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Príncipes de Persia

Mis batallas no son muy complejas pero sin duda son batallas Estrello los carritos del súper en los tendones de otras personas Tardo mucho tiempo en escoger una ciruela Sostengo la mirada por largo rato con cualquier tipo que se atreva a mirarte mientras analizas los lácteos Algunos se arrepienten y bajan sus ojos al suelo como perros castrados Otros se sostienen por más tiempo y nos coreografiamos como si fuéramos un par de espadachines persas Casi siempre soy el vencedor No porque sea el más valiente Es porque tú estás a mi lado Preguntándome por la circunferencia de las frutas Con tus velos y tus escudos Afilando mis espadas Pagando los lambruscos o apartando un forro para el colchón

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Mariano Blatt, Mi juventud unida, 2007

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CINCO POEMAS PARA DJ’s PRINCIPIANTES

KID A

Todo se encuentra en su lugar correcto El himno nacional Hace invisibles 3 de dos Optimista de los limbos Eres un idiota La campana de cada mañana Es el soundtrack de una película Sin títulos

RELIGIÓN DE NEÓN

El espejo negro De aquel automóvil que nunca para de correr Interviene una biblia de neón Ondas oceánicas oscuras, raras vibraciones Forman un mar de ruido Dentro de una casa bendita y ligera Por su barandal alcanzo a ver todos los días A mi Anticristo bailar blues alrededor de una caja idiota Los coches van a ningún lado Nuestro cuerpo es una jaula enferma

FRECUENCIA NARANJA

Mientras fertilizo la sierra leona                                                                        

Una voz me revela                                                                                          

“Hey, dude, the life is not just to win sweet money to become a honey man”

Odio a los niñoz zuper-ricoz                                                              

Intervenidos como estrellas adictas al crack y al rock&roll                             

Son pirámides perdidas, blancos simios que practican                                  

Una religión maligna                                                                                           

Mi primo es Forrest Gump                                                                             

Cada mañana corretea a la materia en tonos rosa                                        

Para saber cómo exterminar poemas

EN MI PESADILLA FAVORITA

Aparecen adolescentes fluorescentes Que a su vez sueñan ositos de peluche En tormenta cerebral el peligro tiene forma Una sola letra significa una metáfora Muy pocos la conocemos

Hazme un favor Esta casa es un pinche circo Si entras aquí, ten cuidado Las cosas oscuras viven dentro de ladrillos Como dientes amarillos y viejos Del número 505

VS

Organicé una expedición al Klama Hama Mi alma estaba ansiosa de jugos, demoliciones Trewas y galaxias

Quise descubrir a Buda Sin que me prometieran ningún paraíso Fuera del cosmos O en el fondo de un rojo precipicio

En el día dos Alguien rogó por mí En el bosque de Xanadú Saturado de cebras y mariposas Luchamos contra el arcoíris Y por fin habló el gran ídolo de Asia

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Piwanego/Noogom [Long Ago/Now], 2021 3 sacs brodéss, sable provenant de Kitigan Zibi Anishinabeg AKI (Land), 2021 laine de verre, plexiglass 104 x 168.9 x 20.3 cm

Caroline Monnet

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Resilient to the Bones (detail), 2021 mousse polystyrène 185.4 x 246.4 x 9.5 cm

Caroline Monnet

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Poemacto II

Herberto Hélder

Poemacto II Translated from the Portuguese by Sérgio Sarano

My head trembles with all the forgetfulness. I try to say how everything is something else. I talk, I think. I dream of the tremendous bones of feet. It is always something else, a single thing covered with names. And death goes on from mouth to mouth, like slight saliva, like the fear that is always at the unformulated bottom of life.

I know fields imagine their own roses. People imagine their own rose fields. And sometimes I stand before the fields as if dying, and sometimes as if only now I could wake.

Sometimes everything is lit up. Sometimes it sings and bleeds. I say no one is forgiven in time. I say madness is thorny like a throat. I say: autumn rolls along and what is autumn? Eyelids lash against the big masculine day of thought. I leave dead and living things in the spirit of the work. My life in ecstasy like a chamber of torches.

It was – how shall I say? – an absolute house.

I play, I swear.

It was a childhood-house. I know how crazy a house it was. I dipped my hands in water: I dozed off, I remembered. Mirrors cracked up against our youth.

Now I feel the brutal, lyrical spinning of the wheels of life. There is in forgetfulness, in the total remembrance of things, a rose like a tall head, a fish like a swift and fierce movement. A rose-fish inside my misguided idea. There are cups and drunken forks inside me. Because the love of things in their future tense is terribly deep, it is soft, devastating.

