#LiteraryArts

[wordsfromastranger]

If love was a question

If love was a question Willingly getting lost in someone would be the brief answer If love was a question Don’t ask a descriptive answer My explanation will not be able to justify answer But if the poetry becomes my rescuer, this is what I would’ve answered “With no expectations I’m heading into a path unknown to the mind but yet very known warmth and my heart is smiling I am sure to not…

[krafty-page-chronicles]

Spotlight on Napoleon Abad Torres III

The Dream Weaver of Poetry Poetry has long been a sanctuary for those who seek to express the depths of their soul. For Filipino poet Napoleon Abad Torres III, poetry is more than just an art—it is an innate calling, an unstoppable force that shapes his daily life. His journey as a writer is one of passion, perseverance, and an unwavering belief in his own voice. From the humble beginnings of…

[sepulcher-of-the-light]

Gregor Samsa's girlfriend, by Lucas Garcete

[laurachouettepoetry]

I cannot write in the stillness of life. My ink must be drawn from chaos And utter difficulty. The page must tremble in unsteady hands, While the lips quiver words of unrest — Truth lies in uneven lines. - Laura Chouette

[secondblooms]

In English, we say: “I miss you.” But in poetry, we say: “I trace the shape of your absence in the spaces where your laughter used to linger, and let the echoes of you fill the hollow hours.” In English, we say: “I don’t know how to let go.” But in poetry, we say: “I carry you in my chest like a stone— heavy, unyielding, and carved with the sharp edges of what once was.” In English, we say: “I feel lost.” But in poetry, we say: “The compass of my heart spins wildly now, its needle drawn to places it can no longer call home.” In English, we say: “I wish it were different.” But in poetry, we say: “I water the garden of could-have-beens with tears, waiting for flowers that refuse to bloom.” In English, we say: “I hope you’re happy.” But in poetry, we say: “May the sun that warms your days be as kind to you as the first kiss of dew on the dawning light upon the leaves of the laurel that we once made love under” In English, we say: “You hurt me.” But in poetry, we say: “You planted thorns in my chest with hands I once trusted, and now every breath feels like an apology I shouldn’t owe.” In English, we say: “I wanted to stay.” But in poetry, we say: “I lingered at the edge of your world, a star burning quietly, unnoticed in your vast, indifferent sky.” In English, we say: “I’m trying to move on.” But in poetry, we say: “I untangle your name from my veins each morning, only to find it woven into my dreams again at night.” In English, we say: “I’ll be okay.” But in poetry, we say: “I gather the shattered pieces of myself like broken glass, knowing someday, even scars can catch the light.” With poetry I write paths through gardens of grace with words in ways my body dare not go as a whole. Written by : Larson Langston.

[rmfrt]

Bob Cobbing, Whisper Piece, 1969.

[ecommmax]

Whispers of the Past

In the heart of the ancient castle, where the walls whispered tales of glory and despair, Lord Aric sat at the head of the grand banquet table. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, surveyed the opulent hall with a gaze that had seen too much. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine, but an undercurrent of tension lay beneath the facade of festivity.

At his side, kneeling in humble supplication, was Elara, a maiden whose delicate features belied the strength within her. Clad in a simple dress that spoke of her servitude, her eyes held a glimmer of defiance, a spark that had not yet been extinguished by the weight of her chains. Her head bowed, she did not meet the gaze of her master, but she felt the heat of his scrutiny nonetheless.

Standing nearby, her posture rigid with silent resolve, was Seraphina, the warrior whose loyalty to the lord was as unyielding as the steel of her armor. Her presence was a testament to the battles fought in distant lands and the secrets buried in the castle's dark corners.

The hall, adorned with tapestries depicting the lineage of Lord Aric’s family, seemed to pulse with a life of its own. Each thread, each woven image, carried the weight of centuries. As the lord lifted a spoon to Elara's lips, the gesture was both tender and cruel, a reminder of the power he wielded over those within his domain.

The guests, nobles, and dignitaries from distant realms, feigned indifference, their conversations a mere murmur in the grand scheme of the evening. They knew better than to intervene in the affairs of Lord Aric, for his wrath was as legendary as his hospitality.

But within the confines of the castle, beyond the watchful eyes of the courtiers, lay the true story of the realm. A story of betrayal and loyalty, of love and sacrifice, of dreams crushed and reborn. And as the night wore on, the echoes of the past began to stir, whispering promises of change and the unraveling of fate.

