The Lovers | Wallada bint al-Mustakfi (1010-1091) & Ibn Zaydún (1003-1071)

In memory of Love -  The hands of Ibn Zaydun & Wallada - Cordoba, Spain

                                                               Wallada bint al-Mustakfi (1001-1091) 

                                                                   When night falls, plan to visit me.
                                                                   For I believe night is the time that keeps secrets best.
                                                                   I feel a love for you that if the light of heaven felt, the sun would not shine,
                                                                   nor the moon rise, nor the stars begin their nightly journey


                                                                  Come and see me at nightfall, the night will keep our secret.
                                                                  When I’m with you I wish the sun and moon never turn up and the stars stay put.


                                                                  If you were faithful to our love you wouldn’t have lost your head over my maid.
                                                                  You dropped a branch in full bloom for a lifeless twig. 
                                                                  You know I am the moon yet you fell for a tiddly star.


                                                                   Is there a way we can meet and share our love once more?
                                                                   In the winter I used to wait on hot coals for your visits.
                                                                   Now I feel worse since you’ve gone and confirmed my fears.
                                                                   The night rolls on, but absence stays and patience won’t free me from longing’s grip.
                                                                   I hope Allah waters the new land that’s become our home.

                                                                  I fear for you, my beloved so much, that even my own sight even the ground you tread 
                                                                  even the hours that pass threaten to snatch you away from me. 
                                                                  Even if I were able to conceal you within the pupils of my eyes and hide you there until 
                                                                  the Day of Judgment my fear would still not be allayed.


                                                                  You know that I am the moon of the skies
                                                                  But, to my disgrace, you have preferred a dark planet.

                                                                 Wallada bint al-Mustakfi, [1001-1091] was an Andalusian poet The love of her life was the poet Ibn Zaydun. Only nine of Wallada poems 
                                                                                      have been preserved, of which five are satirical. Wallada died on March 26, 1091, the same day that the Almoravids entered Cordova.


                                                             Ibn Zaydún (1003-1071)

                                                                 To Walladah

                                                                When shall I describe my feelings
                                                                To you, my delight, my torture?
                                                                When will my tongue have the pleasure
                                                                Of explaining it, instead of a letter?
                                                                Oh you tempter in consolation,
                                                                Oh you proof of a forlorn lover!
                                                                Tou are the sun that has hidden
                                                                Itself behind a veil from my eye: 


                                                                Patience has departed from the parting lover,
                                                                Who divulged the secret, confiding it to you;
                                                                He is embarassed because of not having been able
                                                                To take more steps along with you when taking his leave:
                                                                Oh, brother of the full moon in high rank and splendour
                                                                May God protect the rime which caused thee to rise!
                                                                If your absence made my nights seem long,
                                                                I spent this night with you complaining of its shortness! 


                                                                Your passion has made me famous among high and low 
                                                                your face devours my feelings and thoughts. 
                                                                When you are absent, I cannot be consoled, 
                                                                but when you appear, my all my cares and troubles fly away. 
                                                                When she offers me jasmine in the palm of her hand 
                                                                I collect bright stars from the hand of the moon.


                                                               If, after you, my night grows long, 
                                                               then how much do I now complain 
                                                               of this night’s shortness with you!


                                                               You have departed and we have departed 
                                                               but our ribs have never been restored to health 
                                                               because of yearning for you; nor have our tear ducts 
                                                               ever been dried up.

                                                              Peace be upon you! The peace of farewell, 
                                                              the farewell of a love that died before its time.


                                                                                  To his archenemy Ibn Abdús

                                                              You have stirred the lion of wrath when he was dozing, 
                                                              awakened him when he lay still with eyes closed.

                                                                                 Ibn Zaydún, [1003-1071] was a famous Arab poet of Cordoba and Seville. He sought refuge with Abbad II of Seville and his son 
                                                                                 al-Mu'tamid. He was able to return home for a period after the ruler of Seville conquered Cordoba.

Notebooks | Paul Klee, 1898-1918

"In our dreams moment of our life often recur which have surprised us and made us momentarily helpless. The are mostly trifling occurrences. The great impression of times when one has exercised self-control remain a distance."