Chairs were burning in their places. My sisters dwelt at the top of movement like awestruck beings. Sometimes they laughed out loud. They weaved themselves into their horrid darkness. Inside them, rotten menstruation dreamed of the mouth of night. It sang very low. It seemed to flow. Around tables and thunderstruck shadows. It rained on earthly nights. I want to shout beyond earthly madness. — It was damp, distilled, inspired.

There was rigor. Oh extreme example. There was an essence of office, a sensational matter in the secret of fruit trees, like their centripetal apples, and grapes hung on ripeness. There was a cat’s hot magnolia. A cat that came in through hands, or a magnolia rising out of the hand and into the face of the gloomily pure mother. Ah, crazy mother around the corner, seatedly complete. Her hands touched the flesh over the burning, like an ecstatic morsel.

It was an absolute-house – how shall I say? – a feeling where some people would die. An insanity to smile, loftily. To have blueberries, green leaves, thorns with a little darkness all over. A name in the spirit like a rose-fish.

I prefer to go insane under the arched halls now in words. I prefer to sing on inner balconies. Because there were staircases and women that stood honeycombed by intelligence. The rosette-less body, the language to love and to ruminate. Singing milk.

Now I dive and ascend like a cup. I bring up that image of inner water. – The poem’s pen dissolved in the primal sense of the poem. Or the poem going up the pen, crossing its impulse, the returning poem. Everything rises like a nail, a raised knife. Everything dies out its name in another name.

Poem not coming from the power of madness. Poem as the inconcrete basis of creation. Ah, to think with tenderness, to imagine with ferocity. Because I am a life with furious melancholy, with furious conception. With some furious irony.

I am an intelligent devastation. With fabulous marigolds. Gold on top. Sad dawn or midnight played on a trumpet. I am some audible, sensible thing. A movement. A chair conjuring up itself in the basin, becoming the sitting. Or flowers drinking up the vase. The structural silence of flowers. And the table underneath. To dream.

https://thescores.org.uk/herberto-helder/

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Caroline Monnet

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Poca cosa en verdad

No es muy largo lo que debo decirte:

             tiemblo cuando hablo de ello.

             Poca cosa,

                      en verdad.

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“Las Jovencitas y Jovencitos "que forman la infantería de la actual dictadura de la apariencia”, quisieran que la simple palabra «amor» no implicase el proyecto de destruir esta sociedad. Todavía no han entendido que los caminos del «amor» son siempre dolorosos.“ - Tiqqun, “Primeros materiales para una teoría de la Jovencita”

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Rogan Gregory

Large Sculpture Bench / Alligator Form , 2016

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David de Tscharner 

Coque #2, 2016

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🐚🌊No fundo do mar — Offsite presentation of works by #AnnaBochkova #DanielaGrabosch #JackieSlanley #PauloArraiano #SiggiSekira at Grinzing, Vienna, Austria🐚🌊

@si__xs @anna__bochkova @jackieslanley @danielagrabosch @pauloarraiano

#offsite #offsitegroupshow #offisitegroupexhibition #vienna #austria #nofundodomar #SophiadeMelloBreynerAndresen #publicinstallation #drawing #scuplture #video #art #contemporaryart #ofluxoplatform

@ofluxoplatform (at Vienna - Austria) https://www.instagram.com/p/CF4zJJ_lrof/?igshid=9eg02108fa9v

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Truth to Materials — Group exhibition curated by Alexandra-Maria Toth at LOVAAS, Munich, Germany

w/ #MartinChramosta #KarolineDausien #JanErbelding #RachelFäth #JohannaGonschorek #IrinaLotarevich #KristinWeissenberger

Running until March, 26, 2021

🔗in stories

@lovaas_projects @alexandramariatoth

#alexandramariatoth #lovaas #lovaasprojects #lovaasgallery #munich #munichexhibitions #lovaasmunich #germany #groupexhibition #groupshow #curated #sculpture #installation #painting #art #contemporaryart #ofluxo #ofluxopatform

@ofluxoplatform (em Munich, Germany) https://www.instagram.com/p/CMfBFdPl5S2/?igshid=bmrohs93e8i6

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Charles LONG Untitled 2012 steel, fabric, ecopoxy, and pigment 88 x 30 x 32 inches; 223.5 x 76.2 x 81.3 cm

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Anna Uddenberg

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