October, almost November, and words carry the weight of frugal colors. Here, I utter the word "lyre" and a chromatism of silvery sounds dispels the quietness of the golden and russet leaves. It's a change of season and a maze of light and darkness renders my syllables weightless.
I'm numb with cold. I think of snow. This is the beginning of my blog:"he who saw everything."
Monday, October 16, 2006
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Popular Posts
-
Human Chain is Seamus Heaney 's twelfth poetry book. The volume was shortlisted for the 2011 Griffin Poetry Prize and it includes poe...
-
George Seferis’ Mythistorema is a cycle of twenty-four poems, whose title could be translated as “novel. “ The poems form an expedit...
-
"And how remote that bare and sunscrubbed room, Intensely far, that padlocked cube of light We neither define nor prove, Where you...
-
Issue 3 of the online Horror Literary Magazine "Cadaverous Magazine" has just been released. The Founder/Editor-in-Chief ...
-
Black swans, I’m inclined to believe, have become all the rage in the last couple of years: a film , a fascinating book ( Nassim Nicolas T...
-
I've pretty much given up on writing blog posts for several reasons: 3 CONS 1. I suddenly hate my blog's somewhat pompous...
-
"For All We Know" is one of Ciaran Carson’s recent poetry books. Born in 1948, Ciaran Carson is the recipient of numerous literary...
-
1. A calligraphy of silence Poetry is a form of art born out of stillness, a calligraphy of silence. Winter is a season of prolonged...
