There is an Alpine lake that you see on the overnight train from Venice to Cortina.
I can't describe it since at this point Harry Potter movies have made this scene ordinary.
A train sliding around a mountain, cutting up the line where the trees are now Evergreens and the houses look like gingerbread. A long hill of avalanching dust. Yellow grass becomes a rocky.
My Great Aunt was a very rich lady from Florence with a powdered brow and long silver braids under a perfect wig. The overnight cabin was pressed and folded into chrome and wood, encapsulated by the metal car. I can't describe the elegance of her shoes or the tiny sink in the corner of the cabin or the engineer asking us if we wanted coffee at dawn.
By morning the top bed was folded up and I was sitting quietly in my little tights contemplating this trains contrast with the IRT. The #1 was thrilling, I stand all the way at the back window of the last car, looking down the dusty tunnel, my teeth vibrating inside my open mouth, my lips pressed into the plexi-glass. Unsupervised.
I am watching myself on this train to Cortina from a cross section of time and space, through my hysterical glasses. Looking diagonally at this chess board of temporal, empirical and status-quo. I wish I could zip up into a fantasy future, go dancing all night at a party in Mumbai. Then land back on 58th Street and Fifth Avenue. In front of that remarkable store window entitled "Day Tripper," where crystal Octopuses and sequence mannequins stare back at me.
Except there is a crack on my board, not to sound sentimental. A gape into darkness with no line to hold.
Describing pain is common, so here I go. A flash in one second that unthreads me, projects me into a rage and then I land at the edge of a lake called Shame.
You see how uninteresting a sentence that was?
All my projections run into this cold lake. A projection is this: with you all loneliness disappears. Trickle trickle go these droplets of expectation. There is no ending to this thought. I can't let it go. I stare into this lake, incompetent. Sometimes I take a boat and row on it. Afraid of catching a crab and falling in.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Saturday, November 6, 2010
NYC Marathon Fireworks
I just saw the Fireworks at 730pm out my multi paned landmark window,
(they ended at 745pm)
Pressed to the glass are six eyes and two bodies I created.
"wow, the squiggly ones in pink and blue!"
Shooting stardust traces golden sea urchins in the darkened sky.
"Can I buy it?, I can’t see it! can I buy it mama?"
Like he says "can I go IN the computer? In the computer! Mama,"
(when we watch firetrucks on You Tube.)
Meaning: I want to touch the fireworks and have them everywhere on me.
I am holding my two year old's soft belly with one hand and my four year old's soft buttock with the other.
Balancing them away from the radiator grill, on our makeshift window seats, up on tip-pee toes.
And because the fireworks interrupted our "OK! Put on your pajamas” section of the night ritual, they are half undressed.
Now he is spilling his entire vanilla milk box, down his tractor shirt, by sucking it from the hole made by the poke straw, that instead has fallen inside the container.
"Wow the sideways hearts, wow, a planet. The big red one, it's yellow! "
This is hard to write, for a mother who is protective of her children's soft brilliance.
Later I will nestle her in her bed, my nose at the nape of her neck, her hand pressing my hand under her cheek, to cradle her head.
She calls this “Next to Mama.”
But then comes “I’m too hot” and she turns on her back.
“Go like this.” She holds my hand and guides it to fan at the air.
“Oh yeah”
I don’t like that my four year old says: oh yeah.
Still I am mesmerized by how she squiggles and smiles and says I want to kiss you.
Silly her, she kisses me by licking my cheek.
I want to keep this private and yet I am revealing it.
And we touch noses and she
does a butterfly kiss and
I love my baby girl and
she is everywhere twinkling.
And our hearts are together
as our breaths coincide to
become her calm sleeping night.
Paolina Weber
Copyright
November 6, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
my daughter just licked my nose.
My daughter just licked my nose with her four year old tongue
Then, she held my head in her palms, pressing deliberately into my cheeks
and
with great weight into my eyes she said:
dont wipe it off,
not for a day, not even for two days
Then, she held my head in her palms, pressing deliberately into my cheeks
and
with great weight into my eyes she said:
dont wipe it off,
not for a day, not even for two days
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Dyke
It's a Dutch word, I don't know what it means, like a giezer.
What's that? Dick Van Dyke?
Driving up the Henry Hudson Parkway.
I know a dyke when I see one, it's no surprise to me, like my friend who said, I dont' have a husband I have a wife, oh that's great. So was 'she' annoyed you were gone most of the weekend for a training?
"She asked me to clear the leaves from the rain gutter"
Back to water and damns.
I have been thinking about rivers lately.
The Adirondacks
and the way the Hudson starts out as a tinkle.
Then those glorious cliffs that you see as you push your barge down on the tug boat.
The tugboats pushing barges of coal or logs or empty steel flatbeds
and those men on the tug boat
and the places they sleep and what it must be like to tie up a barge
or grab a line and pull it loose
wear gloves
wear coveralls
and jump over coal.
I'd be good at it too, jumping onto moving objects, like a flatbed car from a freight train that whirrs down the tracks. And all that wind and
I'm an outlaw jumping from a car to steal a meal
up in Kentuky.
I'm going up there to do some work.
I have a floppy cap on my head and a beautifully worn tweed wool jacket with holes in the elbows.
I am now in the steel mill.
Past the smoke stacks and the crisscrossing bridges, inside the floor
and holding long prongs.
There's my partner Dyckman from Sweden.
"we gotta get this one out quick before she melts"
It's a rectangular slab we made molten
Now we're lifting it up out of the furnace.
It's even and held by the teeth of both our prongs
we got it balanced
in stride, we handle it, now red, into the cooling bin.
What's that? Dick Van Dyke?
Driving up the Henry Hudson Parkway.
I know a dyke when I see one, it's no surprise to me, like my friend who said, I dont' have a husband I have a wife, oh that's great. So was 'she' annoyed you were gone most of the weekend for a training?
"She asked me to clear the leaves from the rain gutter"
Back to water and damns.
I have been thinking about rivers lately.
The Adirondacks
and the way the Hudson starts out as a tinkle.
Then those glorious cliffs that you see as you push your barge down on the tug boat.
The tugboats pushing barges of coal or logs or empty steel flatbeds
and those men on the tug boat
and the places they sleep and what it must be like to tie up a barge
or grab a line and pull it loose
wear gloves
wear coveralls
and jump over coal.
I'd be good at it too, jumping onto moving objects, like a flatbed car from a freight train that whirrs down the tracks. And all that wind and
I'm an outlaw jumping from a car to steal a meal
up in Kentuky.
I'm going up there to do some work.
I have a floppy cap on my head and a beautifully worn tweed wool jacket with holes in the elbows.
I am now in the steel mill.
Past the smoke stacks and the crisscrossing bridges, inside the floor
and holding long prongs.
There's my partner Dyckman from Sweden.
"we gotta get this one out quick before she melts"
It's a rectangular slab we made molten
Now we're lifting it up out of the furnace.
It's even and held by the teeth of both our prongs
we got it balanced
in stride, we handle it, now red, into the cooling bin.
Wonder
Wonderflesh wonderful wonder how I got this way, over the hill, two kids, a dirty apartment and no sex. It all comes from wishes and hope. The hope that someone will change or the wonder at someone's beauty. The awe in their ridges. The ridges of their jaw, their neck, their skin, their sac, I cant write scrotum. I'm too proper. But the wonder and awe of someone's body and how skin can fold on top of skin, like little bumpy waves and carry you under it, the flesh, or ride you beneath it, wondering how you got here. I got here because I made a choice that day during Fleet Week when we met. Yes, a sailor I picked up in Central Park; so not wonderful. And yet it was, in a way, to meet someone from so far, who steps off a boat and onto a bedrock island and walks to a park and meets his wife. I hate that word. Rather his Other, the admirer of his ridges and the candy of their swirling.
Now I wonder where this all works. Go back home to my children, to their wondrous flesh so puffy and soft. Their golden eyes and their wonder at me. They feel everything, they say it to the word.
"FUCK" from my two year old's mouth or "fuckin' underwear" from my four year old this morning. As in, "I don't want to wear those fuckin' underwear."
I fell into her comforter, my head fell into this sheet. Hold me up and cradle my head. This can't be where all this wonder ended up.
She said she copied mommy, or he said she "must have copied mommy" and so she repeated "mommy said it when she gets angry".
I wonder how it got to this? "Grab your shoes, not your golden shoes, fine, I'll take you to school."
The hug on 72nd Street, "it's going to be OK, it's going to be OK" and then my heart I hate so much, the one inside me that sees nothing and has amnesia.
I went to buy her a gift at the Toys 'r Us, and a Thomas the Train bag, for my wonderful two year old. They will be OK, Mamma will buy you a present.
And when I went to pay, the three ATM cards were missing from my wallet. "You should report it," said the teller. Drama avoidance alarm. I counted my bills, my quarters, my dimes and came up with thirty-four dollars and eighty two cents. I wonder how it came to this.
"I have your cards, you can get them when I see you" said the text message.
I looked down on the concrete in Times Square, sat in those red chairs and made a phone call.
9/15/2010
Now I wonder where this all works. Go back home to my children, to their wondrous flesh so puffy and soft. Their golden eyes and their wonder at me. They feel everything, they say it to the word.
"FUCK" from my two year old's mouth or "fuckin' underwear" from my four year old this morning. As in, "I don't want to wear those fuckin' underwear."
I fell into her comforter, my head fell into this sheet. Hold me up and cradle my head. This can't be where all this wonder ended up.
She said she copied mommy, or he said she "must have copied mommy" and so she repeated "mommy said it when she gets angry".
I wonder how it got to this? "Grab your shoes, not your golden shoes, fine, I'll take you to school."
The hug on 72nd Street, "it's going to be OK, it's going to be OK" and then my heart I hate so much, the one inside me that sees nothing and has amnesia.
