso e tormentato epistolario con Guido Gozzano, dall’altro Lidia Chiarelli si misura con le parole di scrittrici inglesi e americane incontrate nel suo percorso di studi:
scrittura tutta al femminile, dunque, dall’Italia agli Stati Uniti e alla Nuova Zelanda passando per la Gran Bretagna.
Come in un processo di identificazione Marina e Lidia nelle loro rispettive raccolte poetiche prestano la loro voce alle sorelle maggiori, senza tradirle.
Un omaggio che, nelle due pubblicazioni, è completato da immagini artistiche di Fulvio Leoncini nel libro di Marina Rota, e della stessa autrice nel libro di Lidia Chiarelli.
Torino, Palazzo Dal Pozzo della Cisterna
Via Maria Vittoria 12
011 8612644
mercoledì 7 marzo 2018 ore 17.30
Voci recitanti: Loredana Bagnato, Rosalba Vacis
Dialogano con le autrici
Bruno Segre avvocato, giornalista, direttore de “L’incontro”
Alberto Sinigaglia presidente Ordine dei Giornalisti del Piemonte
Interviene il critico d’arte e scrittore Giovanni Cordero
Pittura e letteratura si incontrano |
Nel segno e nella parola
Arte Città Amica, Torino - febbraio 2018 |
BLUE BIRDS AREN’T BLUE
She waltzed into the room
adrift and confused by the sudden source of her misery.
Her hair dangled in front of her eyes hiding her now faded emerald-gray gloom.
She was a he and he was a she.
Her hair was knitted together by knots creating a nest
and the possibility of a blue bird living in her hair;
with the scraps of fabrics she used to sew.
She walks into her room sits in front of her mirror
and she wonders if she could comb through the mess.
But that was months ago when she wondered.
Even the glimpse of a thought of a shower
totally flies over her bird nest
as she sleeps in demise and perspiration.
Blue birds, once again, are beautifully winged beasts.
How could those beautiful birds go through her hair?
Their wings must've molted and died leaving marks of their presence.
When their wings grew again, they'd be brown and gray—
just like her faded eyes.
The blue birds aren't blue.
They're gray, like unhappiness.
—Natasha Rose Clarke
Lidia Chiarelli's Art on Shabdaguchha, December 2017
Editor: Hassanal Abdullah
E BOOK available on
https://www.amazon.com/Tramonto-una-tazza-Sunset-Italian-ebook/dp/B072BLJNPP/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1513752417&sr=8-2&keywords=lidia+chiarelli
Sunset in a Cup, painting by Gianpiero Actis, Italy
#TramontoinunaTazza #SunsetinaCup
朝露 Dew
一粒の露。葉先、その突端に辛うじて留まって、外には世界を映し、
内には生の真髄を宿している。無形のものが、形をなし、身を守るためにこんなにも円くなったのだ。
七色に光を分け、強めながら、おまえは転がる機を計っている。手を触れるまでもない。この凝視にすら堪えられそうにないのだから。
貧しいものの捧げ物 -朝露ー 人の世の真実のように、その甘さは比類ない。夢と現実のはざま。夢の中の夢。遠くなっていく記憶。
涙は辛く溢れるけれど、おまえに残余の粒はない。せめてわたしにそっと甘露を吸わせておくれ。今日一日を堪え得るために。
Dew
A drop of dew.
I see the essence of life
As the world is reflected
In this drop of dew which sits quietly
At the tip of the narrow leaf
Closed upon yourself
You have no doubt about
Your spherical shape
Drop of dew
You split the sunlight
Into seven colours
Of sparkling droplets
Always wary of falling off
But I will not touch you
Transparent as you are
You do not offend my eye.
I will not touch you
Gift given to the poor
Drop of dew
Sweet as the hope to find
The truth of our lives.
A round gap between dream and the real.
Dream within a dream
Memories fading away
Salty tears roll one after the other
But you cannot afford it
You are alone
Allow me to kiss you again
Dew drop
So I will have the strength
to carry on another day
MARIKO SUMIKURA
___________________
Rugiada
Una goccia di rugiada.
