tertan (2001)

    d.i.y.

beige utopia leans to the side.
it's wooden and man-made and approrpiately clumsy
as it valiantly spirals upwards
                        towards its own demise
one cannot help admiring its earthliness:
though its tilting body encases celestial aspirations,
though it reaches for the upper limits of imagination,
it remains thoroughly human in its failures,
forever entangled in the limits of the infinite.


  dutch thought

under the white winter sky
dutch pleasures of ice glide by

the deaf painter saw it well
knew how with his brush to tell
of the mundane lives of people
how to locate sacred in the profane
how to move from divine to humane

all this thanks to the water now in the ice hiding
that had shuttled ships and merchants into their thriving


    four perhapses

the yellow bottm of the sky licks the mad landscape
as it trails off into the distance
what are these unknown-storm twisted pines?
wherefor the foreboding red clouds?
perhaps the gusts are moaning in threatening low voices,
perhaps it is an insane grandeur,
perhaps it is the melodrama of nature,
perhaps it is the terror of the sublime.


    gentle hold

tender gold
to render our faces smooth and sleepy
smooth and sleepy with joy and devotion
it's only right
for one to fall, back on a spiritual symbol
new-born child, virgin love,
gentle hold -

virgin gold


    sunset

what's a sunset?
but the tear of a black goat
the bleeding corpse of a ray
red tongues hanging out
a wreath abandoned to the bay
and a farmer's guilt

all arrayed in a fashion
of the dazzling effort of passion


   quixotic

the blue is thick, so heavy
one can't tell if it's day or night or day
the trees, the houses want to twist
want to be uprooted and torn
the whole hill, fence and all, with heavy heart
leaps but to fall back on itself
and 
the bridge turned into a labyrith over
the river that turned out to be an ocean


--------------------------

neon acid purple green
patterns of a fresh fabric
stretch and bulge
like electric velvet
stretch and bulge
with hypnotic strokes
like fur, like rasp

waves of a sparkplug carpet ocean


    frame

blood and gold and oil and soot
the stitched gash
the burlap bruise
our poor frame of a sack
is so fragile - to hold us
it gets ravaged so easily
gets charred and gilded
just like the inside


    coincidence

under the approving and undesirous smile of a lady
he stands
venus pencil in his hands
fat tongue swims in his mouth
a sharp banknote sticks out of the back of his neck
his jacket is stamped for approvals
and rejections
and a shoe tramples on his forehead
with time the shoe will get bigger
if you can call it a coincidence


    intimacy

a finch
can perch with such dignity
against the light color of a wall
can deny the thin chain
that binds her to her pole
deny it with the simplicity of her whole existence
with the intimacy of life,
life in a close-up


          reign & realm

         angels wail in despair
         emotions run
         gestures run berserk
             because
from a reign   and   into a realm
           one passes
         just like from darkness to light
         society passes
         or from ease to art


 of serene elegance

and could also say plain
completely still
unmoving, stone dead
so how come there is so much life squeezed into such expressionlessness?
but i can see her embroider or gossip
or laugh,
i can see a whole era through her eyes
the intricacy of renaissance life


    the music of light

cathedral of light
and all around it circels a rhapsody
the mesmeric dark tones of a semi-sinister instrument
a color organ of blue shades
blasting forth a haunting melody
the twinings and intertwinings
of the prisms of its crystal palette


    impermanence

the place and time of the year
when the sand is greyish blue
like the sea, like the sky
and borderless into each other in and out flow
and wash away the light footprints
left behind by sisterly women
as they elegantly walk off
into a talk of
love


    non-design

casual and grand,
that's how life takes place,
effortlessly and unconsciously;
people go about their business,
buidlings hold up,
the sun shines through between them
quite by itself,
it could be any city really,
venice as well

-----------------------------

with red poppies
one must capture their fragile quality
the airiness of their being
like a most delicate victorian lady
in white dress, walking in a park
lost in daze and melancholy
coughing a bit from consumption
this is the impermanence poppies
must radite


    fin-de-siecle

one should begin it with an aperitif
it could be angular, even provocative
then move on to the elongated sensual
curvilinear outlines of impersonated elegance

undulations, flowers and graceful restraint
must naturally blend into the details
you could even think of brussels
complete with absynth and brothels
which takes us conveniently to the digestif

-----------------------------------

  purple green pink green yellow
 green purple green yellow green
  the strict square grid bulges
 right in the very middles of it
    blue green blue pink blue
green blue green purple blue pink


    tree ladies

red ladies of trees
they shake their green hats
to the wind
or in an expression of disagreement
their faces don't quite show their age
make-up and a certain graceful style hide it

do they gossip,
plan revolutions,
or just brace up against the storm-breeze?


    norfolk plays the piper

mud-air
greyish-green

like tiny pins sit in it
the distant verticals of a column and a cathedral

in the skying rainair
precarious balancing of statues
in the rainair couldclouds

or a silvery lake
reflecting the yellow smears of a dissolving museum portico


    with or without

mural monsters of mexico
christ, buddha, an axe, a greek column,
      heaps of cannons, the cross unhinged

shake your fists
at this damned world of ours
take out wrists
and lead us, show us how to rebel

i for one wil follow you
without your religion
but with your spirit


    suburb fences

an old woman's carrying her groceries home
and her own broken form
through the autumn smog of british suburbs
and many more ...
by leafless, lifeless trees
yellowish grey bricks suck the light
suck at the very life
and to keep the mind and spirit bound too
there are the fences

-----------------------------

          just one word:
              pure
          like aluminum
like see-through plastic bottles
         like dimensions
   a palm-sized imaginary ball
        containing nothing
               yet
      milkily reflecting all


    antique bath

      the skin a
      c r e a m y
       porcelain

      blue skies
      behind the
     slim columns

      white and
      sunyellow
      silk togas

      thrown  by
     the side of a 
     silvery pool


    partial emergence

july triangles
ny throw
half undoodle themselves

the yellowish square root of all
disharmonious
an imaginary virtue

of loose scribbles
their esoteric formulae
in continuous erase


     and through the window

birds, pheasants, peacocks can ignore
the studious air of the interior
books and pots can sit the shelves
lion phantom can walk the floor
cold can span the high arches
life but a landscape behind the door
yet all this can but little do
to stop the curious from learning more


obeah

monstous eye casts a shadow of longing
     ONE EYE
over the curving-flowing body of a nymph,
the dreadful gaze to a giant dwarf belonging,
his noseless face drooling with lymph.

the flowery hill of quiet repose
becomes a nightmare thwarted dream,
turning love to occult and the serene colors
to the sickly mix of orange-grey-green.


recipe

make the hair curly
make her features soft
the eyes awandering
longing and lost

make her fingers long
the shirttop light and thin
make the skin rose-tinted
to make her feminine


leaving

straw street, straw air
straw light, straw smell

deserted houses, weightily deserted
the turbulant silence
prickly & breaking
among blind windows
a wind quietly creaking

circus of colors, circus of leaving

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