View allAll Photos Tagged Poet
Since I can never see your face,
And never shake you by the hand,
I send my soul through time and space
To greet you. You will understand.
JAMES ELROY FLECKER
To a Poet a thousand years hence
Even when visiting the prairie you can forget the colors of the prairie. There seems a bright yellow and dull brown, a dusty and muted pall draped over the landscape.
The grasses are green. The grasses are brown. And your eyes can only notice the reds and blues at glances, if at all.
Apart from dawn and dusk, the sky shifts endlessly from white to blue to white while clouds build across the parching afternoon.
In summer there are few flowers, but even those come missing more often than not.
The colors in this photo are at once surreal and hyperreal. They exist in that uncertain light between the lens and the film.
The colors on the prairie are few, but giving into it feels more colorful; allowing yourself over to the prairie, scrambling with life, overcome with place and being, there exists an endless color spectrum of light.
This is how the prairie can feel.
I will often say something like "I try to make my color photos express how a place felt rather than how it looked," and that is what is happening here - though I cannot imagine it so for everyone.
Most see these nearly-desert places as empty, featureless, and ultimately colorless: the beauty is show through black & white, if at all. But here, in this photo (and with any luck in most of the prairie photos), our notions and expectations are merely the foundations for possibilities. Even this is little more than a starting place.
This photo shows nothing that wasn't already there. It invents nothing. It imagines nothing. It rearranges no design. What it does (I hope) is simply show you what is possible.
.
.
.
'A Poet Without'
Camera: Mamiya RB67
Film: Agfa Color XRS 400; x-90s
Process: DIY ECN-2
Nebraska
July 2023
This scene is not real. I was just enjoying putting together parts of six different photos I had from Port Townsend’s Wooden Boat Festivals. This was done with photoshop using selections and cut and paste and no use of AI. The Pirate flag came from Wind Spirit which is a boat that entertains the kids.
De geschiedenis van dit plaatsje begint in de twaalfde eeuw na Christus toen gesticht werd door de Orde van de Hospitaliers. Evenals vele andere dorpjes in de nabije omgeving, heeft het door de eeuwen heen zwaar geleden onder de verschillende gewapende conflicten. Zo had het zwaar te leiden onder de gevolgen van de Godsdienstoorlogen. Zo raakte onder meer het kasteel bij het dorpje zwaar beschadigd en werden de verschillende verdedigingswerken van ontmanteld. Na de Godsdienstoorlogen raakte het zelfs in verval en dreigde dit mooie dorpje een spookdorpje te worden. Dankzij de inzet van de zogenaamde Amis du Vieux Poët-Laval, oftewel de Vereniging van Vrienden van Le Poët-Laval, werd dit voorkomen. Zo slaagden zij er in de plundering van het vervallen dorpje een halt toe te roepen, waardoor het dorpje kon uitgroeien tot het prachtige plaatsje zoals het vandaag de dag bekend staat. Le Poët-Laval behoort tot de mooiste dorpjes in het departement Drôme. Haar prachtige ligging, tegen een beboste heuvel, heeft hier ongetwijfeld mee te maken. Ondanks de turbulente geschiedenis van het plaatsje, heeft het dorpje haar middeleeuwse karakter weten te behouden. Oorspronkelijk was het plaatsje een rustig dorpje. Onder meer de Nederlandse schrijver Gerard Reve vond hier zijn rust. Vandaag de dag herbergt het plaatsje enkele bezienswaardigheden, zoals het oude kasteel van de Hospitaalridders, de oude kapel en het Dauphinois museum van het protestantisme.
与謝野晶子（Yosano Akiko、１８７８－１９４２）
Her poet、”君死にたまふことなかれ”was her song when her brother was called up to Russo-Japanese War at 1904, produced by her husband,Tekkan.
the following is Arthar Binard translation.
I call you, brother
don't you dare lay down your life.
You, the youngest child in our family,
thus cherished all the more-
Mother and father didn't educate you.......
bring you up to the age of 24, so that you couldn't kill or be killed yourself.
.........
Although Japan pushed to War until the defeat of World War second.
For a weekly theme suggested by another Flickr member.
Created with 3D models from Digital Artist Zone, and finished off with Topaz Impression.
Life is short, hence discerned to pause for a moment.
Some final notes are from an underestimated poet.
I wouldn't rely much on the few that don’t know-it,
Friends felt the thought without a doubt, also seen it,
Serene words in notion, as well as sensible in trivet.
Video
no hawkers and salesmen allowed
inside ..a serious thought
on a board confide
to all others access denied
only a poet and photographer
riding a crest of time and tide
hijdas eunuchs naga sadhus
sufis rafaees
dont ever actually collide
a flickr photostream
mutually reside
holistically healing
a soul deep fried
humility is humanity
a world without pride
freedom of expression
regressive recession
though the hands are tied
om mani padme hoon
a blogger mantra
time tried
reinvented god
on his side
alpha inventions
cheru jackson
spiraling blog traffic
provide
Poet’s narcissus (Narcissus poeticus) is a fragrant, white-petaled spring flower with a small, yellow cup edged in red at its center. Native to Europe, it’s one of the oldest cultivated narcissus species and has long been associated with myths, poetry, and symbolism. Its heady scent and graceful form make it a favourite in gardens and naturalised meadows alike.
