Small painted envelope for Rebecca Guyver, UK
donderdag 24 mei 2012
woensdag 23 mei 2012
NOT THE SKIES BUT RATS HAVE| NO LIMITS
SONG
POEM: NOT THE SKIES BUT RATS HAVE| NO LIMITS
Dear Mark,
The banker lost his suit
in the euro crisis,
so recycled himself
as an erotic dancer.
Nobody watched this show on wall
street.
The stripes on a narrow necktie
were sold however on war street...
Weeping stars were hiding
together in an effort to LOVE.
My face in this red mirror
starts bleeding OHNE reason,
OHNE knowledge on the edge.
Shrimp froze in the river
under the bridge.
Golden gates lead to hell
or NOT ???
Guido Vermeulen
May 2012
PS
OHNE
is the German word for WITHOUT
The great Nebula of Andromeda
Small painted envelope inspired by a Rexroth poem
Mailed to Theresa Williams, USA
Mailed to Theresa Williams, USA
Watch the great Nebula
of Andromeda swim like
a phosphorescent amoebe
slowly around the Pole
Kenneth Rexroth
Portrait of Cavellini
dinsdag 22 mei 2012
WALKING BY THE LAKE
A walk by the lake.
It's beautiful. but lots of bugs
and sometimes they're cutting the grass;
I make it stink worse than the city,
and the noise is awful.
It's beautiful. but lots of bugs
and sometimes they're cutting the grass;
I make it stink worse than the city,
and the noise is awful.
Moan Lisa, USA
maandag 21 mei 2012
The birth of innocence
De geboorte van de onschuld
voor Theresa Williams
Met het kind op mijn rug
daalde ik vermomd als schildpad
de trap af naar de kelder
van het geheugen.
Daar schuilden de ongeborenen
samen met mijn vertrapte schaduw.
Zij boorden gaatjes in de aarde,
planten zaadjes liefde in putjes,
overgoten met wijnazijn.
Een slang baande zich een weg
van struik naar struik.
Hij zocht zijn boom maar vond het
niets.
De babies huilden diepzinning omwille
van het grootste
verlies.
Translation: GV
The birth of innocence
For Theresa Williams
With the child on my back
I went disguised as turtle down
the stairs to the cellar
of memory.
There were hiding the unborn
together with my trampled shadow.
They were drilling holes in the earth,
planting tiny seeds of love in little
pits,
covered them with wine vinegar.
A snake cleared a way
from bush to bush,
looking for its tree but found
nothingness.
Babies cried profoundly because of the
biggest
loss.
Guido Vermeulen
May 2012
dinsdag 15 mei 2012
URBAN TRAVELS
Contributions by: Bernd and Teresa Reichert, Lotte, Theresa Williams, Kerri Pullo, David Stone, Connie, Mikula, Private World, Andrew Niss, Guido V, Carlos, Hans, Keith, Lesley, Cheryl, John, Juri, Walter, Matt, Guido B
Artist Book edition of 25 copies
maandag 14 mei 2012
zaterdag 12 mei 2012
Cascade of dreams ending in a Dutch poem
More dreams from last night, cascade ones, so no inner relations unless
you are a psycho-analyst:
1)
I want to know where my cats are and arrive in a strange garden. A
small white bear is sitting there on the shoulder of a giant lady.
She is breathtaking, has large black hair ands wears a bright black
dress. I look to the bear who is quite happy and tells me he is on
her shoulder because it highlightens its white fur!
Still
no signs of my kittens. A flock of movement appears in the sky, I try
to focus on them and understand it is a flock of birds, a flock of
pelicans even, but when I focus even more my view they are not
photographic but cartoon drawn with an abundance of colors that
blinds my eye sight! I am living inside a comic story I think
disgusted and try to leave on the spot!
2)
I decide to return back from this strange garden. I walk into even
stranger halls of what seems to be a very narrow factory
construction. First I meet what looks to me like slave workers, they
ignore me because they are quite scared and avoid any possible eye
contact. Second room is a filled with laborants in white coats, they
experiment with whatever is available in the room and are quite angry
with my presence: I am an unwelcome intruder! Some of these assholes
I recognize from former job situations and I run away as quick as I
can, disgusted by seeing them again!
Why
all these cancers have not died of awful cancers goes thru my head
and I am regretting this reflection on the spot!
Third
and final room is full of naked workers coming from the showers, men
and women mixed, they all have doom and gloom in their eyes, look to
me as if I do not really exist. They are all incredibly ugly,
hair growing from every part of their bodies, even the femail ones!
They all look terribly angry and unhappy, almost ready to committ
rape and murder at any second! DO not stay here, a woman shouts, this is not your
crowd! Get OUT, pleaasse, get OUT !!!
3)
I try to escape from this nonsense factory and come into an open
field when I break a door without any pain or bloodshed. I check my
own body in awe!