I went to buy her a gift at the Toys 'r Us, and a Thomas the Train bag, for my wonderful two year old. They will be OK, Mamma will buy you a present.
And when I went to pay, the three ATM cards were missing from my wallet. "You should report it," said the teller. Drama avoidance alarm. I counted my bills, my quarters, my dimes and came up with thirty-four dollars and eighty two cents. I wonder how it came to this.
"I have your cards, you can get them when I see you" said the text message.
I looked down on the concrete in Times Square, sat in those red chairs and made a phone call.
9/15/2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Rack* ( a 9/11 poem)
*The rack is what they call those wooden poles that stick up from the slip on the Hudson at the Ferry Terminal
When you take a Ferry from Staten Island to New York you see a lamp post sticking up from the water
The Hudson River
There are all these logs
logs
sticking up from the water
old logs
straight up
and you wonder how tall they are
They must go straight down
to the river
straight down and that is very far
since the Battery Tunnel is under the water
And I swam in the river
myself actually in a race
I came in second I was
all green in my petroleum
mouth in wonder at the
buildings from the other side
It was this "I just went into the Mirror, too, Alice"
and here I am swimming on
the tide past my apartment
there's my window
who's home
now?
When the Ferry goes into its'
slip it's all metal and paint
Orange ferry red and
blue apron black and
yellow gate dirty
The cop with the funny teeth and the mate, he's
right there
the Mate
First he was a Seaman and we
had babies now he's a Mate
The obvious line comes next
(we mated)
I love it
the old airport chairs in the Ferry
all lined up in rows and cubbies
Formica bent out of shape
There's an American flag stuck right out there on that slip
among those wooden poles
to commemorate the 11 dead in the ferry crash.
Or as my husband just said "Oh that one? they just stuck it out there cuz they wanted to"
(because they love America)
And there's a flag to commemorate the two thousand five hundred and ninety five dead on Freshkills. You see it in the harbor when you ride the ferry
The tourists look at the Statue of Liberty
I look
at the remains of 9/11 on
Freshkills
Buried out of that empty skyline
It was always called Freshkills, I think its' a Dutch name,
before the 9/11 victims were rested there
I don't want to mention his name, he's above this poem
but I remember you
you lived in
the NYU
faculty family housing buildings
On Laguardia and Bleeker with your mother
A square that was a bit in
from the Garden Grocery store
a square
a plaza with buildings
two squares
a plaza with buildings
We had our first kiss
in Waterside Plaza, or at least we told everyone we did
in eighth grade when
kissing was still a big deal
even though we never actually kissed
we just agreed to tell everyone we did
Your molecules are there I know
I wont say your name
buried and diffused.
And then there are those trees stuck in that pier
those long logs they cut from upstate
Mount Marcy in the Adirondacks
And carried down by train on a flatcar until Albany
And then put into a barge and pushed down
on a McCallister Tug and planted
into the bed of this river on the
tip of this Island.
I climbed Mount Marcy I did with
My father in those three hours he was
strong and I am still climbing it down somewhere
And then I jump into that fresh
pond in front of our lodge
and I taste mossy crisp water
flat on my tongue as I turn to
see your tall frame slide perfectly
into that dive.
Did a man
dive into the Hudson to plant these shaven trees?
Who planted these poles
a hundred years ago? When they dug the
hole, were there
oysters still in the harbor
and Bowery Boys in tunics
diving into the river
on the side
as you worked to get that rig steady
while you
built that slip?
And I wont say the obvious about
how the water must have gotten
ashy on that day with all that
paper and our faces like ghosts
and the Au Bon Pain was the only
thing open on that Monday
when they all went back to work
past those checkpoints
the lines of all those traders
like black mourning ants all funneling
to work on that 630am morning
when it was all still caked
everywhere and nobody could
pull anything out of their throats
except the ash, still on automatic
rage six days later, America
is still trading motherfucker
And I am here with you and
we know and Au Bon Pain is the
only thing open
The one on Water Street
with a yellow light
Except that other golden glow
with white flood lights plaza
I can't look toward that fire
There's ash on my finger and
a rack around my throat
Monday, September 6, 2010
Excerpt from Paolina; Tempest World, a poetic adaptation of the Tempest
this piece was performed at the Whitney Museum ISP in 2002. I put it away and just opened it for the first time in years. I am typing parts I wrote, minus stage directions,minus the Shakespeare, which looses a lot because all characters split to Shakespeare's words throughout the play, except for Prospero. For example, with every Paolina poem is the actual Miranda conversation with her father Prospero or interactions with Caliban and Ferdinand or the storm. Also, there were video walls that projected these figures as well as real time projections of the poet Paolina writing some of these words, as well as ( I know this may sound funny)projections from the film the Matrix, as the Hero archetype was actually Keanu Reeves and then the actual Ferdinand was played by various actors, Ferdinands, until one emerges. This work was a collaboration with Joumana Rizk, who directed it, and manyother video artists and a composers, as the music was original. Because I am just transcribing the Paolina character, it maybe hard to get a feel for the work as a whole, so I invite you to read other posts.
I flow in dazzling lavender
p3 of 29
PAOLINA
I remember I was little
And my mother let me
lick sugar off her nipples
this happened twice I think
PROSPERO
I do not think thou canst, for then thou was not
three years old
MIRANDA
Certainly Sir I can
PROSPERO
By what? By any other house or person?
Of anything the image tell me that
Hath kept thy rememberence
PAOLINA
I don't know
what can I count
Numbers easier than
wordy life
lofty tinges and
lemon lines incisions
Tiny reminders
PAOLINA
Daddy why are you taking the cat Spooky
In her case
Carrying her
In your arm
Don't push the elevatyor button
Dont put your foot outside
don't close the door
dont leave me inside
come back
come
here I am in
front of you
in the hallway
Torna
torna
I see you big in the elevator light
I'm here in the hall
Please dont take her
Don't take Spooky
I'm better than her
I'm here
hear me
Take me
Me
Ow
me
ow
meow
you leave me
alone instead
p6 of 29
PAOLINA
I was told I was a princess
I was told not to be a lamb
that regular people will take things from me
that regular people lie
that regular people will believe anything you tell them
so who's a "regular people"
Titles are like corns under your toes
they need to be kept quiet
tightly strapped under sandals
Spastic colon
Space cadet
Sprinkling snow flakes
Systemic overload
I see so many people with watery eyes
I dont know what to say to them
I dont want to talk anymore
Does my center fade
Defeated
Cords pull hard
over calloused scabs
Taught
tremendously drawn
fore swear forever today
p13
PAOLINA
PAOLINA
PROSPERO
Hag seed hence! Fetch us fuel
And be quick, thou'rt best,
To answer other business.
Shrugst thou, malice?
PART TWO
PAOLINA
I am still holding myself
Alone
Tears flow forever
my kidneys wither
FERDINAND THE HERO
PAOLINA
dreaming in a big white bed
a sea of love flows under me
Away thought away
washed inside this blurry realm
and into slumbers peaceful reign
FERDINAND (voice over)
Rowing
A stroke is all I can do
To strike my hand and cloud all that is empty
Time
Lines and landscapes
cross through me]Charting my
Boat keeping time
To strike my oar
so that the ripple continues
Standards and lapses
For me to be inspired
Not struck down
I watch the arch and jump
PAOLINA
Black Prince Italy awaits you
To cradle you in wind chimes
Ginger and dry anonymous chamomile
PAOLINA(singing)
Grand Old River envelop me in velvet blue
Grand Old River how can I ever feel new
The ages of remorse have carved at my bitter frame
While I have no more
strength to soak up all this rain
FERDINAND
Where should this music be? In the air or in the earth?
PAOLINA
worn are my hands
Arid is my heart
I serve as mere kindling
In Father's eternal spark
FEDINAND
This music crept by me upon the waters
Allaying both their fury and my passion
with its sweet air
PAOLINA
If this twig fell in the blue
The Grand Old River would carry me through
He'd float above the heaviness
Be washed into the cleanliness
(speaking only)
O, River please let him fall
For he is too weak to stand tall
p18
PAOLINA
all I have is Teddy
He's my love since four
He's big eared
He's no neck
He's nice
I like him more than me
When my building explodes I'm only saving him
I don't care if there's fire
I'm running in to it
To get him safe
p21
PAOLINA
my mother
mine
mesmerize me
momentarily
p22
CALIBAN
the rake's combs scratch this islands earth
and sift its fallen leaves
and like our feeble hearts desire
we see these leaves as dreams
Dreams that we remember at this a golden hour
When all the sky gives forth
A veil to cover us in power
PAOLINA
Now that time has passed
and swept away my woes
So I have no more room to pine
for changes to bestow
Resigned am I to heavens wish
As humble as this may be
For like the oceans thick white cream
I float an laugh and beam
PAOLINA
who are you
My eyes burn and throbto feel my heart again
I cant see our face in this visual
Nose thick hair my man
how do I know what's good for me
FERDINAND
I do beseech you
Ciefly that I might set it in my prayers,
What is your name?
MIRANDA
Miranda
p24
PAOLINA
You tickled my curious fancies
in the labyrinth of your gaze
like singing marmots who make
tight delicate incisions inside luscious aloe leaves
p26 FERDINAND and PAOLINA read these at the same time interspersed but not answerring
PAOLINA
Brush my hair
my love
Strand by Strand
Feeling my
warmth sink
I trust that slow
ease
A gentle touch
Over my temple
A smoothing
stroke
Under my nape
An arching caress
through my chord
My love my love
I trust that slow ease
FERDINAND
I want to learn to be beautiful
True love never knew any limits
let's see how delicate we can be
I want to be touched by you gently
Why do you love me
Can I relax into you?
Can I feel safe enough to sleep?
Can I give you my peace of mind?
