1 pce.

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"But then the demon, much too soon, returned one Sunday afternoon."

Edward Gorey

'Hide'

I've been waiting for the black deer

all my life, hidden here in the dark,

corner of the wood.

I see glimpses of them, breaking cover,

swinging  away

to erase themselves in the deep trees.

 

They are implicit there, and will move

only if I hold still.

Though in a dream I have

they stand so near I can feel them breathing.

Then, when I look down

I have disappeared.

 

Out at the wood's edge, the snorts

and coughs of the feeding herd.

A gust startles a lift of leaves, and they

scatter and bound like the far-off heads

of deer in the distance.

The wind drops and the trees are antlered.

 

~ Robin Robertson

"Prayer"

Every day I want to speak with you. And every day something more important

calls for my attention—the drugstore, the beauty products, the luggage

I need to buy for the trip.
Even now I can hardly sit here

among the falling piles of paper and clothing, the garbage trucks outside
already screeching and banging.

The mystics say you are as close as my own breath.
Why do I flee from you?

My days and nights pour through me like complaints
and become a story I forgot to tell.

Help me. Even as I write these words I am planning
to rise from the chair as soon as I finish this sentence.

~ Marie Howe

 

'The Eye Border'

Gisèle Freund, the German-born photographer who died in 2000 at 91, is both famous and not famous enough. 

Freund, who fled Germany for France in 1933, took an astonishing number of photographs of writers and other artists, through her connection with the much mythologized Sylvia Beach and Adrienne Monnier. 

A touching exhibition at the Fondation Pierre Bergé/Yves Saint Laurent, “Gisèle Freund, l’Oeil Frontière,” covers the period from 1933 to 1940, when she went to southern France after the German invasion. The show pulls together the portraits, most of which were done during that time, with some of the reportage, plus professional documents and letters. 

 

Read the entire review here.

From Olga's Diary

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'Because You're Young' ~ Mary Hampton

 

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'Photograph from September 11'

 

 

They jumped from the burning floors—

one, two, a few more,

higher, lower.

The photograph halted them in life,

and now keeps them   

above the earth toward the earth.

Each is still complete,

with a particular face

and blood well hidden.

There’s enough time

for hair to come loose,

for keys and coins

to fall from pockets.

They’re still within the air’s reach,

within the compass of places

that have just now opened.

I can do only two things for them—

describe this flight

and not add a last line.

Wislawa Szymborska,

“Photograph from September 11” from Monologue of a Dog. Copyright © 2005

 

'new york, madame, is a monument to a city'

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photo: Bernice Abbott