"For these are primitive beginning in art, such as one usually finds in ethnographic collections or at home in one's nursery. Do not laugh, reader! Children also have artistic ability, and there is wisdom in their having it! The more helpless they are, the more instructive are the examples they furnish us; and the must be preserved free of corruption from an early age."

"Actually, the main thing now is not to paint precociously to be or, at least, to become an individual. The art of mastering life is the prerequisite for all further forms of expression, whether they are paintings, sculptures, tragedies, or musical compositions. Not only to master life in practice, but to shape it meaningfully within me and to achieve as mature an attitude before it as possible. Obviously this isn't accomplished with a few general precepts but grows like Nature."

"Now the country is becoming flatter, the first windmills appear, and there are signs of a large city soon to come (Hanover.) Like a dream, the great city floats by in the haze, beyond the flooded area/ A boastful dome with a gilded knob at the entrance of town and, finally, an old, three-pointed church steeple. In the foreground, a hellish industrial section. Great waste of space everywhere, as also in the installations of the freight station at Seelze."

 Notebooks | Paul Klee, 1898-1918

“Color and I are one. I am a painter”
Paul Klee, 1914

"The most complete presentation of the principles of design ever made by a modern artist."

Herbert Read

Τα όρια της τέχνης ενός μικρού ζαχαροπλάστη | Γιώργης Παυλόπουλος, 1997

Tim Walker, The New Guard, 2013

                                                                                                                      Στόν Ήλία Χ. Παπάδημηρακόπουλο 

Μια κυρία που λάτρευε τις τέχνες
είπε στον μικρό ζαχαροπλάστη:
Δείξε μας την τέχνη σου μικρέ.
Και κείνος φτιάχνει ένα ζαχαρένιο κρίνο.

Όμως την κυρία δεν την ικανοποιεί
και κείνος φτιάχνει μια ζαχαρένια πάχνη
και μέσα στην πάχνη ζαχαρένιο κήπο
και μέσα στον κήπο βάζει τον κρίνο.

Και πάλι την κυρία δεν την ικανοποιεί
και κείνος φτιάχνει ζαχαρένια σέρσεγκα *
να πίνει μέλι από το κρίνο.

Μήτε κι αυτό την ικανοποιεί αισθητικά
και τότε ο μικρός κάνει τον σέρσεγκα τρελό
μπαίνει κάτω απ’ το φουστάνι της κυρίας
και κάπου εκεί
χώνει το ζαχαρένιο του κεντρί.

Γιώργης Παυλόπουλος, σύλ. Λίγος Άμμος, 1997

βομβίνος [σέρσεγκας ή σερσέγκι, μπάμπουρας, κουρκούμπανος ή σκούρκος] 
ημι-κοινωνικά έντομα, κατατάσσονται στις αγριομέλισσες του γένος Bombus.

Book//mark - The Rules of Attraction | Bret Easton Ellis, 1987

The Rules of Attraction, 1987                                                                          Bret Easton Ellis

“No one ever likes the right person.” 

“When the going gets tough, the tough go drinking.” 

“I only had sex with her because I'm in love with you.” 

“I want to moan and writhe with you and I want to go up to you and kiss your mouth and pull you to me and say "I love you 
I love you I love you" while stripping. I want you so bad it stings.” 

“The seeds of love have taken hold and if we won't burn together, I'll burn alone.” 

“If you can’t make a girl come why even bother? That always seemed to me to be like writing questions in a letter.” 

“Rock 'n' roll. Deal with it.” 

“I wasn't acting on passion. I was simply acting.”

“Did you know I was born in a Holiday Inn.”

"I'm pissed off that I let her get into that position of denying me."

"A great numb feeling washes over me as I let go of the past and look forward to the future. Pretend to be a vampire. 
I don't really need to pretend, because it's who I am, an emotional vampire."

“I think we've all lost some sort of feeling”

"it's a story that might bore you but you don't have to listen..."

