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Where text meets image. Where the visual intersects the literary. Often posting 1st drafts and editing in (almost) real time.

Tag: Pablo Neruda

GIF Experiments: 31 (Crack in the narrative)

Once I shattered my ankle. An ocean of cracks.

The shattered ankle followed two impossible years.

Everything started up again like a beginning.

Like some sort of symbolic ritual.

that’s how the light gets in.

A crack, a wound, a shiver, a doubt, recalibration.

Crack in the narrative.

In Neruda’s Ode to Broken Things: cups cracked by the cold.

Leonard Cohen: There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.

Lennon-McCartney: I’m fixing a hole where the rain gets in… and stops my mind from wandering.

I knew a video editor who referred to ‘artifacts’ when discussing glitches.

Artifacts… of subversion… create… a new version.

Versions... of subversion… create… a new artifact.

Pop goes the weasel! Crack goes the narrative!

Pop Goes the Weasel

A penny for a spool of thread

A penny for a needle

That’s the way the money goes

Pop goes the weasel ~

Johnny’s got the whooping cough

Jenny’s got the measles

That’s the way the money goes

Pop goes the weasel ~

All around the cobbler’s bench

The monkey chased the weasel

The monkey thought twas all in fun

Pop goes the weasel ~

I’ve no time to wait or sigh

No time to wheedle

Only time to say goodbye

Pop goes the weasel ~

All around the chicken coop

Ran the little weasel

The monkey thought he had him when

Pop goes the weasel ~

Round and round the monkey ran

Till he began to wheedle

Come and catch me if you can

Pop goes the weasel ~

And then the cow jumped over the moon

The cat played the fiddle

They all began to sing the tune

Pop goes the weasel ~

No time to sing have I

No time to wheedle

Kiss me quick and then I’m off

Pop goes the weasel ~

, Autumn Morning

morning-1

poema 7

Poema 20

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, “The night is starry

and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.”

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.

Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

Pablo Neruda

poema 7

morning-1

Tonight I Can Write by Pablo Neruda

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.



Write, for example, ‘The night is starry
and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

 Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

 Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

 I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.

Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

Translated by W.S. Merwin