.
Mumbai (2018): photo by Suresh Naganathan, 7 April 2018
I prefer feeling l̶o̶v̶e̶d̶ understood. | (Playing around with some of my pictures): photo by Sven Laurent, 8 May 2018
Song birds enter the morning
the pre-dawn before the fires,
you know, when the night floats away
like vapor on a lake,
or like kisses in the woods.
Songs that even creation
might not remember.
Continuous, threaded, as if
a cherry pit were stuck
in the throat
to produce the trumpet of the branches.
So varies, yet never, changing
through all the days, since
reptiles fell to earth.
I give up the reason for the sound
I give up the creature of sound
and the creator of the creatures
and of us and of dawn and
air and of vacuum
and human inhumanity.
I give up the song.
I give up the place
Joseph Ceravolo (1934-1988): Hidden Bird (June 13, 1985), from Collected Poems (2012)
It seemed so easy
all those years
slicing through the currents
you'd order
wait a bit quietly in the shallows
and done
you could breathe again
then things changed
with the great calcification
you'd turn to stone
down down down you'd sink
plummeting to the bottom
arms pressed tight to your sides
Untitled [Av. Paulista, Sao Paolo]: photo by Vitor Damasio, 25 May 2018
Untitled [Av. Paulista, Sao Paolo]: photo by Vitor Damasio, 25 May 2018
Untitled [Av. Paulista, Sao Paolo]: photo by Vitor Damasio, 25 May 2018
Untitled: photo by Maria Kappatou, 11 February 2018
Untitled: photo by Maria Kappatou, 11 February 2018
Mumbai (2018): photo by Suresh Naganathan, 7 April 2018
Mumbai (2018): photo by Suresh Naganathan, 7 April 2018
Mumbai (2018): photo by Suresh Naganathan, 7 April 2018
I prefer feeling l̶o̶v̶e̶d̶ understood. | (Playing around with some of my pictures): photo by Sven Laurent, 8 May 2018
Thequiet of a storm: photo by Nico Ferrara, 9 May 2018
Joseph Ceravolo: Hidden Bird
June 13, 1985
June 13, 1985
Song birds enter the morning
the pre-dawn before the fires,
you know, when the night floats away
like vapor on a lake,
or like kisses in the woods.
Songs that even creation
might not remember.
Continuous, threaded, as if
a cherry pit were stuck
in the throat
to produce the trumpet of the branches.
So varies, yet never, changing
through all the days, since
reptiles fell to earth.
I give up the reason for the sound
I give up the creature of sound
and the creator of the creatures
and of us and of dawn and
air and of vacuum
and human inhumanity.
I give up the song.
I give up the place
Joseph Ceravolo (1934-1988): Hidden Bird (June 13, 1985), from Collected Poems (2012)
Untitled [Tiber, Rome]: photo by Pierre Donadeo, 2 January 2015
Untitled [Tiber, Rome]: photo by Pierre Donadeo, 2 January 2015
Untitled [Tiber, Rome]: photo by Pierre Donadeo, 2 January 2015
The Colonel's ghost sinks toward the ocean floorUntitled [Tiber, Rome]: photo by Pierre Donadeo, 2 January 2015
Untitled [Tiber, Rome]: photo by Pierre Donadeo, 2 January 2015
It seemed so easy
all those years
slicing through the currents
you'd order
wait a bit quietly in the shallows
and done
you could breathe again
then things changed
with the great calcification
you'd turn to stone
down down down you'd sink
plummeting to the bottom
arms pressed tight to your sides
Untitled: photo by Pierre Donadeo, 18 August 2014
KFC, Komachi, Kamakura, Apr 2018: photo by Shin Noguchi, 24 April 2018
KFC, Komachi, Kamakura, Apr 2018: photo by Shin Noguchi, 24 April 2018
KFC, Komachi, Kamakura, Apr 2018: photo by Shin Noguchi, 24 April 2018
KFC, Komachi, Kamakura, Apr 2018: photo by Shin Noguchi, 24 April 2018
KFC, Komachi, Kamakura, Apr 2018: photo by Shin Noguchi, 24 April 2018
KFC, Komachi, Kamakura, Apr 2018: photo by Shin Noguchi, 24 April 2018