We lead each other beyond the river
Of fire
First floating on islands of ice
That spin, rock and dwindle away
Melting under us
Tipping over us
Launching us into the falls of truth
p27 of 29
CALIBAN and MIRANDA speak together, she starts after "icey lakes"
CALIBAN
Il vero amore non ha mai conosciuto
misura
show me the fire of tumbling blades
cut me with the cash of green meadows
I love to love your children's fathers
and smooth over the bahs of bleating babes
give me just a moment on the hills cliff
Enough to drop me over the petals of rays
hold me through the clouds
and pulling me over the icy lakes
I can feel the clean air filling me with
strength
I can I am I yes I am courage
And carried beyond beyond
I know you are moving with me
Sideways floating shifts of falling ice
charging under aching bellies
Smash me pieces and blow me coolly
I am now diffused in all things
MIRANDA
Hence bashful cunning!
And prompt e plain and holy
innocence!
I am your wife,if you will marry me,
If not I'll die your maid. To be your
fellow
You, may deny me,; but I'll be your servant,
Whether you will or no.
PAOLINA
I search for God, I search for my face
I have already seen it's outline
Ad now I strive to incarnate myself
Malevich, Essay On Infinity, 1906
PROSPERO
Now all my charms are overthrown
And what strength I have's my own,
Which is most faint.
And in my despair
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
As from crimes would pardoned be
Let your indulgence set me free
VOICES
May the whole world be blessed with peace and harmony
Lokha Samasta Sukhino Bhavantu
p28 of 29
PAOLINA
now I can rest in the light
Only here in my quiet yellow inside
that is kept clean by a purple circle
I am back in my family of waves
the time reliable flow of even measurements
and predictable dispersion
order gliding walls
as heavy as iron
where I can float
lightly without fear
Hi Tempest world
I am Paolina
I am safe now I am the dot
with a purple purpose
the kiss of peace
the egg
and the water cleans
us all
PART ONE
PAOLINAI am holding myself
I keep seeing lights
Robes of yellow
Pink Saris
Orange bodies chasing freedom
Dashing across the fence
scattered for happy life
Paolina hears the sound sudden thunder
I know you are all my voyeurs
I know you see me exposed
I am alienated yes I know
I am self obsessed yes I know
Don't you see how you're all part of my slef pity game
I am now in the process of objectifying myself
I need this like a beggar needs to beg
I have no self
Now I want you all to cry for me you lambs
I'm more sophisticated than you
I'm a princess
The sound of waves is heard
I flow in dazzling lavender
Terrified I will be shot
I am leaving my body
It is not my time to go
Arid rocks
scattered on these manly ridges
Grated by these Aegean cliffs
Fast rushing dry speed
where the horizon line
meets my base demonstrations
me as young and yin
p3 of 29
PAOLINA
I remember I was little
And my mother let me
lick sugar off her nipples
this happened twice I think
PROSPERO
I do not think thou canst, for then thou was not
three years old
MIRANDA
Certainly Sir I can
PROSPERO
By what? By any other house or person?
Of anything the image tell me that
Hath kept thy rememberence
PAOLINA
I don't know
what can I count
Numbers easier than
wordy life
lofty tinges and
lemon lines incisions
Tiny reminders
PAOLINA
Daddy why are you taking the cat Spooky
In her case
Carrying her
In your arm
Don't push the elevatyor button
Dont put your foot outside
don't close the door
dont leave me inside
come back
come
here I am in
front of you
in the hallway
Torna
torna
I see you big in the elevator light
I'm here in the hall
Please dont take her
Don't take Spooky
I'm better than her
I'm here
hear me
Take me
Me
Ow
me
ow
meow
you leave me
alone instead
p6 of 29
PAOLINA
I was told I was a princess
I was told not to be a lamb
that regular people will take things from me
that regular people lie
that regular people will believe anything you tell them
so who's a "regular people"
Titles are like corns under your toes
they need to be kept quiet
tightly strapped under sandals
Spastic colon
Space cadet
Sprinkling snow flakes
Systemic overload
I see so many people with watery eyes
I dont know what to say to them
I dont want to talk anymore
Does my center fade
Defeated
Cords pull hard
over calloused scabs
Taught
tremendously drawn
fore swear forever today
p7of 29
MIRANDA
and now I pray you sir
For tis still beating in my mind, your reason
For raising me in this sea storm?
PROSPERO
Here cease more questions
Thou art inclined to sleep
PAOLINA
You tell me not to laugh
to resist the tickling feeling
Your fuzzy chest hair on my face
PROSPERO
Tis a good dullness
PAOLINA
The shudder of warmth grows over me
My toes my stomach
Inside everywhere
Bursts of light I hold it in
I don't laugh
PROSPERO
Give it way
PAOLINA
I dont laugh
No noise
The jooy inside me
Remains tight lipped and silent
Like you told me
PROSPERO
I know that thou canst choose
PAOLINA
cold fire burns upward
Rings surround my heart
My throut dries black
Deep emptiness
Vacancy unfulfilled
I will not speak again
I refuse to step up to the mark
p13
PAOLINA
smile for slime
Money slime
green yellow ooze between your pants slime
smile and take the money honey
Just don't be a hysterical bitch on wheels
porcupines and baby lions are best friends
no one wants to touch them or play with them
because they have sharp spines and teeth
But their pointy pricks
Pluck only those pilfering pundits who prey on their pure hearts
Everyone else is safe
Slurpy and smells sumptuously
So Soft Silly Billy
Let's play
PROSPERO
Hag seed hence! Fetch us fuel
And be quick, thou'rt best,
To answer other business.
Shrugst thou, malice?
PART TWO
PAOLINA
I am still holding myself
Alone
Tears flow forever
my kidneys wither
FERDINAND THE HERO
PAOLINA
dreaming in a big white bed
a sea of love flows under me
Away thought away
washed inside this blurry realm
and into slumbers peaceful reign
FERDINAND (voice over)
Rowing
A stroke is all I can do
To strike my hand and cloud all that is empty
Time
Lines and landscapes
cross through me]Charting my
Boat keeping time
To strike my oar
so that the ripple continues
Standards and lapses
For me to be inspired
Not struck down
I watch the arch and jump
PAOLINA
Black Prince Italy awaits you
To cradle you in wind chimes
Ginger and dry anonymous chamomile
PAOLINA(singing)
Grand Old River envelop me in velvet blue
Grand Old River how can I ever feel new
The ages of remorse have carved at my bitter frame
While I have no more
strength to soak up all this rain
FERDINAND
Where should this music be? In the air or in the earth?
PAOLINA
worn are my hands
Arid is my heart
I serve as mere kindling
In Father's eternal spark
FEDINAND
This music crept by me upon the waters
Allaying both their fury and my passion
with its sweet air
PAOLINA
If this twig fell in the blue
The Grand Old River would carry me through
He'd float above the heaviness
Be washed into the cleanliness
(speaking only)
O, River please let him fall
For he is too weak to stand tall
p18
PAOLINA
all I have is Teddy
He's my love since four
He's big eared
He's no neck
He's nice
I like him more than me
When my building explodes I'm only saving him
I don't care if there's fire
I'm running in to it
To get him safe
p21
PAOLINA
my mother
mine
mesmerize me
momentarily
p22
CALIBAN
the rake's combs scratch this islands earth
and sift its fallen leaves
and like our feeble hearts desire
we see these leaves as dreams
Dreams that we remember at this a golden hour
When all the sky gives forth
A veil to cover us in power
PAOLINA
Now that time has passed
and swept away my woes
So I have no more room to pine
for changes to bestow
Resigned am I to heavens wish
As humble as this may be
For like the oceans thick white cream
I float an laugh and beam
PAOLINA
who are you
My eyes burn and throbto feel my heart again
I cant see our face in this visual
Nose thick hair my man
how do I know what's good for me
FERDINAND
I do beseech you
Ciefly that I might set it in my prayers,
What is your name?
MIRANDA
Miranda
p24
PAOLINA
You tickled my curious fancies
in the labyrinth of your gaze
like singing marmots who make
tight delicate incisions inside luscious aloe leaves
p26 FERDINAND and PAOLINA read these at the same time interspersed but not answerring
PAOLINA
Brush my hair
my love
Strand by Strand
Feeling my
warmth sink
I trust that slow
ease
A gentle touch
Over my temple
A smoothing
stroke
Under my nape
An arching caress
through my chord
My love my love
I trust that slow ease
FERDINAND
I want to learn to be beautiful
True love never knew any limits
let's see how delicate we can be
I want to be touched by you gently
Why do you love me
Can I relax into you?
Can I feel safe enough to sleep?
Can I give you my peace of mind?
We lead each other beyond the river
Of fire
First floating on islands of ice
That spin, rock and dwindle away
Melting under us
Tipping over us
Launching us into the falls of truth
p27 of 29
CALIBAN and MIRANDA speak together, she starts after "icey lakes"
CALIBAN
Il vero amore non ha mai conosciuto
misura
show me the fire of tumbling blades
cut me with the cash of green meadows
I love to love your children's fathers
and smooth over the bahs of bleating babes
give me just a moment on the hills cliff
Enough to drop me over the petals of rays
hold me through the clouds
and pulling me over the icy lakes
I can feel the clean air filling me with
strength
I can I am I yes I am courage
And carried beyond beyond
I know you are moving with me
Sideways floating shifts of falling ice
charging under aching bellies
Smash me pieces and blow me coolly
I am now diffused in all things
MIRANDA
Hence bashful cunning!
And prompt e plain and holy
innocence!
I am your wife,if you will marry me,
If not I'll die your maid. To be your
fellow
You, may deny me,; but I'll be your servant,
Whether you will or no.
PAOLINA
I search for God, I search for my face
I have already seen it's outline
Ad now I strive to incarnate myself
Malevich, Essay On Infinity, 1906
PROSPERO
Now all my charms are overthrown
And what strength I have's my own,
Which is most faint.
