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FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA ~ NO ONE IS SLEEPING IN THIS WORLD

in The words that make sense... brilliant writings by writers... by
Federico Garcia Lorca

Federico Garcia Lorca

“Let there be a landscape of open eyes and bitter wounds on fire. No one is sleeping in this world. No one, no one. I have said it before.”

 

Who was Federico Garcia Lorca?

Federico del Sagrado Corazón de Jesús García Lorca, known as Federico García Lorca; (5 June 1898 – 19 August 1936), was a Spanish poet, playwright, and theatre director.

García Lorca achieved international recognition as an emblematic member of the Generation of ’27, a group consisting of mostly poets who introduced the tenets of European movements (such as symbolism, futurism, and surrealism) into Spanish literature.

He was executed by Nationalist forces at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War. His body has never been found.  (source wikipedia)

The Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca

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THE ENCHANTMENTS OF THE SIRENS

in Paintings speaking Poetry by
Sirenes (Sirens) by Charles Edward Boutibonne

THE SIRENS ARE ENCHANTERS

Circe warns Odysseus about the Sirens:

“You will come first of all to the Sirens, who are enchanters Keep Reading

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TOGETHER IN OUR ENDLESS SOLITUDE ~ PAUL ELUARD

in Poetry of Art by
Nuchs and Paul Eluard by Man Ray

 A poem by Paul Eluard

“I cannot be known
Better than you know me

Your eyes in which we sleep
We together
Have made for my man’s gleam
A better fate than for the common nights

Your eyes in which I travel
Have given to signs along the roads
A meaning alien to the earth

In your eyes who reveal to us
Our endless solitude

Are no longer what they thought themselves to be

You cannot be known
Better than I know you.”

― Paul Éluard

Keep Reading

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LEONARD COHEN ~ A MEMOIR OF MELANCHOLY

in Poetical Visions by
Leonard Cohen, a great Poet and Songwriter. What is he thinking about?

Leonard Cohen (1934 – 2016)

“Like a bird on the wire,  Like a drunk in a midnight choir,  I have tried in my way to be free.”

We mourn the passing of a Leonard Norman Cohen: Canadian Singer, Songwriter, Poet and Novelist. Cohen died today on the 11th of November 2016, at the age of 82. For many years, Leonard Cohen has been revealing his soul to the world through his poetry and songwriting. Keep Reading

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ERATO, MUSE OF POETRY

in Paintings speaking Poetry by

Erato, Muse Of Poetry
Sir Edward John Poynter (1870)

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D.H. LAWRENCE ~ ROSES

in Paintings speaking Poetry by

Roses

Nature responds so beautifully.
Roses are only once-wild roses, that were given an extra chance,
So they bloomed out and filled themselves with coloured fulness
Out of sheer desire to be splendid, and more splendid.

D.H. Lawrence

“My Sweet Rose” (1903)

John William Waterhouse (1849-1917)

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ANNA AKHMATOVA ~ SILENT WORDS

in Poetical Visions by

”The triumphs of a mysterious non-meeting are desolate ones; unspoken phrases, silent words.”

Anna Akhmatova ((23 June 1889 – 5 March 1966 / Odessa)

www.moniquespassions.com

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TEARS OF HUMANITY…

in Art & the Unconscious Mind by

Tears of humanity, tears of humanity,

flowing eternally early and late…

Flowing invisibly, flowing in secrecy,

ever abundantly, ever unceasingly –

flowing as rain flows with autumn finality

all through the night like a river in spate

(1849) Fyodor Tyutchev

translation Peter Tempest

Monument to the Dead (1895) by French sculptor Albert Bartholomé

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CHRISTINA ROSSETTI ~ OCTOBER

in Poetry of Art by

OCTOBER

Crack your first nut and light your first fire;
Roast your first chestnut crisp on the bar;
Make the logs sparkle, stir the blaze higher,
Logs are cheery as sun or as star,
Logs we can find wherever we are.
Spring one soft day will open the leaves,
Spring one bright day will lure back the flowers;
Never fancy my whistling wind grieves,
Never fancy I’ve tears in my showers;
Dance, nights and days! And dance on, my hours!
Christina Rossetti,
from The Months: A Pageant.
Painting: Autumn Leaves
Sir John Everett Millais – 1855-1856

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DOROTHY PARKER ~ MIDNIGHT

in Poetry of Art by

Midnight
The stars are soft as flowers, and as near; 
The hills are webs of shadow, slowly spun; 
No separate leaf or single blade is here- 
All blend to one.
No moonbeam cuts the air; a sapphire light 
Rolls lazily. and slips again to rest. 
There is no edged thing in all this night, 
Save in my breast.
Dorothy Parker

Summer Night

Stanislav Zhukovsky – 1912

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