“What does that mean know me, know me, nobody ever knows anybody else, ever! You will never know me. ” 

Bret Easton Ellis, The Rules of Attraction, 1987

Frame Inside | Boy with a Pipe / Pablo Picasso (1905)

Pablo Picasso, Garçon à la Pipe (Boy with a Pipe), 1905                         Barry Kramer, Audrey Hepburn and Alfred H. Barr Jr. with a Picasso, 1957

J[A-Z]Z / p1ck ( Song for my Father | The Horace Silver Quintet, 1964

photo: Francis Wolff | cover: Reid Miles

The album was inspired by a trip that Silver had made to Brazil. The cover artwork features 
a photograph of Silver's father, John Tavares Silver, to whom the title song was dedicated. 
"My mother was of Irish and Negro descent, my father of Portuguese origin," Silver 
recalls in the liner notes: "He was born on the island of Maio, one of the Cape Verde Islands.

Horace Silver - Song for My Father , 1964

Recorded: October 31, 1963; January 28 and October 26, 1964 
at Van Gelder Studio, Englewood Cliffs

Horace Silver — piano 
 Carmell Jones — trumpet 
 Joe Henderson — tenor saxophone 
 Teddy Smith — bass 
 Roger Humphries — drums

The Horace Silver Quintet, 1964
Horace Silver, 1964

I don’t trust those who need to understand things | Stanley Kubrick, 1998

Kubrick self-portrait, 1949

"There is far too much focus on understanding--on being understood. The defining characteristics
of those things--books, films, paintings, pieces of music--that I consider to be art were not things
 I understood, but things I felt, and felt very deeply. I was left--happily, I might add--altered and
 confused and amazed. I felt enthusiastic about what I had seen and what I now faced. I don't trust
 those who need to understand things. There is artistry and joy in not knowing.

Feel more. That was what I meant to say."

Interview with Stanley Kubrick 
Conducted by James Grissom, 1998

Stanley Kubrick on drums with the "George Lewis Ragtime Jazz Band of New Orleans" in George
 Lewis' garden in New Orleans in 1950


A Personal Library | Jorge Luis Borges, 1985

Jorge Luis Borges

“When writers die they become books, which is, after all, not too bad an incarnation."

J. L. Borges, The Talk of the Town, The New Yorker, July 7, 1986

In 1985, Argentine publisher Hyspamerica asked J. L. Borges to create A Personal Library -
which involved curating 100 great works of literature and writing introductions for each volume.

1. Stories by Julio Cortázar (not sure if this refers to Hopscotch,
Blow-Up and Other Stories, or neither)
2. & 3. The Apocryphal Gospels
4. Amerika and The Complete Stories by Franz Kafka
5. The Blue Cross: A Father Brown Mystery by G.K. Chesterton
6. & 7. The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins
8. The Intelligence of Flowers by Maurice Maeterlinck
9. The Desert of the Tartars by Dino Buzzati
10. Peer Gynt and Hedda Gabler by Henrik Ibsen

11. The Mandarin: And Other Stories by Eça de Queirós
12. The Jesuit Empire by Leopoldo Lugones
13. The Counterfeiters by André Gide
14. The Time Machine and The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells
15. The Greek Myths by Robert Graves
16. & 17. Demons by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
18. Mathematics and the Imagination by Edward Kasner
19. The Great God Brown and Other Plays, Strange Interlude, and Mourning Becomes Electra by Eugene O'Neill
20. Tales of Ise by Ariwara no Narihara

21. Benito Cereno, Billy Budd, and Bartleby, the Scrivener by Herman Melville
22. The Tragic Everyday, The Blind Pilot, and Words and Blood by Giovanni Papini
23. The Three Impostors
24. Songs of Songs tr. by Fray Luis de León
25. An Explanation of the Book of Job tr. by Fray Luis de León
26. The End of the Tether and Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad
27. The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon
28. Essays & Dialogues by Oscar Wilde
29. Barbarian in Asia by Henri Michaux

30. The Glass Bead Game by Hermann Hesse
31. Buried Alive by Arnold Bennett
32. On the Nature of Animals by Claudius Elianus
33. The Theory of the Leisure Class by Thorstein Veblen
34. The Temptation of St. Antony by Gustave Flaubert
35. Travels by Marco Polo
36. Imaginary lives by Marcel Schwob
37. Caesar and Cleopatra, Major Barbara, and Candide by George Bernard Shaw
38. Macus Brutus and The Hour of All by Francisco de Quevedo
39. The Red Redmaynes by Eden Phillpotts
40. Fear and Trembling by Søren Kierkegaard

