Song birds inside my head | e.e. cummings / Robert Creeley / Albín Brunovský






“Your head is a living forest full of song birds.”

 e.e. cummings













Albín Brunovský







“Life does not consist mainly, or even largely,
of facts and happenings.
It consists mainly of the storm of thought that
is forever flowing through one’s head.”

Mark Twain









Albín Brunovský





 Inside my head a common room,
 a common place, a common tune,
 a common wealth, a common doom

 inside my head. I close my eyes.
 The horses run. Vast are the skies,
and blue my passing thoughts’ surprise

 inside my head. What is this space
 here found to be, what is this place
if only me? Inside my head, whose face?

Robert Creeley,  Inside my head





Albín Brunovský

Authors Drawing Self-Portraits (I) | W. S. Burroughs / Henry Miller / J. L. Borges / C.Bukowski / Mark Twain /

William S. Burroughs, 1959                                                            Mark Twain, 1902, Self Portrait 
Jorge Luis Borges, after he had gone blind, 1975                                              Truman Capote self-portrait
 Cormac McCarthy                                                                       John Updike
Charles Bukowski                                                                                Henry Miller, 1946



Το μυστήριο | Knut Hamsun, 1892











"Μάθε πως έχω πολύ ευαίσθητο αυτί. Όταν μιλάω με κάποιον,
δεν έχω ανάγκη να τον κοιτάξω για να ξέρω αν προσπαθεί να με γελάσει.
Η φωνή είναι επικίνδυνο όργανο. Κατάλαβε με καλά: δεν ακούω τον
εξωτερικό ήχο, που μπορεί να είναι δυνατός ή χαμηλός, οξύς ή βαθύς,
δε μ' ενδιαφέρει το  χρώμα της φωνής, ο τόνος της, αλλά το μυστήριο
που βρίσκεται πίσω της, ο κόσμος που είναι κρυμμένος εκεί."



Knut Hamsun, Μυστήρια, 1892
μτφ : Γιάννης Λάμψας







José Alemany, Shh!, 1939

Touch has a memory | John Keats, 1871

Man Ray, Rayograph (The Kiss), 1922


What can I do to drive away
Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen,
Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen!
Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,
What can I do to kill it and be free
In my old liberty?
When every fair one that I saw was fair,
Enough to catch me in but half a snare,
Not keep me there:
When, howe'er poor or particolour'd things,
My muse had wings,
And ever ready was to take her course
Whither I bent her force,
Unintellectual, yet divine to me; --
Divine, I say! -- What sea-bird o'er the sea
Is a philosopher the while he goes
Winging along where the great water throes?

How shall I do
To get anew
Those moulted feathers, and so mount once more
Above, above
The reach of fluttering Love,
And make him cower lowly while I soar?
Shall I gulp wine? No, that is vulgarism,
A heresy and schism,
Foisted into the canon law of love; --
No, -- wine is only sweet to happy men;
More dismal cares
Seize on me unawares, --
Where shall I learn to get my peace again?
To banish thoughts of that most hateful land,
Dungeoner of my friends, that wicked strand
Where they were wreck'd and live a wrecked life;
That monstrous region, whose dull rivers pour,
Ever from their sordid urns unto the shore,
Unown'd of any weedy-haired gods;
Whose winds, all zephyrless, hold scourging rods,
Iced in the great lakes, to afflict mankind;
Whose rank-grown forests, frosted, black, and blind,
Would fright a Dryad; whose harsh herbaged meads
Make lean and lank the starv'd ox while he feeds;
There bad flowers have no scent, birds no sweet song,
And great unerring Nature once seems wrong.

O, for some sunny spell
To dissipate the shadows of this hell!
Say they are gone, -- with the new dawning light
Steps forth my lady bright!
O, let me once more rest
My soul upon that dazzling breast!
Let once again these aching arms be placed,
The tender gaolers of thy waist!
And let me feel that warm breath here and there
To spread a rapture in my very hair, --
O, the sweetness of the pain!
Give me those lips again!
Enough! Enough! it is enough for me
To dream of thee!


A letter to Scott | Zelda Fitzgerald, 1931

Zelda at the beach in Westport, Connecticut. The Fitzgeralds rented a house on Compo Beach in the summer of 
May 1920 where they spent a riotous summer entertaining New York friends.