And in my despair
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
As from crimes would pardoned be
Let your indulgence set me free
VOICES
May the whole world be blessed with peace and harmony
Lokha Samasta Sukhino Bhavantu
p28 of 29
PAOLINA
now I can rest in the light
Only here in my quiet yellow inside
that is kept clean by a purple circle
I am back in my family of waves
the time reliable flow of even measurements
and predictable dispersion
order gliding walls
as heavy as iron
where I can float
lightly without fear
Hi Tempest world
I am Paolina
I am safe now I am the dot
with a purple purpose
the kiss of peace
the egg
and the water cleans
us all
Saturday, September 4, 2010
A Poem written within the Haunted show at the Guggenhiem
A list of my favorite ten works in the Haunted show at the Guggenhiem and a ghost poem within it
1 Tacita Dean, Merce Cunningham preforms stillness (in 3 movements) to John Cage's composition 4'3" with Trevor Carleson, NYC, 28 April, 2007 (6 performances; 6 films), 2008 (Love)
2 Anthony Giocolea, Nail Biter, 2004 video 2'44" (gag)
3 Andy Warhol, Orange Disaster #5, 1963 (silence)
4 Felix Gonzales Torres, Untitled Sand, 1993/1994 (walk with me)
5 Idris Khan, Hommage to Bernd Becher, 2007 (In my dreams)
6 Robert Smithson, Yucatan Mirror Displacements (1-9), 1969 (time stops)
7 Gillean Wearing, Self Portrait at Three Years Old, 2004 ( I see your eyes)
8 Annette Messenger, My Vows, 1990 (and your skin)
9 An-My Le, Small Wars (Special Operations Forces), 1999-2002 (Wars don't happen)
10 Hiroshi Sugimoto, Mediterranian, La Ciotat, 1999-2002 (at infinity)
1 Tacita Dean, Merce Cunningham preforms stillness (in 3 movements) to John Cage's composition 4'3" with Trevor Carleson, NYC, 28 April, 2007 (6 performances; 6 films), 2008 (Love)
2 Anthony Giocolea, Nail Biter, 2004 video 2'44" (gag)
3 Andy Warhol, Orange Disaster #5, 1963 (silence)
4 Felix Gonzales Torres, Untitled Sand, 1993/1994 (walk with me)
5 Idris Khan, Hommage to Bernd Becher, 2007 (In my dreams)
6 Robert Smithson, Yucatan Mirror Displacements (1-9), 1969 (time stops)
7 Gillean Wearing, Self Portrait at Three Years Old, 2004 ( I see your eyes)
8 Annette Messenger, My Vows, 1990 (and your skin)
9 An-My Le, Small Wars (Special Operations Forces), 1999-2002 (Wars don't happen)
10 Hiroshi Sugimoto, Mediterranian, La Ciotat, 1999-2002 (at infinity)
Haunted
ghost poem
Love
gag
silence
walk with me
In my dreams
(time stops)
I see your eyes
and your skin
Wars don't happen
at infinity
Friday, September 3, 2010
After Odelon Redon
Today my friends had planned to go off to some dark bar. By friends I mean lunatics, or slightly insane artists and poets. And since drinking is not my thing, I decided not to join them.
So there I was at the train station which looked like the inside of a whale's ribcage, climbing up the stairs, in search of a lady's room. When I turned a sharp corner and found myself in this dark blue room with soft velvet walls. But the dark velvet was all at once water; a brown sandy toned water with magenta sprays. In fact I was being pulled into a tide then held buoyantly under it (Underwater Vision,1889, pastel on paper) Suddenly I felt a large tentacle slip up my back. I shivered and was 'engulped' by this hood like sea creature. Its' zap had sent a charge up my spinal cord. My not-so-hairy neck hairs stood straight up. I was paralyzed.
Then I felt a wooshing of warmth. I was inside an iridescent sac and I was glistening myself. My skin felt all bumpy and stung slightly although it now felt like a dull pressing into my connective tissue. Or a seeping. The weight made me so sleepy I nodded off, until I was awakened by this putrid odd sweet smell. Gagging I felt the walls of a hole closing in around my head, expelling and at the same time choking me. So I did the oddest thing. I tensed my tongue and started twirling it up into the rippled walls, more poking than licking.
I guess I was expelled. Or spit out. (Spider,1887,Lithograph) I cringed my swollen eyes to find I was looking at a giant smiling ten legged spider. A spider with a cat nose mixed with a monkey muzzle under googly eyes. His long legs ambled toward me in a rhythm that matched his wobbly grimace. For some reason this French surrealist film pops into my head and I know my escape is to poke his eye ball with a needle. My palm reaches to the wall behind me, thinking this was still a velvet wall, so maybe it is really also just a pin cushion, there must be a needle in here somewhere I say to myself, as I frantically fiddle for it, moving backwards as evenly as possible. Only to palm a tremendously soft and lovely pearl shaped thing, that in my excitement for pearls, I bring around to see if it really is a pearl, which it is, a magnificent pink vanilla pearl, so I faint.
When I come to, I am being interviewed, or rather "given the once over" by a very piercing lady, in a yellow shall. (The Yellow Shall, 1900, pastel on paper) She seemed to be lost in thought, and it made me very embarrassed, since she would not stop examining me and thinking about, I don't know what. We stayed in this dance for an entire movement, until finally I felt a change of position was allowed. I adjusted my chin, and, there on the side table was this vase with wildflowers. (Wildflower in a Long Stem Vase,1910, Pastel on paper) It was the richest nestling of colors, pungent red and yellow anemones, vivid blue cornflowers and tiny lace white flowers suspended on top of the arrangement. Within the flowers was more darker depths of black pollen and turquoise petals. My spirit was drawn into this bouquet. It pulled me into it, as I imagine death would. Like I was all at once dissipated into tiny little 'me's' and further from my body.
At which point, the guard told me not to press my cheek against the glass, and step away from the art. She spoke English, which surprised me since we were in Paris. But maybe it was because I was a teenager, or she could see it was my first time visiting the Musee D'Orsay, that she made an effort.
Aurelia and Annina
“Annina” she sings, inflecting the middle vowel, imbuing the words with total love and absolute thrill.
She repeats it, “Anneeenah” this time adding charity, with the touch of a kitten.
Again “Annina”, delightfully, opening her whole being, a swinging door into heaven’s hallway
You are on the other line, singing silent.
Maybe on a long distance call
Then you respond with the chime: Cera una volta un gatto che si chiamava Aurelia, e faceva Miao Miao Miao”*
And then the silence of her listening, of your listening, and the idea that maybe since she is too little to converse, this delay is a stunting of words, a lapse, even an awkward pause
But this is completely the wrong idea, because in fact what more is there to be said?
She loves you so much that simply saying Ahneenah transcends speech
Like the ringing of a bell
that swung a thousand years ago
still vibrates inside the bell that forms your ribcage
as your thorax rotates down and up
swinging
love
on your breath
* “Once upon a time there was a cat called Aurelia that said Meeow, Meeow, Meeow”
She repeats it, “Anneeenah” this time adding charity, with the touch of a kitten.
Again “Annina”, delightfully, opening her whole being, a swinging door into heaven’s hallway
You are on the other line, singing silent.
Maybe on a long distance call
Then you respond with the chime: Cera una volta un gatto che si chiamava Aurelia, e faceva Miao Miao Miao”*
And then the silence of her listening, of your listening, and the idea that maybe since she is too little to converse, this delay is a stunting of words, a lapse, even an awkward pause
But this is completely the wrong idea, because in fact what more is there to be said?
She loves you so much that simply saying Ahneenah transcends speech
Like the ringing of a bell
that swung a thousand years ago
still vibrates inside the bell that forms your ribcage
as your thorax rotates down and up
swinging
love
on your breath
* “Once upon a time there was a cat called Aurelia that said Meeow, Meeow, Meeow”
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Savage
The savage is what attracts me. That Jack London Call of the Wild thing. That dog would be me, just in from the wild, made good by a roof over his head. But not tame tame, as in civilian.
That's me if I were a female dog and god knows I am a female dog past ten o'clock. Wrap my bitch body in taught clothes and throw me up against the moist ribcage and see if I growl with my teeth bared.
No sense of security-that alter persona rips through the folds of wellness. Those mind/body bouquets to un-sensitize the ravages of one's DNA. I burst out coldly. Reactive and sharp.
Like the time when I was privy to someone's racism, this casual word that included me or else that sense of I am rich because I can afford a nanny or I can own an apartment I belong in the living room. Like the mother who said she'd be able to eventually get over it if her son were gay- or like the way my mother said I could just go to Tuscany-her house was empty.
What did this mean to me on 14th Street, walking up the subway platform, finding a dollar, reaching down, before I was pushed against from the walkers behind me? I have a dollar. I am free to buy a granola bar. Now I wonder what else that dollar would buy? Not the tight red-jeaned Indian hipster smoking and walking in stride, can he tell I can smell him? Or would the dollar buy me another smile from my father. Or how about a piece of lumber to burn for my own crucifixion. I could burn myself up in the 14 Street chimney pot hole and watch the Savage transcend into some alchemical sexual moist black smoke.
copyright paolinaweber 2010
That's me if I were a female dog and god knows I am a female dog past ten o'clock. Wrap my bitch body in taught clothes and throw me up against the moist ribcage and see if I growl with my teeth bared.
No sense of security-that alter persona rips through the folds of wellness. Those mind/body bouquets to un-sensitize the ravages of one's DNA. I burst out coldly. Reactive and sharp.
Like the time when I was privy to someone's racism, this casual word that included me or else that sense of I am rich because I can afford a nanny or I can own an apartment I belong in the living room. Like the mother who said she'd be able to eventually get over it if her son were gay- or like the way my mother said I could just go to Tuscany-her house was empty.
