Edvard Munch, Self Portrait By the Window, 1940 There’ll be no one in the house, save for twilight. All alone, the winter day will be aroused from the curtains left undrawn. Only clusters, wet and white, flashing where the wind propels, only roofs and snow, – besides roofs and snow, – nobody else. Frost, again, …
Boris Pasternak – There’ll be no one in the house Read More »
Jan Vermeer, The Glass of Wine, c. 1660 A box of glazed sour fruit compact, my narrow room. And oh the grime of lodging rooms this side the tomb! This cubbyhole, out of superstition, I chose once more. The walls seem dappled oaks; the door, a singing door. You strove to leave; my hand was …
Gustave Courbet, Woman with a parrot, 1866 Better that every fiber crack and fury make head, blood drenching vivid couch, carpet, floor and the snake-figured almanac vouching you are a million green counties from here, than to sit mute, twitching so under prickling stars, with stare, with curse blackening the time goodbyes were said, trains …
Mario Sironi, Solitude, 1926 Fair enough: you people have eaten me, I – wrote you down. They’ll lay you out on a dinner table, me – on this desk. Siamo pari: io da voi divorata, voi da me – dipinti al vivo. Ma voi sarete deposti – sul tavolo da pranzo , io – sulla …
Edward Hopper, 11 a.m., 1926 Forget yourself and forget me. Scorda te stessa e scordami. Go back to album – O. Paz
Leon Jan Wyczolkowski, Spring in Goscieradz, 1933 I open the window overlooking anywhere. The window that opens inward. The wind lifts snapshots mild, towers of dust swirling. They are higher than this house. They are within this paper. Fall and get up. Before you say anything, to fold the sheet disperse. Whirlwinds of echoes aspirated, …
Octavio Paz – Parole in forma di polverio / Words in the shape of a cloud of dust Read More »
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