41. The Golem by Gustav Meyrink
42. The Lesson of the Master, The Figure in the Carpet, and The Private Life by Henry James
43. & 44. The Nine Books of the History of Herodotus by Herdotus
45. Pedro Páramo by Juan Rulfo
46. Tales by Rudyard Kipling
47. Vathek by William Beckford
48. Moll Flanders by Daniel Defoe
49. The Professional Secret & Other Texts by Jean Cocteau
50. The Last Days of Emmanuel Kant and Other Stories by Thomas de Quincey

51. Prologue to the Work of Silverio Lanza by Ramon Gomez de la Serna
52. The Thousand and One Nights
53. New Arabian Nights and Markheim by Robert Louis Stevenson
54. Salvation of the Jews, The Blood of the Poor, and In the Darkness by Léon Bloy
55. The Bhagavad Gita and The Epic of Gilgamesh
56. Fantastic Stories by Juan José Arreola
57. Lady into Fox, A Man in the Zoo, and The Sailor's Return by David Garnett
58. Gulliver's Travels by Jonathan Swift
59. Literary Criticism by Paul Groussac
60. The Idols by Manuel Mujica Láinez

61. The Book of Good Love by Juan Ruiz
62. Complete Poetry by William Blake
63. Above the Dark Circus by Hugh Walpole
64. Poetical Works by Ezequiel Martinez Estrada
65. Tales by Edgar Allan Poe
66. The Aeneid by Virgil
67. Stories by Voltaire
68. An Experiment with Time by J.W. Dunne
69. An Essay on Orlando Furioso by Atilio Momigliano
70. & 71. The Varieties of Religious Experience and The Study of Human Nature by William James
72. Egil's Saga by Snorri Sturluson
73. The Book of the Dead
74. & 75. The Problem of Time by J. Alexander Gunn


New verbs | Frida Kahlo

Photographer unknown, Frida on a boat, Xochimilco, Mexico City, n.d

"It is allowed to invent new verbs?
I want to create one for you: I sky you, so that my wings may
 stretch out enormously, to love you without boundaries."

Frida Kahlo, from Passionate Letters, Abscondita (2002)


Spleen: I am like the King of a Rainy Country | Charles Baudelaire, 1857

Alexandre Benois, The King walked in any weather, 1898

I am like the King of a Rainy Country,
Rich, but powerless; young, yet feeling wintry;
no longer flattered by the obsequious bow;
Bored by my dogs and by every other creature now,
Nothing brightens my day, not the Hunt, not falconry,
Not the dying people below my balcony.
My fool’s grotesque ballading
does not distract me from my malady.
Carved with fleur-de-lys, my bed is a tomb
while sequestered ladies who think every prince a bloom
hope by their impudent dress to make me their own;
they will never coax a mouse out of this young skeleton.
Shall we turn to those who claim they turn lead
to gold though they and we remain the living dead?
I bathe in the baths of blood the Romans brought us
back in the days of great power and purpose.
Even they cannot warm this dazed cadaver
slipping into the place where the salt has lost its savor.

Charles Baudelaire, Fleurs du mal / Flowers of Evil, 1857
tr. James McColley Eilers

Flick Review < The Cranes are Flying | Mikhail Kalatozov (1957)

"That's what love is, my dear: a harmless mental illness."
"Cranes like ships, sailing up in the sky,
White ones and grey ones, with long beaks, they fly"

Director: Mikhail Kalatozov 
Writers: Viktor Rozov (play), Viktor Rozov (screenplay)
Cinematography: Sergey Urusevskiy *
Stars: Tatyana Samoylova, Aleksey Batalov, Vasiliy Merkurev

* One of the most notable features of the film is cinematographer Sergey Urusevskiy's then ground-breaking use of hand-held cameras. He had learned how to film like this when he was a military cameraman during the war.

** When the film was released in the Soviet Union, it caused a sensation amongst audiences weaned on propaganda fare. For the first time, audiences were able to weep at the pain of losing millions of their population in the war. It was also the first time that subjects like draft dodging, war profiteering and the black market had been expressed on film.

Aleksey Batalov, Mikhail Kalatozov, Evgeniy Svidetelev, and Sergey Urusevskiy, 1957

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