What did this mean to me on 14th Street, walking up the subway platform, finding a dollar, reaching down, before I was pushed against from the walkers behind me? I have a dollar. I am free to buy a granola bar. Now I wonder what else that dollar would buy? Not the tight red-jeaned Indian hipster smoking and walking in stride, can he tell I can smell him? Or would the dollar buy me another smile from my father. Or how about a piece of lumber to burn for my own crucifixion. I could burn myself up in the 14 Street chimney pot hole and watch the Savage transcend into some alchemical sexual moist black smoke.
copyright paolinaweber 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
MY MOMMY IS BEAUTIFUL - yoko ono project by Paolina Weber
And your car. Our car. The yellow Wolzwagen Beatle, driving up the West Side Highway, with the rocks shooting up at me through the little rusted hole on the floor. They hadn't really paved the West Side Highway yet. At least not evenly. I was in my Swiss orthopedic shoes; shoes you said were so elegant (I hated that word) for my knees from the Doctor in Cortina. Blue ankle boots. Driving back up to our apartment. Listening to the radio. I push the buttons. I turn the knob.Our apartment on the River, with the aluminum square cold floor tiles placed like a square. My hopscotch game, a Carl Andre that Daddy left us, along with that work, who made it? Those four funny wheels drilled into each corner on the ceiling! I imagined if the house fell into the river, I would just roll down the hill, standing on our ceiling. Some conceptual artist. I was seven and I could say the word "conceptual artist". The corner light piece Flavin gave (Untitled, to Paolina) that later you sold. To Paolina. I understand why. Now that I am a mother. You sold it like we buy groceries. What was mine was yours and yours was mine. We were the same body. The 'strumming my face with his fingers' song. You wouldn't even have to tickle me, just singing it wiggling your fingers at me; I'd burst into a frenzy of laughter. Jeepers Creepers. The hand in the lagoon.How was it that every car broke down? All those rentals, whether it was in Pisa or in Pennsylvania. Mommy you took me to the Lightening Field. I understand now. I saw the Lightening Field. The Walter De Maria Lightening Field and that log cabin. Walking through those lightening rods. The rain and then the field lit up like a grid and the mountains met the sky in the pink darkness. It was the same as the car breaking down. I understand. It was for me to see everything. To pause and look. To pause. The poppies on the side of the road. The landfill off Tribeca. This wall drawing, that dance piece, this word, a definition printed on a canvas, that shoe, this smile, that flag on the George Washington Bridge, this neon tent, that wrapped church, this striped red and white piazza, that artist in linen, this sea of coats, that FREEDOM, this Freedom. Freedom. Freedom. A freedom to bend language and space. You are so beautiful I understand. I was always there. You showed me everything, you gave me everything. Even when you were always looking everywhere else, you had me inside your eyes, looking out. You gave me eyes.
When I'm looking from above the graph. Time is not as important as memory. It doesn’t have to be flat. We are together.
Paolina Weber to her mother Annina Nosei
Poem written at the James Franco exhibit, The Dangerous Book Four Boys) revised
Why not visceral
just masked
I’m afraid
I’m 13
removed
excited by shit.
By art
By script.
Pen marks.
Just read it.
Script after script on a desk
The lamp with the fire
on fire
on the chair.
Anti-enlightenment.
Shoot masterpieces
The burning of the self, I'm watching it, not purging.
A clown recalls his dick's purpose.
Capitulation to fear
Cut his way or die trying.
Black paint.
Saturn, is still defined
by the father's sexuality.
Orbiting circling watching,
over and over.
The artist bill faulkner
the dickface
the neaderthal.
sandra bullock bill pullman cheesy romance
tennesee williams' gay sentimental sentiment
bill faulkner shaving.
Shaving cream masks
Boredom. Shaving in a bath
Shaved wooden letters.
Burning wood house.
Burned Plastic House.
Rocket ship to
Saturn.
/Get out of my mind
get out of this room, Bruce Nauman, 1968/
Wood whispers
When it burns
And takes off
Richard Prior. Revolutionary.
I pledge allegiance to the flag. I don't.
This is real.
Make my John Wayne house
tub mold destroy house
castle
Revolution. I am him. Recite ABC. Clever.
Worry, be clever
Swagger. Inculcate.
Posture.
The purest thing here is the house’s ash footprint on the earth
Start at the beginning and don't stop till you get to the end
Wes Anderson
bill murray fake
Chaplin.
For every girl with an independent spirit and a nose for trouble;
here is the no-boys-allowed guide to adventure. "Nose for trouble." Dick nose
Me on a rocking horse, me on a carousel,
me in a bed with a
black rod under the pillow.
Shoot Betty Boop shoot Elvis
Buffalo Bill Modern Masters
black paint ugly moon boot stupid spiderman hat
Stupid spiderman everything
The white
gorilla fight is
The only real thing
in this room, in this movie.
In the movie...
and the burning model
on a spike.
I'm a no body, a Saturn tag. A plastic wrapped toy.
Crash my car in the Ravine.
Saturn is rising
/Scorpio Rising, Kenneth Anger, 1964/
Anger
Was it a 22,
or a bee-bee gun
or a shot gun
with bird shot
spread wider that you
shot into that log cabin door?
/Alice Aycock’s The MachineThat Makes The World, in my father’s art gallery. 1980. Another wood construction show, at 420 West Broadway.
Too optimistic,
too female./
Not on this rocket baby
Watch me splinter
un shave
Undo
Not-done white canvases
still in their plastic
(No Diebenkorn here)
Black celluloid
ripped from the can
Francois Hardy
fake garcon courting
fake girls
Tous les garcon et les filles de mon ages
eat the kraft cheese slice ‘en famille’
eat the tomato (not the woman)
Why not put the pizza box in the mess?
No cockroaches in Government Buildings.
Go back to the scene
go back to the dogs
Eat the goat
rape the tree
eat the goats
in the high dessert
and Howl.
Find a rock and pee on it. Alone
no one is watching this time
a sepia-ish landscape can be made more yellow.
Peel it (the mask the panel the landscape) all off
Paolina Weber
8/24/10
Copyright 2010
just masked
I’m afraid
I’m 13
removed
excited by shit.
By art
By script.
Pen marks.
Just read it.
Script after script on a desk
The lamp with the fire
on fire
on the chair.
Anti-enlightenment.
Shoot masterpieces
The burning of the self, I'm watching it, not purging.
A clown recalls his dick's purpose.
Capitulation to fear
Cut his way or die trying.
Black paint.
Saturn, is still defined
by the father's sexuality.
Orbiting circling watching,
over and over.
The artist bill faulkner
the dickface
the neaderthal.
sandra bullock bill pullman cheesy romance
tennesee williams' gay sentimental sentiment
bill faulkner shaving.
Shaving cream masks
Boredom. Shaving in a bath
Shaved wooden letters.
Burning wood house.
Burned Plastic House.
Rocket ship to
Saturn.
/Get out of my mind
get out of this room, Bruce Nauman, 1968/
Wood whispers
When it burns
And takes off
Richard Prior. Revolutionary.
I pledge allegiance to the flag. I don't.
This is real.
Make my John Wayne house
tub mold destroy house
castle
Revolution. I am him. Recite ABC. Clever.
Worry, be clever
Swagger. Inculcate.
Posture.
The purest thing here is the house’s ash footprint on the earth
Start at the beginning and don't stop till you get to the end
Wes Anderson
bill murray fake
Chaplin.
For every girl with an independent spirit and a nose for trouble;
here is the no-boys-allowed guide to adventure. "Nose for trouble." Dick nose
Me on a rocking horse, me on a carousel,
me in a bed with a
black rod under the pillow.
Shoot Betty Boop shoot Elvis
Buffalo Bill Modern Masters
black paint ugly moon boot stupid spiderman hat
Stupid spiderman everything
The white
gorilla fight is
The only real thing
in this room, in this movie.
In the movie...
and the burning model
on a spike.
I'm a no body, a Saturn tag. A plastic wrapped toy.
Crash my car in the Ravine.
Saturn is rising
/Scorpio Rising, Kenneth Anger, 1964/
Anger
Was it a 22,
or a bee-bee gun
or a shot gun
with bird shot
spread wider that you
shot into that log cabin door?
/Alice Aycock’s The MachineThat Makes The World, in my father’s art gallery. 1980. Another wood construction show, at 420 West Broadway.
Too optimistic,
too female./
Not on this rocket baby
Watch me splinter
un shave
Undo
Not-done white canvases
still in their plastic
(No Diebenkorn here)
Black celluloid
ripped from the can
Francois Hardy
fake garcon courting
fake girls
Tous les garcon et les filles de mon ages
eat the kraft cheese slice ‘en famille’
eat the tomato (not the woman)
Why not put the pizza box in the mess?
No cockroaches in Government Buildings.
Go back to the scene
go back to the dogs
Eat the goat
rape the tree
eat the goats
in the high dessert
and Howl.
Find a rock and pee on it. Alone
no one is watching this time
a sepia-ish landscape can be made more yellow.