Vedo l'essenza della vita
Come il mondo si riflette
In questa goccia di rugiada che sta tranquilla
In punta alla foglia stretta
Chiusa su te stessa
Non hai dubbi sulla
Tua forma sferica
Goccia di rugiada
Tu dividi la luce del sole
In sette colori
Di goccioline scintillanti
Sempre timorosa di cadere
Ma non ti toccherò
Trasparente come sei
Tu non offendi il mio occhio.
Non ti toccherò
Regalo dato ai poveri
Goccia di rugiada
Dolce come la speranza di trovare
La verità della nostra vita.
Divario tra il sogno e il realtà.
Sogno dentro un sogno
Memorie che svaniscono
Lacrime salate rotolano una dopo l'altra
Ma tu non puoi permettertelo
Sei sola
Permettimi di baciarti di nuovo
Goccia di rugiada
Così avrò la forza di
Proseguire un altro giorno.
Translated by Lidia Chiarelli
Mariko Sumikura was born, lives and writes in Kyoto. She is the descendant of a very old family with roots in that city going back to medieval times. She studied English Literature at Ritsumeikan University. She also has interests in French Literature and modern Western philosophy.
Mariko Sumikura è nata, vive e scrive a Kyoto. È il discendente da una famiglia molto antica con radici in quella città che risalgono ai tempi medievali. Ha studiato la letteratura inglese presso l'Università di Ritsumeikan. Ha anche degli interessi della letteratura francese e della filosofia occidentale moderna.
Copyright Mariko Sumikura. All rights reserved
Our Earth
on this blue Earth
Taro Aizu
|
La nostra Terra
Noi abbiamo dei luoghi dove regna il brutto ma abbiamo più luoghi dove la bellezza regna su questa Terra blu
Translated by Lidia Chiarelli |
Previously published in "This Precious Earth"
Copyright, January, 2017 by Taro Aizu.
All rights reserved
Digital Collage by Lidia Chiarelli, Italy
______________________
Taro Aizu was born in the Aizu region of Fukushima
prefecture, Japan. He lives in Kanagawa near Tokyo now.
He has been writing haiku for 20 years, gogyoshi for 12
years in Japanese, and both for 5 years in English and
French. Multi award winning Poet.
Digital Collage by Lidia Chiarelli
紙飛機
氣流匆匆
隨之起伏
既是壓力也是浮力
在一起投擲的那一刻
就像
擅長使用這種情況的騎士
無牽無掛,恣意飛翔
僅僅
我的臉很蒼白
我的剪影如此薄弱
但是,我假裝是自由和容易的
故意交錯的折線
鼓勵你的身體像
那隻青蛙拼命吸氣
所以我可以沉迷於古典主義
調解這種動蕩之中
飛過人群的頭頂
吸收了尖叫的聲音
遠離瘋狂
即使目的不知道
即使不知道什麼時候登陸
你可以去旅行
帶點遺憾
忘了帶孩子的祝福
帶點願望
不要打擾繞著花飛行的蝴蝶
但不要害怕
在草地上的露水浸濕了我的翅膀之前
總有一雙小手
會來抓住我的下落的身體
笑著充滿了山谷
剛剛來這裡
再次吹我高高而遙遠
Paper airplane
The airflow came in a hurry Along with the ups and downs Is both the pressure and buoyancy While arriving together in that moment of throwing Just like A knight good at using the situation Flies about, carefree, willful and at liberty Merely My face is so pale My silhouette is so thin and weak However, I am pretending to go free and easy
Deliberately staggered polyline Encourages my body like That frog desperately inspiratory So that I can indulge in histrionics Mediate among that turbulence Flying over the heads of the crowd Absorbing the screaming sounds When far from the madding crowd Even if the purpose is not known Even if I do not know when to land As you can get a trip
With a little bit of regret I forget to bring the blessing of children With a little bit of desire Of not disturbing the butterflies flying around the flowers But I do not need to be afraid Before the dew on the grass drenches my wings There is always a pair of little hands that Will come to catch my falling body Laughing full of the valley As has just come here Once again blowing me high and distant
