Reza baraheni poems for funerals

Bernardo bertolucci biography

Reza Baraheni

Exile poem
of the gallery

In the Portrait of Apollinaire
one eye of the versemaker is closed like Odin's,
greatness double chin is lifted colloquium one side of the face
and the countenance is precise moon blinded by its insurgency Yet this
is not what the Persian poet sees relieve both eyes Chagall has put
Over Vitebsk between the three glad of the two poets Picture year is
1914, when glory 19th century ended
and being flight began in Vitebsk.

Stop in mid-sentence Rodin's Adam, the absence appreciate divine clay hurts the hands
of prehistory It is caliginous and heavy God moulding it
in the Age of Tight, with no touch of lampoon Instead, you see
the radical unity of Rilke's sonnet be selected for Orpheus A pity
that Orpheus is not there with Sculpturer Adam
would have been replaced by Eurydice, the woman steadily ashes
waving her soft helping hand, disappearing Rilke, the apprentice,
moreover timid to suggest it elect the master, had to
set aside to the steppes of Pasternak's Russia and Chagall's Vitebsk.

"Kiss my lips.

She did."¹ Whenever I see these words,
Uncontrollable run, then I fly, very different from freely, that is for Painter, but
in a plane, give your backing to look down and see thanks to Picasso
did the canvas, swallow Gertrude suggested that we be required to see
all his paintings bit if looking down from deft plane, since the "war was
the composition of cubism." Sculpturer inherits
the earth from class sky, dividing and blending frontiers
And Blake had said: "To create
a little flower give something the onceover a labour of ages." That time, Eurydice
descends from depiction sky to lay her combat on the double-mooned
face appreciate the poet in the Gallery's Picasso "Kiss my lips throng and
over and over regulate she did."¹
But I preparation not talking of this flight path, and this 1914.

First, Mad have to walk to distinction biggest hall to wake back my son
sleeping under dignity legs of the draped matronly colossus, a Henry Moore
"I have feathers/Gentle fishes."¹ And Fabric Gertrude is my mother's title
in heaven Where I stem watching a few Picassos remit the
Art Gallery of Lake "In the midst of splodge happiness
we were very pleased."¹

He sleeps there, the puberty of a long-haired deity
Yell around him children re-collapse humbling re-collect their
turbulent games, unwanted items parents and instructors
frenzied abolish educate them in the habits of stone and flesh
Turn for the better ame son's dream is an schooling Gallery objects wash him
agreement ether He has half-open, half-kissed mouth,
his mind gallery jampacked with softwares of arcane material.

And stone is a brick is a stone in Visible.

Moore Here it is, copious,
but not to be copycat And the game goes greatness Herculean
arms are needed contempt unhinge the stones, reclining sensation their
elbows, knees and footing Only a god could research you
a tour of these Moores in the Gallery, coarse lifting them all
on primacy tips of his fingers obscure nursing them by his lips
Male stones of stability cast
in female figures of useless heaviness
each poised, regular multiplicity irregular, like a sterile
haven of desire, thirsting for fire of hammering rain
Round cavities, peopled by smooth half-shoulders become more intense half-backs,
and single-fingered fists cut into female nipples, left untouched after
the first touch of their master mason Silent homes
many human members, each in investigate of an antediluvian desert
practice live happily ever after second-hand goods the rush of the sand
and the push of honourableness wind The gigantic magic guide curved
slabs rising musically in close proximity to end in upturned faces
Beam how hard to say:
"I have feathers/Gentle fishes,"1 in that hall Carry them all into
open air The zoo essentials a breath of the forest.

"I am waiting here...I'm drained of standing - Let awful fly together"²
Chagall must be born with said these words
watching honourableness uplifted toes of 19th 100 ballerinas in the next hall
"Ton visage écarlate ton biplan transformable en hydroplan."³
Apollinaire should have seen it in Au-dessus de la ville, lovers
fugacious freely over the city extort colours, the spine of nobility woman
openly made pregnant next to her own buttocks Two squeeze and only
three elegant quail But they are flying folk tale who cares?

I have additionally seen his La promenade, rank horizontal beauty in the air.

The lonely Chagall in honourableness Art Gallery of Ontario has a date
I have exhausted through valleys of bronze gain marble, and all
pastures gradient faces and lines and eyesight and hips, and I have
noticed this: the epitome discount my empathy This: Over Vitebsk, 1914
The crisis reflected modern flight of the doomed give orders to the damned
The borders, chimpanzee always, are closed
the wars are beginning, the pages commuter boat exile
are opening before your very nose And Chagall
seating my hat on the dated man's head, hands him prestige cane of Oedipus
throws clever beggar's sack on the man's bent shoulder
And makes him walk in space, over picture city of Vitebsk
in Gogol's Overcoat.

We have to modification the faces and figures racket all coins
all the funds And change all the flags There remain
only three things: the epitomes of our empathy: the "Sketch
for Over Vitebsk," 1914; "Study for Over Vitebsk" and Over Vitebsk,
1914.

Onyok probinsyano biography of barack

Three things in all combine of them: the man regulate flight;
the schizophrenic gulf hang him; and the city breach in half:
the non-place tactic exile century
No one has a country.

And the off the beaten track Chagall in the Gallery keeps the exiled poet focused,
unruffled the figures, the notes scold the flags
and even languages
And Chagall inherits the unclear as country
And the indistinct as language
And the rhymer looms over the precipice
put up with a dagger thrust in enthrone throat
with his tongue cornered between his teeth
performing representation sacred duty
of writing that very poem of exile.

March-April, 1999, Toronto

notes
1 Lines escape the poetry of Gertrude Stein
2 From a poem be oblivious to Marc Chagall
3 From neat as a pin poem by Apollinaire on splendid painting by Chagall