Peel it (the mask the panel the landscape) all off
Paolina Weber
8/24/10
Copyright 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
early poems : Tape
a circle of
Many
stuffed animals
padded my neck
in my sleep
I waited at the front door
of thick glass and
wrought iron
Castro
was watching me
-----
Daddy why are you taking the Cat Spooky
Don't leave me here
instead of me
all alone
meeow
me
ow
-----
I was the worrier
on my school bus
I had on a leather stringed front door key
hung around my neck
and a very tangled pony-tail hair
that was not to be combed by anyone
But it was for a seriously good reason
that I was worrying
because
the man in the old Woolworth's
on Broadway between 93rd and 92nd Street
in the toy section
who had taken me into that building on 92st Street
might come back
for more Italian
hoola hoop lessons
and I wasn't wearing any leotard this time
-----
My grandfather taught me two sayings:
Un giocco e bello quando dura pocco
A joke is good when it's short
and
Chi canta al tavolo e a letto e un matto perfetto
whoever sings at the table or in bed is crazy
-----
Swimming pool
septum ladder show off
Stop flirting with the girls
and watch my
bump blinding
metal railing crash
Daddy
Madison Avenue witch lady
fix me white
shave my change
forget about it cut
you can smooth history
Barbie
but the bumps stay hysterically Italian
no snow job
-----
I met Johnny Rotten the day I decided on Black Babies with Jean Michel
Basquiat
Summer Rome 1983
Twelve years older than me
in my
Mommy's-in-the-front-seat Taxi cab back-seat whisper
I say
can I see your Track marks
from
Central Park
City As
Past life
don't leave any pinches
I'm a famous negro athlete
Japanese model type
Polaroids to prove I'm too young
in a second avenue chicken restaurant with your Dad the accountant
he says
Your mother is like a mother to him
I know
A box in a basement blaring
Michael'Angelo good-bye
dreads bye SAMO
-----
seventy-seven White Street
ten year old Sabine
At the Mudd Club's closing
in pink corner cockroach killers
and a Reminiscence leopard skin skirt
Cab with me back to St. Marks
Mr. foreign photographer Mohauk musician
I'm sixteen to sleep over
then sneak out to Kiev for Pancakes
from a Seventh Street fire escape window
with Justine Boyd
God that was fun
Thanks Mommy for the two hundred dollar allowance
Next Friday Roxy
-----
My mother said that my ass was fat
she said it in front of my father at my graduation dinner
my college graduation not my high school graduation
They couldn't come cause the were busy in Basel
But she used to think that her ass was fat too
compare it to a passerby on the beach
am I like her from behind?
And why were the fingers moving down there?
-------
Spontaneous
Catatonic
yearnings
in Chinatown for:
Blue sprinkles and New Year's Ever sparklers
Korean men's white socks with toes
a black plastic gun that looks very real
mung bean vermicelli noodles
not wicker but, what's it called in English, those summer place-mats
made of (in Italian) pallia?
plastic chopsticks that I could just steal from Souen if I didn't have a
conscience
lavander flower printed dishtowels
soaked writing paper
vitamin e and c
chrysanthemum tea
wrapped sandalwood soap
Chinese lady music
or an elegant Chinese HIV positive boy to penetrate me in an alley corner
As if I had no conscience
-----
He gave me a
sodomy painting
framed
in black
inner tire
tube
Inner Tire
Inside tired
entire inner tired
on fire
----
In all of 1996
I slept
for one year
on my floor
in my raggedy Anne sleeping bag
with my head
under the coffee table
that is made of cherry wood
shaped like a surf board
for protection
in case there was an
earthquake
in New York City
--------
On Earth
My ticklish beloved cat feet
were swimming in eternity pools
"preziosa e senza radice" (precious and deracinated)
I was a homeless eggplant
harmonious and ephemeral
Until my airplane got caught in the
butterfly net
Fog Fog Fog Fog Fog
At my retrospective
the Pope said "She had charisma"
In heaven I say:
Can I have a chocolate melon please?
Paolina Weber
copyright
(published in the Open City #9)
Many
stuffed animals
padded my neck
in my sleep
I waited at the front door
of thick glass and
wrought iron
Castro
was watching me
-----
Daddy why are you taking the Cat Spooky
Don't leave me here
instead of me
all alone
meeow
me
ow
-----
I was the worrier
on my school bus
I had on a leather stringed front door key
hung around my neck
and a very tangled pony-tail hair
that was not to be combed by anyone
But it was for a seriously good reason
that I was worrying
because
the man in the old Woolworth's
on Broadway between 93rd and 92nd Street
in the toy section
who had taken me into that building on 92st Street
might come back
for more Italian
hoola hoop lessons
and I wasn't wearing any leotard this time
-----
My grandfather taught me two sayings:
Un giocco e bello quando dura pocco
A joke is good when it's short
and
Chi canta al tavolo e a letto e un matto perfetto
whoever sings at the table or in bed is crazy
-----
Swimming pool
septum ladder show off
Stop flirting with the girls
and watch my
bump blinding
metal railing crash
Daddy
Madison Avenue witch lady
fix me white
shave my change
forget about it cut
you can smooth history
Barbie
but the bumps stay hysterically Italian
no snow job
-----
I met Johnny Rotten the day I decided on Black Babies with Jean Michel
Basquiat
Summer Rome 1983
Twelve years older than me
in my
Mommy's-in-the-front-seat Taxi cab back-seat whisper
I say
can I see your Track marks
from
Central Park
City As
Past life
don't leave any pinches
I'm a famous negro athlete
Japanese model type
Polaroids to prove I'm too young
in a second avenue chicken restaurant with your Dad the accountant
he says
Your mother is like a mother to him
I know
A box in a basement blaring
Michael'Angelo good-bye
dreads bye SAMO
-----
seventy-seven White Street
ten year old Sabine
At the Mudd Club's closing
in pink corner cockroach killers
and a Reminiscence leopard skin skirt
Cab with me back to St. Marks
Mr. foreign photographer Mohauk musician
I'm sixteen to sleep over
then sneak out to Kiev for Pancakes
from a Seventh Street fire escape window
with Justine Boyd
God that was fun
Thanks Mommy for the two hundred dollar allowance
Next Friday Roxy
-----
My mother said that my ass was fat
she said it in front of my father at my graduation dinner
my college graduation not my high school graduation
They couldn't come cause the were busy in Basel
But she used to think that her ass was fat too
compare it to a passerby on the beach
am I like her from behind?
And why were the fingers moving down there?
-------
Spontaneous
Catatonic
yearnings
in Chinatown for:
Blue sprinkles and New Year's Ever sparklers
Korean men's white socks with toes
a black plastic gun that looks very real
mung bean vermicelli noodles
not wicker but, what's it called in English, those summer place-mats
made of (in Italian) pallia?
plastic chopsticks that I could just steal from Souen if I didn't have a
conscience
lavander flower printed dishtowels
soaked writing paper
vitamin e and c
chrysanthemum tea
wrapped sandalwood soap
Chinese lady music
or an elegant Chinese HIV positive boy to penetrate me in an alley corner
As if I had no conscience
-----
He gave me a
sodomy painting
framed
in black
inner tire
tube
Inner Tire
Inside tired
entire inner tired
on fire
----
In all of 1996
I slept
for one year
on my floor
in my raggedy Anne sleeping bag
with my head
under the coffee table
that is made of cherry wood
shaped like a surf board
for protection
in case there was an
earthquake
in New York City
--------
On Earth
My ticklish beloved cat feet
were swimming in eternity pools
"preziosa e senza radice" (precious and deracinated)
I was a homeless eggplant
harmonious and ephemeral
Until my airplane got caught in the
butterfly net
Fog Fog Fog Fog Fog
At my retrospective
the Pope said "She had charisma"
In heaven I say:
Can I have a chocolate melon please?
Paolina Weber
copyright
(published in the Open City #9)
Friday, August 27, 2010
my socks
There is a room in my apartment that spins on its own at 170 beats per minute
With blue upside down flags and yellow wishes
milky tricycles
musical boxes inside Red googely eyed animals
Tigers bouncing on springs
hanging paperplate hats stuck with feathers and green coton balls
folded kites, coconut shell faces
tiny wish people in the shape of a heart
Construction Helmet slippers,
worn everyday golden shoes,
fly better wings
bottles that don't drip
plastic pee proof mats under the sheets
a basket jammed with both a Barbie and a Spiderman life jacket for the small pool on Sunday
and a mommy doing next to mamma please
till my favorite socks fall asleep
With blue upside down flags and yellow wishes
milky tricycles
musical boxes inside Red googely eyed animals
Tigers bouncing on springs
hanging paperplate hats stuck with feathers and green coton balls
folded kites, coconut shell faces
tiny wish people in the shape of a heart
Construction Helmet slippers,
worn everyday golden shoes,
fly better wings
bottles that don't drip
plastic pee proof mats under the sheets
a basket jammed with both a Barbie and a Spiderman life jacket for the small pool on Sunday
and a mommy doing next to mamma please
till my favorite socks fall asleep
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Grow flowers on top of a rainbow heart, as my daughter would say
To all fighters live
And living ones
Love
The blanket that holds us
is there to reach
Feel it with the hands of your
babies
The palms that enfold grenades
The fingers that reach back
generations
and connect us to our DNA
Strands that pattern us into XX XY
Lines that dignify our beauty
and choices
These same lines return us to oblivion and forward inside that blanket
They run parallel and surround us
Keep me safe I adore you my God I say con tutto il mio cuore with all my heart
proteggi i miei cari protect my loved ones
with your grace
I say this line into this night
into this interwoven blanket
accept me and be my custodian
(to N.P.)
And living ones
Love
The blanket that holds us
is there to reach
Feel it with the hands of your
babies
The palms that enfold grenades
The fingers that reach back
generations
and connect us to our DNA
Strands that pattern us into XX XY
Lines that dignify our beauty
and choices
These same lines return us to oblivion and forward inside that blanket
They run parallel and surround us
Keep me safe I adore you my God I say con tutto il mio cuore with all my heart
proteggi i miei cari protect my loved ones
with your grace
I say this line into this night
into this interwoven blanket
accept me and be my custodian
(to N.P.)