Poems by Tzemin Ition Tsai |
Aeroplano di carta
Il flusso d'aria arrivò in fretta con alti e bassi la pressione ed il flusso ascensionale in quel momento di lancio sono come un cavaliere bravo ad usare la situazione che vola, caparbio e libero semplicemente il mio aspetto è così tenue il mio profilo è così sottile e debole tuttavia, sto fingendo di essere facilmente libero
La polilinea deliberatamente sfalsata incoraggia il mio corpo come una rana che disperata gracida inspirando così che io possa indulgere nelle acrobazie mediare tra quella turbolenza volare sopra le teste della folla assorbire il suono degli urli quando lontano la folla impazzisce anche se lo scopo non è noto anche se non so quando è l’atterraggio come in un viaggio
Con un po 'di rammarico dimentico di portare la gioia dei bambini con un po 'di desiderio di non disturbare le farfalle che volano intorno ai fiori ma non devo temere: prima che la rugiada sull'erba bagni le mie ali ci sarà sempre un paio di piccole mani che arriveranno a prendere il mio corpo felice nella valle proprio qui per rilanciarmi nuovamente alto e distante
Translation by Lidia Chiarelli |
Elaine and Neal Whitman live in Pacific Grove, California, where they are inspired by the places and people of the Monterey Peninsula. One place and person is the Manjushri Dharma Center and its Tibetan monk, the Venerable Khempo Karten Rinpoche. His lessons prompt Elaine and Neal to pair her photography and his poetry into a unified vision.
http://www.larecherche.it/librolibero_ebook.asp?Id=223
Free Download
夜之喚
總是來得濛濛 春之
總是來得遲遲 夏之
總是來得姍姍 秋之
總是來得早早 冬之
這夜呀
可不讓牆頭上的貓
空空地等
________________________________________
Night affair
Always comes misty, Is not that spring?
Always go slowly, Is not that summer?
Always bring a touch of cool, Is not that autumn?
Always falling so early, Is not that winter?
And that night
Never lets the cats on the wall
wait in vain
______________________________
Un affare notturno
Sempre viene nella nebbia, non è la primavera?
Sempre se ne va lentamente, non è l’ estate?
Sempre porta un tocco di fresco, non è l'autunno?
Sempre giunge così presto, non è l'inverno?
E la notte
Mai lascia i gatti sul muro
Ad aspettare in vano
(translated by Lidia Chiarelli)
鐘 守舊的方 框住不斷繞行的一生 再怎麼花心思 沒走出 規劃完美的跑道 終究成了個數時間的老頭兒 |
惡魔把戲 我擅長挖你心坎上頭的窟窿 而且住在裏頭 不時出動 抓回一些你的壞心眼 用細細麻麻的縫線 封口 醃成下酒小菜 味兒 十足辛辣 喜歡 |
______________________________________
Devil trick
I’m good at digging the hole in your heart
And live in it
From time to time out
I recaptured some of your bad thoughts
Sealed with thin hemp sutures
Pickled as a cold dish to go with the wine
That taste
Full of spicy
Like it
___________________________________
Trucco del diavolo
Sono bravo a scavare un foro nel tuo cuore
E viverci dentro
Di tanto in tanto uscirne
Ho riconquistato alcuni dei tuoi cattivi pensieri
Li ho sigillati con suture di canapa sottile
Li ho messi in salamoia come piatto freddo che va con il vino
Quel gusto
Pieno di spezie
Mi piace
(translated by Lidia Chiarelli)
恆
一把六百多年的老材頭
一半劈成碎片
丟入營火之中燃燒
一半磨成紙漿
引誘詩人墨客畫押
身後海浪聲節奏如此分明
抬頭滿天星斗耀眼如初
噯呀
頃刻之間甚麼是永恆
了了已然
________________________________________
Eternity
An old wood for six hundred years
Half split into pieces
Put into burning in campfire
Half is being ground into pulp
Lure the poet leave a signature
The rhythms of waves behind is so clear
Looked up, find the stars dazzling as ever
Yeah
Suddenly, what is eternity?