Créé par la Ville de Paris en 1954 à l'initiative de Pascal Bonetti, président d'honneur de la Société des Poètes Français, ce charmant "square", attenant au Jardin des Serres d’Auteuil, a dédié ses allées fleuries aux poètes. Leur prose a été gravée sur de petites plaques (103) disséminées le long des allées. Villon, Verlaine, Mallarmé ou Molière, Boileau ou Baudelaire vous transportent dans leur univers où la beauté des mots se confond avec la beauté de la nature. Un impressionnant pin noir d’Autriche de 32m de haut, planté en 1900, désormais le plus haut de la Capitale, domine les bustes de Victor Hugo, Théophile Gautier et Alexandre Pouchkine.
More preloved motors at Horopito Motors.
Horopito Motors, also known as "Smash Palace". Part working car mechanics, part museum. If you are into rusty and crusty (or want used car parts) it is a great place to spend several hours photographing!
fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcisse_des_po%C3%A8tes
Un petit rappel
Toutes les jonquilles sont des Narcisses, mais tous les Narcisses ne sont pas des Jonquilles
fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcisse_des_po%C3%A8tes
A little reminder
Ce qui mérite une petite recherche
Gabriel Bouquier est un artiste peintre et poète avant de devenir un homme politique français né le 10 novembre 1739 à Terrasson-Lavilledieu (Dordogne) et décédé le 6 octobre 1810 au même lieu.
“The soul of a poet is always in his native
country. His strength is in his words, which he
puts into rhythm, which reflects his perception of
what is happening around him. The poet, like a
warrior, always goes forward and fights for his
spiritual homeland holding a sword in his hands.
But he has no defense tools, so he can die at
any moment. That is why he always goes to the
end, putting all his strength into every step or
blow with the hope of seeing a new dawn over
the ruins."
*****
Art: A New Dawn
Artist: Rule Binder
Mike Barlew, an American poet, has sent me a poem he wrote about Lisbon, my city. I asked for his permission to publish it here together with a photo. And here it is now.
Lisboa
They return
To their
Birthplace
To light and
Shadows
To color
And thought
To smoky
Cafes and
Heroic
Dress
In rain
And fog
Shrouded
In mystery
Returning to
The voyage
Of discovery
Port of Poets
© mBarlew
Christine Timm is a NYC performance poet, drawing inspiration from jazz and ska, West African griottes, Ginsberg and Bukowski, and a bucket of spoken word artists. Her recently completed dissertation, Breaking the Silence: Manifestations of the Oral Tradition in 20th Century Literature landed her a Ph.D. from the City of New York Graduate Center, where she was a student of Allen Ginsberg.
At the Bowery Poetry Club in lower Manhattan, Christine co-hosts and co-produces the New York City College Poetry Slam as well as other shows, like the LOVE POETRY HATE RACISM events. For the youngsters, she produces the popular Bowery Kids Series, known for providing interactive, educational, but essentially quirky entertainment and workshops.
She also co-hosts and co-produces Westchester County’s only PSI (Poetry Slam, Inc.) registered slam.
Christine is Associate Professor of English at Westchester Community College, where she takes great pleasure in teaching composition, Modern American Poetry, and Creative Writing. She curates the Poets and Writers reading series and produces a slew of campus poetry events. She is faculty advisor to the current NYC College Slam championship team, the Urban Poets Society. She is also senior editor of the campus creative writing journal, Ink.
In addition to hitting the stage with her distinctive spoken word spin, she has print publications in places, like American Book Review and Beat Culture: The 1950s and Beyond. She has served proudly as featured poet of the month for Poets Against the War. Her poetry and performance schedule are available at www.christinetimm.com
When she’s not pushing poetry, Christine is kicking up dust with Niall O’Leary and his Irish dancing ensemble. The group has performed at many of the major New York City venues, like Symphony Space, as well as all of the real Irish pubs in town. They dance regularly with the NYC based Irish rock band, Black 47.
After swinging her entire life from one NYC borough to the other, Christine Timm moved with her husband, Bob James, and children to Westchester County. She has three lively sons, who all enjoy entertaining her with their mischievous antics.
"Many poets are not poets for the same reason that many religious men are not saints: they never succeed in being themselves. They never get around to being the particular poet or the particular monk they are intended to be by God. They never become the man or the artist who is called for by all the circumstances of their individual lives. They waste their years in vain efforts to be some other poet, some other saint...They wear out their minds and bodies in a hopeless endeavor to have somebody else's experiences or write somebody else's poems."
"What we have to be is what we are."
— Thomas Merton
The founding members of the literary anthology "tomorrow" published in 1908/1909 and considered as the starting point of modern Hungarian literature: Endre Ady, Gyula Juhász, Akos Dutka, Tamás Emőd.
Poets Garden.
Au milieu des nuances changeantes loue les rimes grande poésie grandissant des chansons florissantes des vallées heureuses muse,
tôn brenhinol o eiriau pleserus hyfryd pleserau dilys blodau melyn stanzas hardd yn dathlu purples coch,
leidenschaftliche Tage träumen Nächte Paradies Frühlingsliebhaber Pfade purpurrote Blüten süße Sorgen reichlich Zeit,
vrolijke geheime dansvrijheid pagina's triomf stappen glorieuze schaduwen vrome gebeden verhoord,
сознательное сердце простые взгляды вечные ароматы гулящие птицы таинственные лозы, охватывающие мысли ангелов,
אסיר תודה, אין סוף, אבני חן, עמוק, קדוש, הודיה, נאמן, משרתים, חסד, רוח, מנצח, ישו,
熱烈な理由熱心な聖者豊かな年豊かな統一不断の羊飼い聖霊慈悲愛の親切永遠の果実を受けるアーメン!
Steve.D.Hammond.