4)
I close my eyes and try to see colors to escape the past nightmare.
A
labour manifesto text I cannot read is projected before my eyes:
The
first 5 statements are in black: the next 5 one are in white but the
10 sentences are all on the same blue background. I have no clue what
this is about BUT breakthru!
5)
So it is possible to dream in colors I reflect and then an abundance
of strange and even stranger images shoot before my eyes in all the
colors of the rainbow.
I
do not bother much because after all I still have not found my
kittens! And a man has to do what a man has to do, it is all a
question of priorities or not?
6)
The most simple things in life are often the most complex, goes thru
my head; it is the start of a complete poem based on what Mike Dyar
labeled or recognized as cognitive memory!
When
I wake up I remember every sentence and write it down but in a
reverse order; starting from the final phrase to first one, but it is
all in Dutch.
Which
makes me think: Okay, I can dream in colors now but still not in
different tongues, so I still have a long way to go!
One
kitten licks my feet, the other one nestled himself in my upper arms,
close to my face, almost suffocating me! I can hardly breathe, so
this probably caused this dream cascade, thanks a lot Buzzy!!!
7) WAKE UP CALL
voor Simonne
De
simpele dingen des levens
zijn
wellicht de meest complexe;
de
geboorte van een luchtbel,
de
nerven in het blad van een boom,
het
insect in je vinger die me aanraakt,
de
vogel die ik hoor zingen in je onderbuik,
een
ingedommelde traan in een ontwakende oceaan,
een
slapende kater op een schilderstafel in een kelder te Brussel,
en
mijn slapeloze herinnering aan waar jij sliep.
EN
DAN
Het
wakker worden met het geheugen
van
dit gedicht op mijn versteende lippen.
Het
onmiddellijke neerschrijven of al goed alsof
omdat
Buzz probeert te spelen met mijn pen.
GV
May
12, 2012
PS
NOTHING
of this story has been invented, cross my heart and hope to die!
woensdag 9 mei 2012
Tribute to Pol Bury
Followed by a reaction from Valentine Herman, France.
Gone out haunting and dreaming
From Kerri Pullo, USA / cut up poem by Anne Sexton
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anne_Sexton
dinsdag 8 mei 2012
Dead Leaves
The leaves are dead on your tombstone
This smells like winter
But listen to me, passed one, listen, beloved one
You still are mine, after all
(adaption GV)
zaterdag 5 mei 2012
A personal tribute to the picture poems of Kenneth Patchen
Image by Guido Vermeulen
Full text by KP is «The one who comes to question himself, has cared for mankind»
Envelope mailed to Bernd Reichert in Belgium to thank him for the splendid edition of Bizarre Cities volume 8: URBAN TRAVEL BOOK
maandag 30 april 2012
zaterdag 28 april 2012
Helpless
Text: GV
De boom staart met het hulpeloze kater-act van uilenogen naar het domme gansje.
Blind voor de waarschuwing zal hemelsblauw wellicht
veranderen in zombieroodjasgraan.
Ik sla het raam dicht tevergeefs.
De omkadering straalt een veel te sterk licht uit!
Helaas vergat ik mijn zonnebril.
vrijdag 27 april 2012
A door is not always a gate, sometimes it is a well, dream
Envelope mailed to Lisa Perez in the USA
Dreams that occurred to me at dawn:
One of my cats changing into a rabbit and firing a tail of fur from his back.
Second cat changing into a tiny small piglet, disappearing in the walls of my study.
A little boy that looked like me when I was young, begging for an escape route, I had to move my bed and he disappeared into the wall, thanking me for acting on his request.
Someone lying beside me in the bed and stroking my hair, calming me and I was confused: was she a lover or a mother or both?
The shadow of an indetermined animal running to the garden when I was in pain on the loo.
Opening a door to find a well, opening a window to find something I do not remember now but that was definitely not a window view!
donderdag 26 april 2012
THE FRAME POEM
|
THE FRAME
the frame of rosewood and ebony empty till the eye fills it with the image of a man sitting motionless on a bench as the falling leaves slowly bury him another man sees blackbirds grubbing under the elms after a hard rain beaks spotted with acid drippings old men see the whispers of ghosts pass from life eternal to a myth etched on a Byzantine silver plate they crawl across vast flats of eroded stone till their hands swell and blur into the far horizon a woman saw a colored music there a figure receding in the tapestried hall of an Eastern lamasery after death the victim would remember how the frame showed the shadow of the blinds cut across the killer's face ERIC BASSO April 24, 2012 |
CROWBAR POEM
CROWBAR POEM
by Mark Rossmiller, USA
SHOW ME THE PLACE WHERE SUFFERING BEGAN
Small painted envelope for Martha Aitchinson, UK
SONG: Show me the place by Leonard Cohen, album Old Ideas
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