“I don’t suppose I really know you very well - but I know you smell
like the delicious damp grass that grows near old walls and that your hands
are beautiful opening out of your sleeves and the back of your head is a mossy sheltered cave 
when there is trouble in the wind and that my cheek just fits in the depression in your shoulder…”

Zelda Fitzgerald in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald, 1931


Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald


“I wish we could spend July by the sea, browning ourselves and feeling water-weighted hair flow behind us from a dive.
I wish our gravest concerns were the summer gnats.
I wish we were hungry for hot dogs and dopes, and it would be nice to smell the starch of summer linens 
and the faint odor of talc in blistering summer bath houses ...
We could lie in long citoneuse beams of the five o'clock sun on the plage at Juan-les-Pins 
and hear the sound of the drum and piano being scooped out to sea by the waves.”

Zelda Fitzgerald in a letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald






Geometric Abstraction / Sculptures & Costumes | Sophie Taeuber-Arp, 1889-1943

 Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Self-Portrait with Dada-Kopf (Dada Head), Zürich, 1920                               Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Dada Head, 1920
Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Large triangle. Vertical horizontal composition, 1916.
Sophie Taeuber-Arp and Hans Arp in Ascona, 1925                                          Sophie Taeuber Arp, Ascona, 1925
   Sophie Taeuber-Arp  Pointe sur pointe, 1931                                                                              Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Equilibre
Sophie Taeuber-Arp (wife of Jean Arp) and her sister Erika Taeuber Hopi Kachina costumes, 1921-1922 / Sophie Taeuber Arp in mask made by Marcel Janco, and
a costume by Hans Arp, Zürich, 1917
Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Aubette 200 (Twisted ceiling drawing for the Aubette bar), circa 1927
Paul Eluard, Gala, Max Ernst and Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Arosa, 1928                                                                       Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Paris, 1930
Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Rising, Falling, Flying, 1934                                                       Sophie Taeuber-Arp, Self-Portrait with Dada-Kopf1920

Sophie Taeuber-Arp (1889 - 1943) was a Swiss artist, painter, sculptor, and dancer.
She is considered one of the most important artists of geometric abstraction of the 20th century.

In 1915, at an exhibition at the Tanner Gallery, she met the Dada artist Jean Arp, with whom she was to collaborate 
on numerous joint projects until her death in 1943. They married in 1922 and she changed her last name to Taeuber-Arp.


There was swing | Jack Kerouac & Roy Eldridge


“...Then there was swing, and Roy Eldridge, vigorous and virile, blasting the horn 
for everything it had in waves of power and logic and subtlety - leaning into it with 
glittering eyes and a lovely smile and sending it out broadcast to rock the jazz world.”

Jack Kerouac, On the Road



Children’s Dreams / Nightmares | La Révolution Surréaliste, 1925




Duval (11 years old): I once dreamed that I was in my room. Suddenly, my boots glided across the floor and climbed the wall. When they reached the top of the wall I shouted: “Send me post cards!” And when they'd climbed to the top I suddenly saw on the wall red devils with long ears. They shoved me and jumped up and down on the bed. One of them sat on the chair. The chair turns to the wall and the red devil is carried to the wall and the other to the floor. The devil climbs the wall. I grab a towel and toss it to him. He takes it and leaves.




Collombet (10 years old) – A skeleton tells me: “I want to take you because you've been living a long time, little one. I'm going to get a pitchfork to take you to the devil.” Once we reached the devil there wasn’t room for me. The devil says: “Since there’s not enough room I'm going to swallow you.” I saw a bunch of children in the devil’s stomach. But the devil says: “I can’t breathe anymore.” And he says to me: “Get out of my belly, little monster, and go back to the earth.” The skeleton returns to tell me I had to wake up. My dream ended.




* La Révolution surréaliste was a publication by the Surrealists in Paris. Shortly after releasing the first Surrealist Manifesto, André Breton published the inaugural issue of La Révolution surréaliste on December 1, 1924.


Chess | Salvador Dali / Marcel Duchamp

Salvador Dali playing chess with Gala, Eric Schaal, 1941
Eve Babitz and Marcel Duchamp playing chess
at the Pasadena Art Museum, Julian Wasser, 1963

The Devil's Circus | Benjamin Christensen, 1926

A pickpocket and a trapeze artist fall in love, but their relationship is threatened by 
a cruel lion tamer and his jealous wife.








This is Christensen’s first American film, in which the circus meets the Devil. 
Almost a sequel to Haxan, the Devil appears a number of times to demonstrate that it is he who pulls the strings 
in every human drama, from unhappy love affairs to world war.





Benjamin Christensen, 1926 / Silent, USA
Stars: Norma Shearer, Charles Emmett Mack, Carmel Myers


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...