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Secret Garden
A meditation on the relationship between geometry and life, man made structures and mythologies.
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Старые фотографии
Когда мы уходим...
Посвящается Андрею Tарковскому
Тихо, внимательно смотрят,
как-будто слушают - старые фотографии.
Расстались их руки, слова с их губ - ах, если бы услышать!
унес предрассветный ветер.
Кто соберет все эти осколки, эти мгновения,
что были в их жизни?
Чтобы снова родить,
чтобы снова принять..
Есть Кто-то Один, кто
с камерой утром бродит.
На ( Read more... ) -
'And they feel like a fond farewell...'
We are crucified on one plane,
while the world is many-dimentional,
We are aware of that
and are tormented by our inability
to know the truth.
But there is no need to know it,
We need to love.
And to believe.
Faith is knowledge with the help of love.
From Instant Light. Photographs by Andrey Tarkovsky
Thames and Hudson, London, 2006. 136 pp.,
7 black-and- ( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
Я понимаю чувства профессора. Но давайте оглянемся на пройденный путь ( Read more... ) -
Incantation
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Snow on tile,
May to water you be return?
Cupped hands. -
Smooth speculative latitude with Owen Barfield
This account of poetry, most fully spelled out in Barfield’s first book, Poetic Diction, comes from Barfield’s study of the Romantics (Barfield went on to write a seminal work on Coleridge, and one of his collections of essays is called Romanticism Comes of Age, a phrase which specifically connotes Anthroposophy); but its roots are in Plato and the ( Read more... ) -
On wandering life
For all the days of his wandering life, Aragorn has been a study of patience; aware of his goals and high destiny from an early age, yet unable to do more than slowly plod in their direction.
( Read more... ) -
(Untitled)
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Adam left the image garden,
Dreams bleached
Eve's green apple on the bedside table,
Clock on a wall
But she is absent, and God.
Where am I? Where are you, Blanche? -
golden fleece
“In one sense we are always travelling, and travelling as if we did not know where we were going. In another sense we have already arrived”.
Thomas Merton, one trappist monk
Ghosts, wandering through our sleeves
softly teasing,
now rejoice in thinking a little feather
hold about invisible -
betray joy
in white, in blue
sufficient for an icon
leaving their ( Read more... )
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