The banquet was but a prelude to the saga that would unfold and test the bonds of loyalty and the limits of power. In the heart of darkness, where shadows danced, and secrets thrived, destiny awaited those brave enough to seize it.

[s-soulwriter]

For my dear sister and brother Sometimes I see my mother’s face in the mirror, I wonder if growing up makes things clearer. I ponder if this is my final tragedy, And what does my sister see in her reality? Sometimes I glimpse my father’s gaze in the glass, I wonder if growing up means letting the past pass. I question if this is my last sorrowful plea, And what does my brother see in his reality? -Soulwriter (2021)

[lyrinami]

Garden of Literary Delights

[ultra-obi]

SCIENCE OF BEING BY Eugene Fersen PART 1 (Pgs 1-5) A lazy edition for the easily bored

[bigfeelinghuman]

my heart became tinder to sacrifice itself to the flame of our love -BigFeelingHuman

[arthistoriansdiary]

Ophelia

Sarah Bernhardt, Ophelia (n.d.). White marble in a wood frame, 70 x 59 cm. Private collection, Normandy, France.

In the realm of art and literature, few scenes are as hauntingly captivating as Ophelia's tragic demise in William Shakespeare's Hamlet. Sarah Bernhardt, celebrated for her unparalleled prowess on the stage, extends her artistic expression into the medium of sculpture with her rendition of Ophelia. This piece, a rare surviving work signed by Bernhardt, offers a unique visual exploration of one of literature's most poignant figures.

A Fusion of Art and Tragedy:

Bernhardt's Ophelia is not merely a sculptural representation; it is a narrative frozen in marble. Inspired by Shakespeare's vivid depiction of Ophelia's final moments, Bernhardt captures the essence of the character's tragic end through the medium of high relief. The sculpture portrays Ophelia in a bust form, her head elegantly turned, eyes closed, as if in peaceful resignation to her fate.

The Garland of Flowers:

Adorned with a garland of flowers, the sculpture's Ophelia is enveloped by water that seamlessly merges with her tresses. Bernhardt’s attention to detail is manifest in the intricately carved flowers and the delicate waves of the 'glassy stream', creating a texture that contrasts strikingly with the smooth, bulging form of Ophelia's exposed breast. This duality of texture highlights the sculpture's technical mastery and artistic depth.

A Moment Between Life and Death:

Though depicted at the moment of her death, Bernhardt's Ophelia exudes an undeniable eroticism through her sensuous open-mouthed expression, overt nudity, and languid pose. This portrayal suggests not despair but an ecstatic consummation, presenting death not as a moment of loss but as a profound, albeit tragic, fulfillment. It's a bold interpretation that challenges traditional readings of Ophelia's character, suggesting a deeper, perhaps more complex relationship between the heroine and her fate.

Bernhardt's Artistic Legacy:

Sarah Bernhardt's Ophelia stands as a testament to her multifaceted talent and her ability to traverse the worlds of acting and sculpture with equal finesse. The sculpture serves not only as a memorial to Ophelia's tragic story but also as a reflection of Bernhardt's own interpretive genius and her capacity to imbue marble with the breath of life and emotion.

Reflecting on Ophelia:

In Bernhardt's Ophelia, we are invited to reconsider the narrative of the doomed heroine, seeing her not as a victim of circumstance but as a figure of complex emotional and existential depth. The sculpture asks us to ponder the thin line between life and death, the beauty found in the tragic end, and the eternal resonance of Shakespeare's work through the lens of Bernhardt's sculptural vision.

Your Perspective:

How does Sarah Bernhardt's sculptural interpretation of Ophelia challenge or enrich your understanding of the character? Does this portrayal alter your perception of Ophelia's final moments as an act of despair or an embrace of the inevitable?

[marandsviet]

Welcome to Marandsviet's Redbubble shop! As a digital creator and writer, I infuse my passion for our planet, environmental protection, and respect for diverse beliefs into every design. My artwork celebrates the beauty of Earth and promotes harmony among all cultures. Here you'll find: Eco-inspired designs ? Multicultural and inclusive art ? Literary-themed creations ? Digital illustrations that spark curiosity ?

[lostcausemag]

Our issue is coming out later today! Be on the lookout.

[artia]

Liesel Meminger In the world of Fallout