A night with George Steiner and Gaelle Boissonnard—now that’s a curious ménage! Late caffeine kept me up until 6:30 this morning and I spent the night with these two.
Steiner took me from an old Transfuge to wikiquotes and Cornel West; there goes 3 hours pf precious sleep and when my mind was too tired to absorb anything more, Boissonnard’s images were there to help with their delicate originality.
“There is something terribly wrong with a culture inebriated by noise and gregariousness.” Steiner
Boissonnard is everything our “noisy” culture isn’t—serene, quiet, tranquil…
She has started working with a new company; I hope this move makes her work more available to international markets. Just found out that my friends in Paris, La Banque de l’Image, mention her in their company’s blog!
I love this quote of Steiner: “the most important tribute any human being can pay to a poem or a piece of prose he or she really loves is to learn it by heart. Not by brain, by heart; the expression is vital.” This is what I have learned by heart long ago:
“Le tout est de tout dire, et je manque de mots
Et je manque de temps, et je manque d’audace
Je rêve et je dévide au hasard mes images
J’ai mal vécu, et mal appris à parler clair.” Eluard
دلم گرفته است
دلم گرفته است
به ايوان مي روم و انگشتانم را
بر پوست كشيده شب مي كشم
چراغهاي رابطه تاريكند
چراغهاي رابطه تاريكند
كسي مرا به آفتاب
معرفي نخواهد كرد
كسي مرا به ميهماني گنجشكها نخواهد برد
پرواز را به خاطر بسپار
پرنده مردني است
I feel sad,
I feel blue.
I go outside and rub my fingers
on the sleek shell of the night.
“I see that lights of contact are blocked,
All lights of contact are blocked.”
“Nobody will introduce me to the sun,
Nobody will take me to the gathering of doves.”
Keep the flight in mind,
The bird may die.
This post is in the loving memory of the 3 sisters my friend, Marie, has lost in the past few years (the last one two days ago)—all young, all from heart problems…
To see Boissonnard’s blog go here.
Long awaited darkness falls
Casting shadows on the walls
In the twilight hour I am alone
Sitting near the fireplace, dying embers warm my face
In this peaceful solitude
All the outside world subdued
Everything comes back to me again
In the gloom
Like an angel passing through my room
Half awake and half in dreams
Seeing long forgotten scenes
So the present runs into the past
Now and then become entwined, playing games within my mind
Like the embers as they die
Love was one prolonged good-bye
And it all comes back to me tonight
In the gloom
Like an angel passing through my room
I close my eyes
And my twilight images go by
All too soon
Like an angel passing through my room
Si soulageant le Blog aujourd’hui. Effectivement, le monde a besoin d’une silence profonde….
Beautiful Post,Thoughts & Poem by Marie..
The highest things are beyond words.
We began before words, we will end beyond them.
– Ben Okri
Beautiful.
Askin Ozcan
Author
بنی آدم اعضای یک پیکرند
که در آفرينش ز یک گوهرند
چو عضوى به درد آورد روزگار
دگر عضوها را نماند قرار
تو کز محنت دیگران بی غمی
نشاید که نامت نهند آدمی
Human beings are members of a whole,
In creation of one essence and soul.
If one member is afflicted with pain,
Other members uneasy will remain.
If you have no sympathy for human pain,
The name of human you cannot retain.
Dr. Iraj Bashiri of the University of Minnesota, in his translation of the opening words of Sa’adi’s Gulestan, offers the following translation:
Of One Essence is the Human Race,
Thusly has Creation put the Base.
One Limb impacted is sufficient,
For all Others to feel the Mace.
The Unconcern’d with Others’ Plight,
Are but Brutes with Human Face.
[5]
I long for a kind sentiment from the Friend
I’ve sinned and hope for Her pardon in the end.
I know She will overlook my crimes, though she is
Beautiful-faced, on her angelic nature I can depend.
I cried such that whomever passed me by
Was in awe of the stream of my tears descend.
Naught is that mouth there, of it I see no sign
And there is that fair hair, yet knowing transcends.
I see her image in my mind and can’t wash out
In spite of all the tears that my eyes spend.
With no talk of your hair, my heart is just dead.
With your enchanting hair, which talk can I defend?
A life time has passed since I smelled your hair
That aroma, in the nose of my heart has since remained.
Hafiz your perturbed state is bad, yet
Perturbation over Beloved’s hair is a good trend
Hafez
Nocturnal
Translation: Maryam Dilmaghani, by Ahmad Shamlou
The river is
the recurring anthem of dawn
performed at the proximity
of the lake of night.
And day begins
with the last breath of the lingering dark.
And at present the dawn
that is taking slowly away
the blaze of my torch,
that is tenderly awakening
the colourful birds on the carpet’s garden,
seems like a sun
rising with might in my blood
for the sake of reconciliation.
It is
the shrine of that eternal faith
in which divinity, devotee, prayer and temple
have the same facet:
Creature worships the creator
and the creator the creature.
All the springs and the leaves
lay upon your fingers,
This vast sky
is burning in the silver shine of your palm.
And it is how
waters
are refreshed in rain and light.
Recite your most beautiful verse,
Deliver the veiled torment of your soul
And do not fear
That they say it is a vain tale.
Because it is not a vain tale
For love is not a futile incident.
And if it takes
The sun not to rise tomorrow
Let it be this way,
For love
is itself the next day,
is itself forever.
I yield to you
the greatest love of this world
saved from the cruel course of epic wars and cry
For nothing has ever meant to me
as profoundly as you,
For your heart
is like a butterfly
delicate, light, tender.
My beloved,
Proud of your feminine soul,
Serene, tolerant, caring
Your triumph is the fruit of your truth:
You
Defeated deluge, storm and snow
and the fiery sun
with your patience.
Now stand
till your pride ripe.
My beloved
My woman
You carry the feast of sun
in the flavour of your robes.
The triumph of love
is yours!
There is no instance
nor instant
for you:
-a butterfly in flight
a river in passage-
Nothing can return
And life reaches the end:
The butterfly sat on a rose
And the river joined the sea.
hi,
i’ve been trying to get in contact with Gaelle because I want to tattoo one of the artworks on my back and I wanted to see i it was okay… do you have any contact information? I sent an email to an email address I found on the facebook site but i have not heard back.
thanks,
ana
salam khanoume roohani
vaghean karatoon tahsinbarangize
man ba didane yek ask ke chand rooze pish az karatoon dide boodam ke yek gole rose miuone fenjoone chay bood alaghmand shodam bebinam in karo che kasi anjam dade va besyar khoshhal shodam ke shoma irani hastid
movafagh bashid
arezoomande arezoohaye shoma Milad.M