Completely clear in my mind
_____________________________________________
Eternità
Un vecchio legno di seicento anni
Fatto in pezzi
Messo a bruciare nel fuoco di un campo di sosta
Metà viene ridotta in polvere
Richiamo per il poeta a lasciare un segno
I ritmi delle onde dietro sono così chiari
Ho guardato in alto, trovo le stelle che abbagliano come sempre
sì
All’improvviso, che cos’ è l’eternità?
E’ completamente chiaro nella mia mente
(Translated by Lidia Chiarelli)
鐘
守舊的方
框住不斷繞行的一生
再怎麼花心思
沒走出
規劃完美的跑道
終究成了個數時間的老頭兒
The Wall Clock
Conservative square space
Framed a lifetime of bypass
How long does it take?
To go out
That perfect runway
I will eventually become an counting-time old man
Orologio da parete
Uno spazio quadrato che conserva
Una vita di andare oltre in cornice
Quanto tempo ci vuole?
Per uscire
Da quella pista perfetta
Diventerò in fine un vecchio uomo che conta il tempo
(translated by Lidia Chiarelli)
小和尚
經文朗朗
聲聲入耳
心惶惶之
木魚
Little Monk
That reciting scriptures voice
Straight into the ears
Make my heart fearful
Temple Block
Every sound is knocking on my floating heart
Piccolo Monaco
Quella voce recitante scritture
Diritta alle orecchie
Rende il mio cuore timoroso
Percussioni su temple block
Ogni suono bussa sul mio cuore galleggiante
(Traduzione di Lidia Chiarelli)
Poème pour Camille Claudel
Il y a toujours quelque chose d'absent qui me tourmente
― Camille Claudel
(19 octobre 1943)
Nuages denses
corbeaux invisibles
flottants dans le ciel de la Provence
le vent s’enrage
et ouvre des fissures bleues
petite fille étonnée
seule, tu écoutes la voix du silence
et regardes les grandes flaques
et l’argile brune
cadeau précieux
que la pluie de la nuit
a apporté
pour la dernière fois
dans une lumière irréelle
de cette boue
des créatures étranges
s’animent
caressées
par ta main tremblante
abandonnée à leur vie
c’est alors qu’un calme inconnu
te saisit
et tu souris
infiniment libre
en ce matin d’octobre
à Montdesvergues
Lidia Chiarelli, Italie
Opera dal libro "Incontrasi nell'arte" di Totò Mirabile e Gina Bonasera
BIRD MITZVAH
We rose unto the mountaintop,
to the aerie of the birds,
Tristram’s grackles,
the black, orange-tipped,
and brownish, wide-winged birds
hovering over the sacred site,
flocks swooping and dipping,
whistling, cooing and cawing,
settling here and there on the edge of
the restored walls of ancient rocks.
So curious at the boys with kipas,
and girls with head cloths,
gathered with and without prayer shawls,
speaking in memory of the past,
the 960 who chose death by suicide,
rather than lose their freedom,
to be captured Roman slaves,
and the seven—two women and
five children—who survived,
pardoned, whose descendants
perhaps are among these
bar and bat mitzvah boys and girls.
They recite prayers and famous sayings,
quotes from diaries and other writings,
and then read from the Torah,
each his and her portion,
while mothers and fathers, grandparents,
brothers and sisters and friends surround them
in a harmony of this ceremony of
entering adulthood as Jews.
And the birds continue to swarm
and hover wide-winged on sun winds,
flying back and forth, forth and back,
very, very curiously dipping in and out,
out and in, joining the cantillating and singing
with their whistles and coos and caws,
songs of sad remembrance and joy,
making their own bird mitzvah,
perhaps as spirits of those who battled and died,
here more than a thousand years ago.