(early poems )For Billy Goat: Billy Goat Gruff Plucks a Pussy tail from the scum
Billy Goat Gruff has a woman to make him look puff
Plans a fashion shoot for a wedding
We look good together
OLD HOG PISSING IN SEPIA
who did you do all this for
The soaring crow peaks in the air
Billy Goat Gruff
looks into the eyes of a woman
A scorpion in Aloe
with almond eyes
I want to get married too
but not to you
to me myself and I
and go live in a liver house
with liver walls
that pour thick crimson dried grit from
rusty open pores
And my liver house has
a magnesium powdered roof
sealed with magnesium tar
and magnesium tin
that tinkles tight
with tears of saline threads
to touch the inside of my smiling peach
and soar me up to my
own black crow
in "someone to watch over me"
moderne
And you can't come in
copyright 1997
Plans a fashion shoot for a wedding
We look good together
OLD HOG PISSING IN SEPIA
who did you do all this for
The soaring crow peaks in the air
Billy Goat Gruff
looks into the eyes of a woman
A scorpion in Aloe
with almond eyes
I want to get married too
but not to you
to me myself and I
and go live in a liver house
with liver walls
that pour thick crimson dried grit from
rusty open pores
And my liver house has
a magnesium powdered roof
sealed with magnesium tar
and magnesium tin
that tinkles tight
with tears of saline threads
to touch the inside of my smiling peach
and soar me up to my
own black crow
in "someone to watch over me"
moderne
And you can't come in
copyright 1997
early poems
I don't know
what can I count
sesame
street
numbers
easier than
wordy life
lofty tinges
and
lemon lined
incisions
copyright 1993
what can I count
sesame
street
numbers
easier than
wordy life
lofty tinges
and
lemon lined
incisions
copyright 1993
early poems
you cant have it
I want it back
gimme
I don't understand what you mean
you mean
you mean meanie
Please I don't have anymore left for me
its all gone
you forgot me out
No why cant I say no
How Come
I need to say
No you don't you spoiled brat you
spoiled
you'll end up in jail
copyright1993
published in Open City #3
I want it back
gimme
I don't understand what you mean
you mean
you mean meanie
Please I don't have anymore left for me
its all gone
you forgot me out
No why cant I say no
How Come
I need to say
No you don't you spoiled brat you
spoiled
you'll end up in jail
copyright1993
published in Open City #3
I wrote this a long time ago about my father
Legion D’Honneur
The speaker buzzed in
The same rhythm as my father’s shaking head
I was not going to laugh
Instead I felt myself shaken
to tears
In this grand room
Cut with those pokey
sunflower sculptures
and quirky lamps
His one eye was
smaller than the other
His hair was turning grey
Would he find the words to say?
Rattling off facts and gracious thanks
I knew he deserved that pin
The green and white star of achievement
The medal draped over his left breast
My Knight
I saw him in those moments
The young man John Weber challenging convention
Believing carelessly with care
(who was I to judge him
I just love him
because I do)
A california sun born boy
In a Spiral Jetty plane
flying over continents and conventions
with pencil lines drawn so thin
and clear on the wall
Skin that buck and believe in life
Building stone fences
A Cingiale bandit
in an Australian overcoat
Artists, women, lofts, guns, glass, children, houses, ruins, cats, rocks, songs, banjoes, trees
We are all here in the forest
A little sick from acid rain
Yet still fertile
Shifting in the wind holding on for life
I look to the light and see the leafy tops
Who am I to judge what’s best
I love you because
I do
I love your art
I love your effort
I love your history
I love your flaws
I love your stance
I even love your hand
The one that shut the door
on me at three
Torna
I cried Daddy dove vai?
But you’re still here
You’re a little boy
With tears crying and shaking
And I hold you in my
arms
Singing songs we
jump and play
in the woods
eating wild fragole
and popping puff filled
mushrooms
on that soft mossy lawn
running through a creek
Paolina Weber
1996
The speaker buzzed in
The same rhythm as my father’s shaking head
I was not going to laugh
Instead I felt myself shaken
to tears
In this grand room
Cut with those pokey
sunflower sculptures
and quirky lamps
His one eye was
smaller than the other
His hair was turning grey
Would he find the words to say?
Rattling off facts and gracious thanks
I knew he deserved that pin
The green and white star of achievement
The medal draped over his left breast
My Knight
I saw him in those moments
The young man John Weber challenging convention
Believing carelessly with care
(who was I to judge him
I just love him
because I do)
A california sun born boy
In a Spiral Jetty plane
flying over continents and conventions
with pencil lines drawn so thin
and clear on the wall
Skin that buck and believe in life
Building stone fences
A Cingiale bandit
in an Australian overcoat
Artists, women, lofts, guns, glass, children, houses, ruins, cats, rocks, songs, banjoes, trees
We are all here in the forest
A little sick from acid rain
Yet still fertile
Shifting in the wind holding on for life
I look to the light and see the leafy tops
Who am I to judge what’s best
I love you because
I do
I love your art
I love your effort
I love your history
I love your flaws
I love your stance
I even love your hand
The one that shut the door
on me at three
Torna
I cried Daddy dove vai?
But you’re still here
You’re a little boy
With tears crying and shaking
And I hold you in my
arms
Singing songs we
jump and play
in the woods
eating wild fragole
and popping puff filled
mushrooms
on that soft mossy lawn
running through a creek
Paolina Weber
1996
Richard Prior
Richard Prior is not spelled Prior
as in the Latin 'a priori'
meaning 'before and above all else , this is a given, a truth.'
Like: in a state of nature, human beings are altruistic
or X feels betrayed, given, X loves y.
Richard Prior is spelled Pryor
as in the word pry
Like pry open my skull and
resize my eyes.
as in the Latin 'a priori'
meaning 'before and above all else , this is a given, a truth.'
Like: in a state of nature, human beings are altruistic
or X feels betrayed, given, X loves y.
Richard Prior is spelled Pryor
as in the word pry
Like pry open my skull and
resize my eyes.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
(Poem written at the James Franco exhibit, The Dangerous Book Four Boys)
Why not visceral just masked I’m afraid
I’m 13
removed
and excited by shit. By art
By script. Pen marks. Just read it.
Script after script on a desk
The lamp with the fire
on fire on the chair.
Anti-enlightenment.
Shoot masterpieces
The burning of the self. I'm watching it, not purging.
A clown recalls his dick's purpose.
Capitulation to fear.
Cut his way or die trying.
Black paint.
Saturn is still defined by the father's sexuality. Orbiting circling watching, over and over.
The artist bill faulkner
the dickface
the neaderthal. sandra bullock bill pullman cheesy romance
tennesee williams' gay sentimental sentiment (in French)
bill faulkner shaving.
Shaving cream masks
Boredom. Shaving in a bath
Shaved wooden letters
Burning wood house. Burned Plastic House.
Rocket ship to Saturn.
/Get out of my mind get out of this room, Bruce Nauman, 1968/
Wood whistles
When it burns
And takes off
Richard Pryor. Revolutionary. I pledge allegiance to the flag.
I don't.
This is real. Make my John Wayne house
tub mold destroy house castle
Revolution. I am him. Recite ABC. Clever.
Worry and be clever
Swagger. Inculcate. Posture.
The purest thing here is the ash footprint on the earth
Start at the beginning and
don't stop till you get to the end
Wes Anderson bill murray fake
Chaplin.
For every girl with an independent spirit and a nose for trouble; here is the no-boys-allowed guide to adventure.
"Nose for trouble." Dick nose
Me on a rocking horse, me on a carousel, me in a bed
with a black thing under the pillow.
Shoot Betty Boop shoot Elvis
Buffalo Bill
Modern Masters black paint ugly moon boot a stupid spiderman hat
Stupid spiderman everything
The white gorilla fight scene is the only real thing in this room, in this movie.
In the movie...
and the burning of my model on a spike. I'm a no body, a Saturn tag. A plastic wrapped toy. Crash my car in the Ravine.
Saturn rising
/Scorpio Rising, Kenneth Anger, 1964/
Anger
Was it a 22, or a bee-bee gun, or a shot gun with bird shot to spread wider, that you shot into that plastic log cabin door?
/Alice Aycock’s The Machine That Makes The World, in my father’s art gallery, 1980. Another wood construction show, at 420 West Broadway. Too optimistic, too female./
Not on this rocket baby
Watch me splinter un shave
Undo
Not-done white canvases still in their plastic
(No Diebenkorn here)
Black celluloid ripped from the can
Francois Hardy
fake garcon courting fake girls
Tous les garcon et les filles de mon ages
eat the kraft cheese slice ‘en famille’ eat the tomatoe son (not the woman)
Why not put the pizza box in the mess?
No cockroaches in Government Buildings.
Go back to the scene go
back to the dogs
Eat the goat
rape the tree
eat the goats
in the high dessert and
Howl.
Find a rock and pee on it
Alone
no one is watching this time
no urgency
a sepia-ish landscape can be made more yellow.
Peel it (the mask the pannel the landscape) all off
copyright 2010
I’m 13
removed
and excited by shit. By art
By script. Pen marks. Just read it.
Script after script on a desk
The lamp with the fire
on fire on the chair.
Anti-enlightenment.
Shoot masterpieces
The burning of the self. I'm watching it, not purging.
A clown recalls his dick's purpose.
Capitulation to fear.
Cut his way or die trying.
Black paint.
Saturn is still defined by the father's sexuality. Orbiting circling watching, over and over.
The artist bill faulkner
the dickface
the neaderthal. sandra bullock bill pullman cheesy romance
tennesee williams' gay sentimental sentiment (in French)
bill faulkner shaving.
Shaving cream masks
Boredom. Shaving in a bath
Shaved wooden letters
Burning wood house. Burned Plastic House.
Rocket ship to Saturn.
/Get out of my mind get out of this room, Bruce Nauman, 1968/
Wood whistles
When it burns
And takes off
Richard Pryor. Revolutionary. I pledge allegiance to the flag.
I don't.
This is real. Make my John Wayne house
tub mold destroy house castle
Revolution. I am him. Recite ABC. Clever.
Worry and be clever
Swagger. Inculcate. Posture.
The purest thing here is the ash footprint on the earth
Start at the beginning and
don't stop till you get to the end
Wes Anderson bill murray fake
Chaplin.
For every girl with an independent spirit and a nose for trouble; here is the no-boys-allowed guide to adventure.
"Nose for trouble." Dick nose
Me on a rocking horse, me on a carousel, me in a bed
with a black thing under the pillow.
