Literature and Art

Comment

Comment by Guido Vermeulen on May 30, 2012 at 2:36am

Photo of statue in Brussels’ park linked with the former Last Dream Haiku poem

Comment by Guido Vermeulen on May 30, 2012 at 2:04am

Theresa,

I’ve made a postcard print of the collage for you, so expect it in the next mail.

Also wrote a new poem in Dutch this evening, linked with colors and dreams again.

A bit peculiar in the sense that the poem begins with 4 perfect haikus and then ends in free verze, the end does not agree with a last strait-jacket, something like that.

Guido

A LAST DREAM?

(haikus in ontbinding)

Beelden in het park

verweren zoet de droefheid

van vluchtige tijd.

Een lekkende kraan

opent de gesloten deur.

De schreeuw sluit zich niet.

Bloed op het kussen.

Ik heb slecht gedroomd vannacht.

Onvindbaar, het blauw.

Gebarsten spiegels

dollen met mijn verbeelding,

tergen het oogwit.

Ik zie wat ik niet zie.

Ik zie niet wat ik zie.

Hoe ondergesneeuwd het zicht verdwijnt.

Hoe naakt en koud de dood wel is.

Hoe slank de benen van het prille groen.

Hoe geel de spijt van de allerlaatste kus.

Ik proef nog eenmaal hoe

aangespoeld zeewier smaakt

samen met verlaten steen.

Guido Vermeulen, Mei 2012

Comment by Guido Vermeulen on May 29, 2012 at 11:16pm

A perfect quote for some of the opinions by Yves (LoL)

By the way your Ikkyu mail arrived today, splendid!

Funny thing, I just made a collage BEFORE your mail arrived on the choice between 2 passions (christ, see guilt) and eroticism (so pleasure, but not that innocent because I refer to the case of SADA in Japan, see the movie The empire of senses)

Collage Make your choice between the passion of christ or the passion of Sada

Comment by yves maraux on May 29, 2012 at 12:15pm

Le langage fait pour etre abusé ? les féministes ne seraient pas d'accord !

Comment by Guido Vermeulen on May 29, 2012 at 2:02am

Another Fun quote: Je ne suis pas toujours d’accord avec MON opinion (Paul Valéry); I do not always agree with my own opinions!

Comment by Guido Vermeulen on May 28, 2012 at 11:07pm

Comment by Guido Vermeulen on May 28, 2012 at 11:07pm

DREAM FRAGMENTATION IN NUMBERS. Part 1.

On a wall someone has painted I, then a red heart, and beyond that MY BROTHOU.

The artist invites passengers to paint their own messages.

So with a brush and yellow paint I write on the wall I LOVE CHICKEN SOUP.

Excellent, the artist comments and he adds,you should go to Africa to avoid you will die as a stupid white male.

Are you Rosie Winterspoon, I ask him. The name popped just in my head.

No, I am Debora Lakecarer, is his answer.

Okay, thanks Debbie.

Give Rose a kiss from me.

So in the park I kiss a rose and starts bleeding.

463 my blood cells tell me, count to 463 and then you will be in Africa.

I am in a country where people speak Douala.

MUSANGO is the name of my favorite fish in Douala and means peace.

Once I made a painting of the fish Musango for Adamandia Kapsalis in the USA.

She proposed a fish project.

I am standing before a big building painted in yellow and a cripple beggar at the door invites me in.

How many rooms has the building, I ask him?

Nyie Nted Mewon La.

That’s not Douala, I comment (how do I know this?!)

No I speak Ewondo and that means 463,

Of course, everything makes sense that way.

I enter the block and travel from room to room, all rooms are painted in yellow. There are hardly any windows, so it is quite dark. The paint replaces in a way the light.

I see all kinds of people in different situations: families, men alone, women alone, children alone, sick people, dying people even from what looks like starvation or illness or both.

Comment by Guido Vermeulen on May 28, 2012 at 11:06pm

DREAM FRAGMENTATION IN NUMBERS. PART 2.

I start getting scared and claustrophobic and want to find my way out again but the more doors I open, the more rooms I encounter with even worse situations than the ones I already witnessed.

I start crying in silence. Tears drop on the earth.

In the next room I meet a woman. She is long and tall, wears a great multi colored dress but to my shock she has an extremely tiny head, as if was shrinken on her body.

What do you want? she asks me gently.

I have lost my way and want to leave this place.

Oh no problem, but first you have to drink some ti or mao with me and my husband.

I shall not offend the laws of hospitality, so I accept. I know that ti is tea and Mao means palm wine.

Her husband greets me. He is a small man but with enormous hands and a very pointed face, almost like a fox. He has an awful nose that ends in a huge knob.

We drink together. Can I ask you an annoying question my new African friends ask me.

Of course.

You are so ugly, you have a mutilated and deformed body. Did you have an accident or were you born this way?

I am perplex, my body is normal but not according to their point of view.

I am born like this.

Oh poor man, you should consult a witch doctor here or otherwise seek help from a plastic surgeon.

I prefer a local marabou.

They smile in comprehension.

 Now how do I get out?

Oh, you know the answer already, they tell me.

Of course, stupid me, I count to 463 and am back and awake in Brussels.

Guido Vermeulen

May 2012

Comment by Guido Vermeulen on May 28, 2012 at 10:58pm

HOPE IS THAT THING WITH FEATHERS THAT PERCHES IN THE SOUL, stage 3

and perhaps final stage of large painting on reconstructed handmade paper,

around poem fragment by Emily Dickinson: ink and acryl paints.

Comment by Guido Vermeulen on May 28, 2012 at 6:30pm

 In the goodness of things, the sea-shell is related to the stone.--Jules Renard

Quote dispatched by Theresa; scanned object collage by me

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