—Stanley H. Barkan
Photo by MIA BARKAN-CLARKE
Cross-Cultural Communications Broadside #4
BIRD MITZVAH
We rose unto the mountaintop,
to the aerie of the birds,
Tristram’s grackles,
the black, orange-tipped,
and brownish, wide-winged birds
hovering over the sacred site,
flocks swooping and dipping,
whistling, cooing and cawing,
settling here and there on the edge of
the restored walls of ancient rocks.
So curious at the boys with kipas,
and girls with head cloths,
gathered with and without prayer shawls,
speaking in memory of the past,
the 960 who chose death by suicide,
rather than lose their freedom,
to be captured Roman slaves,
and the seven—two women and
five children—who survived,
pardoned, whose descendants
perhaps are among these
bar and bat mitzvah boys and girls.
They recite prayers and famous sayings,
quotes from diaries and other writings,
and then read from the Torah,
each his and her portion,
while mothers and fathers, grandparents,
brothers and sisters and friends surround them
in a harmony of this ceremony of
entering adulthood as Jews.
And the birds continue to swarm
and hover wide-winged on sun winds,
flying back and forth, forth and back,
very, very curiously dipping in and out,
out and in, joining the cantillating and singing
with their whistles and coos and caws,
songs of sad remembrance and joy,
making their own bird mitzvah,
perhaps as spirits of those who battled and died,
here more than a thousand years ago.
—Stanley H. Barkan
HIKING WITH PETER
for Peter Thabit Jones, September 17, 2016
Boot-shod feet, born and bred south coast of Wales
felt the pulse of Big Sur’s thumping shore,
tapped its rhythms into poems,
then leaped, with the help of an airplane,
California to Colorado, where I met him
and was glad he was properly shod
to wind with me up among the sandstone fins
south side of Mt. Sanitas,
hiked and jogged by hundreds,
but sure to be people-free I promised Peter
on our descent north, then west, south,
and east from the summit.
Hour-long uphill huff and puff
failed to deflate our lungs,
left in fact whole hallways and corridors
of oxygen-filled enthusiasm
to talk poetry halfway from A to Z,
saving the other half for the less steep
meander back down.
Peter could pick up from where he left
the Pacific sprawled below his hillside
hermitage at Big Sur by viewing
flat Boulder suckling its own shoreline
steep off Sanitas a thousand feet below our feet.
Peter clicked his camera at whatever wonder
first flew into his eye, a young women clicked us
shaking hands by the mountain’s summit pole,
and shy deer on the way down
ambled in and out of focus,
as poets and the ways of poetry
filled our talk, mixed with the scent
of ponderosa pines, the slope of hillsides,
the grass of meadows, and a certain log
we had to find to find a certain way down
the rest of the world no longer knows.
Fine friendly trail companion,
this man Peter, for whom poetry
ties and unties his boot laces
talks to him in his sleep, sometimes
shakes him awake, and showed him yesterday
through his boot soles how to step
from Boulder’s young pink sandstone
to its old grey granite in whatever dance
between the two will add
an audible Colorado ripple
to each new poem
rising up inside him.
Alex Drummond America
Tribute to Lawrence Ferlinghetti' poetry by Paolo Lello Gariglio (ASARD), Borgo d'Ale (VC), Italy
acrylic colors 60 x 70
http://sognoarcobalenoarte.xoom.it/
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Laugharne, painting by Gianpiero Actis, Italy
"Lawrence for Francesco: a dream", painting by Gianpiero Actis, Italy
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AN IMAGIST POEM FOR FRANCESCO
The unfortunate sensation
of being hit by a train
The sound of summer in the rain
A black cat called Nicolino
A house in a wood made of wood
A bird about to catch a fly
A fly about to die
A Magritte cloud
in a cloudless sky
A stream between two houses
A fish about to die of drink
A ship about to sink
A man without a nation
A train about to hit Francesco Conz
in a railway station
And the dark dawn
of American corporate fascism
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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