Shoot Betty Boop shoot Elvis
Buffalo Bill
Modern Masters black paint ugly moon boot a stupid spiderman hat
Stupid spiderman everything
The white gorilla fight scene is the only real thing in this room, in this movie.
In the movie...
and the burning of my model on a spike. I'm a no body, a Saturn tag. A plastic wrapped toy. Crash my car in the Ravine.
Saturn rising
/Scorpio Rising, Kenneth Anger, 1964/
Anger
Was it a 22, or a bee-bee gun, or a shot gun with bird shot to spread wider, that you shot into that plastic log cabin door?
/Alice Aycock’s The Machine That Makes The World, in my father’s art gallery, 1980. Another wood construction show, at 420 West Broadway. Too optimistic, too female./
Not on this rocket baby
Watch me splinter un shave
Undo
Not-done white canvases still in their plastic
(No Diebenkorn here)
Black celluloid ripped from the can
Francois Hardy
fake garcon courting fake girls
Tous les garcon et les filles de mon ages
eat the kraft cheese slice ‘en famille’ eat the tomatoe son (not the woman)
Why not put the pizza box in the mess?
No cockroaches in Government Buildings.
Go back to the scene go
back to the dogs
Eat the goat
rape the tree
eat the goats
in the high dessert and
Howl.
Find a rock and pee on it
Alone
no one is watching this time
no urgency
a sepia-ish landscape can be made more yellow.
Peel it (the mask the pannel the landscape) all off
copyright 2010
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Aizerbaijan
he doesn't see me
I'm not heard,
look at me
where am I
All this on and on and on
it's just that, when you have these young beautiful kids, they remind you of where you are not
you are in Aizerbaijan
or in a deli on 16th street
or windsurfing in Tuscany
or anywhere that is quiet and reading a book
how about the Wren library
How did my life become my kids and exercise.
Today I am giving it all away to Housing works
I'm not heard,
look at me
where am I
All this on and on and on
it's just that, when you have these young beautiful kids, they remind you of where you are not
you are in Aizerbaijan
or in a deli on 16th street
or windsurfing in Tuscany
or anywhere that is quiet and reading a book
how about the Wren library
How did my life become my kids and exercise.
Today I am giving it all away to Housing works
sleep well
Sleep well
Suspended in a cashmere hammock
Strung between two sturdy oak trees
(for Joumana)
Suspended in a cashmere hammock
Strung between two sturdy oak trees
(for Joumana)
Red Rock Secret compartment
Red Rock Secret compartment
A Black Oozy
Daddy
With Citadel German
Height
Who never forgot to clean the barrel
It’s always on safety
Not loaded
Top right hand drawer
Animal hoof feet table
Downstairs
With shells in the back left
I loved the way Charlie’s
Glass eyes
Follow me
Everytime when I walk to the kitchen for
Venison stew
“Just wait till you’re older
Really gonna love sex”
For breakfast
Paolina Weber
Copyright 2010
A Black Oozy
Daddy
With Citadel German
Height
Who never forgot to clean the barrel
It’s always on safety
Not loaded
Top right hand drawer
Animal hoof feet table
Downstairs
With shells in the back left
I loved the way Charlie’s
Glass eyes
Follow me
Everytime when I walk to the kitchen for
Venison stew
“Just wait till you’re older
Really gonna love sex”
For breakfast
Paolina Weber
Copyright 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
This piece of paper
This piece of paper
belonged to my grandfather
Who was a philologist
He taught at Virgilio in Rome
And lived on Via Flaminia, 125
The street the liberating Americans marched down
In an apartment that had
Diplomatic immunity
During World War Two
Because my grandmother
Was a diplomat
with Bauhaus furniture
Who worked for the polish embassy
While her family was being sent to Auschwitz
And my mother called me
To remind me of this fact
Just a few months ago
When I was 36 weeks pregnant with my second child
A boy I’ll call
Leandro
She said
“Paolina, I had no one,
my mother’s family died in Auschwitz
and my mother died of cancer when I was twenty one”
belonged to my grandfather
Who was a philologist
He taught at Virgilio in Rome
And lived on Via Flaminia, 125
The street the liberating Americans marched down
In an apartment that had
Diplomatic immunity
During World War Two
Because my grandmother
Was a diplomat
with Bauhaus furniture
Who worked for the polish embassy
While her family was being sent to Auschwitz
And my mother called me
To remind me of this fact
Just a few months ago
When I was 36 weeks pregnant with my second child
A boy I’ll call
Leandro
She said
“Paolina, I had no one,
my mother’s family died in Auschwitz
and my mother died of cancer when I was twenty one”
Sunday, August 15, 2010
CAT FOOD
My father, (on the bed, experiencing the prolonged dying of Emphysema)
Was deeply shaken, by the fact that,
His cat, of many years, Miss Beasley, had suddenly just died the day before (of Kidney failure)
My mother, upon visiting her ailing x husband, having just checked the kitchen cabinet,
Walks into his bedroom and says
“John, can I take the cat food for Chi Chi? I mean you don’t need it anymore.”
He looks up at me, with one eye closed (he’s blind in his right eye)
his nostrils breathing in the oxygen from the tube that is cockeyed off to his right, missing the left nostril hole completely,
leaving a long red indent across the right cheekbone
(the tubes hook over his ears, like eyeglasses, but always pull too tight on the right side, imbalanced because the oxygen tube anchors off to the left side of the bed and snakes thru his apartment, (which I often step on by mistake,) to the pump in the left part of the dining room
and says
“Annina, and she wants the cat food!”
Was deeply shaken, by the fact that,
His cat, of many years, Miss Beasley, had suddenly just died the day before (of Kidney failure)
My mother, upon visiting her ailing x husband, having just checked the kitchen cabinet,
Walks into his bedroom and says
“John, can I take the cat food for Chi Chi? I mean you don’t need it anymore.”
He looks up at me, with one eye closed (he’s blind in his right eye)
his nostrils breathing in the oxygen from the tube that is cockeyed off to his right, missing the left nostril hole completely,
leaving a long red indent across the right cheekbone
(the tubes hook over his ears, like eyeglasses, but always pull too tight on the right side, imbalanced because the oxygen tube anchors off to the left side of the bed and snakes thru his apartment, (which I often step on by mistake,) to the pump in the left part of the dining room
and says
“Annina, and she wants the cat food!”
Thursday, August 12, 2010
(Poem written at Brice Marden’s retrospective)
Swirling colors and walls of light
Push into me and sustain me
Ribbons lift me out of the winter’s
Steel
Feathers of wash, so light they ping,
Throw me beyond the momentary
Pumpkin Plum
Dylan’s painting
Jasper’s painting
To me
To Helen
rain
I remember the edge of these works, in my father’s
office in his gallery at 420 West Broadway
He was as tall as the muted khaki work
I was eight and that edge stood at my level
The trim of the green painting was melted
And dry
I stared up at its’ scope
Like waves started indefinitely
Somewhere
I am privy to my father’s trauma
He frays right before my eyes
The pain is expansive and vast
Not contained
But this edge is safe
Defined with a transition
I arrive into neutral, cushioned
Now at the retrospective
I see the buildup to “Red Rock”
Swirling colors and walls of light
Redrock, Redrock, like Daddy’s country house in Redrock
In Daddy’s heavy winter I’ve been given a bell
This bell I hear inside these works
Aurelia, my baby girl, full of joy, is the abundant conclusion
Weaving under these folds of color
Push into me and sustain me
Ribbons lift me out of the winter’s
Steel
Feathers of wash, so light they ping,
Throw me beyond the momentary
Pumpkin Plum
Dylan’s painting
Jasper’s painting
To me
To Helen
rain
I remember the edge of these works, in my father’s
office in his gallery at 420 West Broadway
He was as tall as the muted khaki work
I was eight and that edge stood at my level
The trim of the green painting was melted
And dry
I stared up at its’ scope
Like waves started indefinitely
Somewhere
I am privy to my father’s trauma
He frays right before my eyes
The pain is expansive and vast
Not contained
But this edge is safe
Defined with a transition
I arrive into neutral, cushioned
Now at the retrospective
I see the buildup to “Red Rock”
Swirling colors and walls of light
Redrock, Redrock, like Daddy’s country house in Redrock
In Daddy’s heavy winter I’ve been given a bell
This bell I hear inside these works
Aurelia, my baby girl, full of joy, is the abundant conclusion
Weaving under these folds of color
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Zero 1957-1966
Piero Manzoni
My surface was eaten out
I am yellow foam with dimples and seals
Nando Vigo
The box I look through is glass
layers of prism in out in out
A silver box with mirrors inside glassed walls
Fontana
The slices are not random
Not a knife
Not a gun shot
It frays on one side of the cut
Like scary teeth as my daughter would say
Not texture not surface
But space
Space in front of my space
Inside my inside
Chiseled from nothing comes a ‘non flat’
Uleck
It is not a penetration but more of a swarm of white nails
Or dusty black nails
Swirling and wooshing like a wave
Arman
Can I open the collection of shiny things
Please? I used to want to when I went over to play at Ella Venet’s loft, all that metal garbage folded into itself.
Here is a work with shiny bits of light bulbs
My surface was eaten out
I am yellow foam with dimples and seals
Nando Vigo
The box I look through is glass
layers of prism in out in out
A silver box with mirrors inside glassed walls
Fontana
The slices are not random
Not a knife
Not a gun shot
It frays on one side of the cut
Like scary teeth as my daughter would say
Not texture not surface
But space
Space in front of my space
Inside my inside
Chiseled from nothing comes a ‘non flat’
Uleck
It is not a penetration but more of a swarm of white nails
Or dusty black nails
Swirling and wooshing like a wave
Arman
Can I open the collection of shiny things
Please? I used to want to when I went over to play at Ella Venet’s loft, all that metal garbage folded into itself.
Here is a work with shiny bits of light bulbs
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)