Juan Carlos Hernandez - Life Photographer

Showing posts with label photopoem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label photopoem. Show all posts

9/10/2013

"Still Still Life" #Poem by Christopher Barnett - #Photo by Juan Carlos Hernandez #Photography #Poetry #imperialism #Syria

Dear Citizen,
I met, across a social network, Christopher Barnett - without knowing who he IS exactly. Step by step, I discovered he's really a consecrated poet. Considering our close political and social views we became friends. At last, we have developed, talking about the Syria crisis, an artistic collaboration in fury at what USA is doing once again, so close to the date they destroyed Chile & its song . I hope you will enjoy it.
Juan Carlos



"tumult of cities

turning turning

tumult of cities



tidal wave

time itself turbulent 



horses heaving

as they dance 



in boxes

guardians 



sombre palaces

of water 



cities

without form

must memorize

meandering of rivers 



perambulation

of people 



writing

these words

more painful

than you

imagine 



tremble

as i tremble 



cities

constructed in collapse 



where

ships screamed

out in night



live them still 



so

very still 



cities craters

birds encircle 



banquet

wound

we are 



terror's Memory 



christopher barnett

pour juan août 2013"





7/21/2012

Video #poema de Mercedes Mayol con mis fotos "Murmullo Gris" #poesia #tango #AstorPiazzola #photo #art

Tengo el immenso placer de haber colaborado con la gran autora argentina Mercedes Mayol.
Mercedes me pidió una serie de fotografías, de las cuales a su vez ella seleccionó una parte. Al verlas desplegadas, la inspiración la llevó a escribir este poema
Les dejo aquí el resultado del cual me siento muy orgulloso.
Ah...un detalle, el poema es narrado por mi.
Espero lo disfruteís.
Juan Carlos
ps : Mercedes Mayol escribio en su muro de Facebook, la historia de nuestra colaboracion, vale la pena publicarlo : "Tengo el enorme placer de presentarles este trabajo en conjunto con el fotógrafo Suizo Juan Carlos Hernández.La idea surgió casi por azar, en esos “¿y por que no?”, que suelen aparecer en la vida. Hablando de los poemas visuales, y en medio de una charla de café virtual, le pregunté si no me permitiría usar sus fotografías para realizar un video, y el con esa generosidad que lo caracteriza me dijo:
- Por que no?
Recibí las fotografías, las cargué al azar en el programa de edición junto a la música de Piazzolla y ellas…me contaron esta historia. Así nació Murmullo gris, de esa mezcla de emociones y sentimientos que pueden expresar las imágenes captadas a través de una lente.
La captura de un instante, de un sentimiento en el tiempo, es algo muy difícil de lograr, ya sea a través de una cámara, una tela o en las letras. Las imágenes captan sentimientos, sensaciones, la brisa, el llanto, la vida. Emociones que normalmente quedan en el recuerdo del que tomo la foto, pero transmitir todo eso...ese es el mayor reto de un artista, que el observador vea, sienta y respire a través de la obra lo que el artista sintió. Juan Carlos tiene eso. Por esta razón es para mi un honor que me haya permitido realizar esta tarea junto a el.
No conforme con esto, decidió recitarlo y a miles de kilómetros de distancia uno del otro, en una madrugada Suizo-Argentina, móvil en mano, grabó esas palabras que hoy escuchan aquí.
Tengo también que agradecer a una persona muy especial para mi, a quien quiero mucho, que realizó la fusión entre voz y música, limpiando los defectos propios de una grabación casera.
Aquí les dejo el video y el poema, espero lo disfruten."


MURMULLO GRIS

Ahogando con mi pena tu reflejo
Atrapado en este espejo de hipócritas vergüenzas...
Recorro con tus ojos el recuerdo
de humedades y pecados que destilan las promesas...
Murmullo gris que acaricia los acordes
de esta ciudad insomne
donde los corazones rotos, laten sin hacer ruido
Otro atardecer de letanías
Esperando esa vejez que nunca llega
Y esa tácita pregunta del por que aún me encuentro vivo
hace eco en las paredes hoy vacías...
Y tu te alejas...
tu rostro es devorado por el temblor inerte de un vientre ya dormido
Y yo te espero...
en medio de una calle de esperanzas extraviadas...
Mirando el horizonte...buscando algún destello
de esa luz que habita en la prisión de la deshonra
Un accidente crucificado en una esquina...
Una aventura que se pierde en la nostalgia
Tu y yo..
Mendigos de amores, de caricias oxidadas...
Compañeros de vida o de una muerte agazapada..
El humo de un cigarro te dibuja...
Como un espectro que se pierde allí en el alba...
Un pudo ser abandonado en un espejo...
Ese pensarte que me obliga a decir nada...
Y yo aun te espero...
En esta soledad absurda
Que hoy empaña con su aliento mi ventana

©Mercedes Mayol
Copyright 15-07-2012


10/28/2011

Photopoem "Errances Transatlantiques" + "The Loner" by Neil Young



Errances Transatlantiques

Errances transatlantiques
Misérables émois
Lyrisme pour lui
Pense tragique à moi
Clic, clac, tap
Danse tes rêves

Photographie prise et poème écrit à New-York en octobre 2011 par Juan Carlos Hernandez





8/25/2011

Photopoem with Sophia Fine : "REVEALING THE VIRILITY OF THINGS" + jazz music of Paolo Fresu


Hello,
I'm happy and proud to collaborate again with Sophia Fine, a fantastic painter, very talented writer, and special friend.
Once more, she was inspired by one of my photographs to write a beautiful poem. Her style, as always, is modern poetry at it's best!
Take a look to our other collaborations Don't forget please to play the wonderful music of Paolo Fresu reading the poem. The player is located below at the end. 
I’m always looking forward to collaborations with Sophia, and I hope the feeling is mutual!
Juan Carlos 

REVEALING THE VIRILITY OF THINGS
How to begin at the beginning:
"When are you going to stop asking too much from life."
His words fall in to broken pieces on the cold ground.
Their echo reaches her tired dimming soul.
Feline’s patience will force a smile.
Tensing for a glimpse of his swaying mood.
Between her face and his, the softness of a child is taking form and vanishes.
No way to bring back lost love.
Thirst for love, thirst for ecstasy,
rare pearls in the palm of her hand,
transformed to cicadas with their
long monotonous song.
Music score for Doom.
Like a Horn of Plenty, the Messenger's Bag spills out a haze of Joy and Sad.
Memories found and lost.
The blue sea flickers like a zoetrope, and the simmering light alternates in quick succession. Suddenly the brilliant Sun leeches the landscape of all Colors.
The desire, passion... close, so close.
Only sea and sky the limits between them.
Hollow whispers that none of them can hear.
In the shadow a man, a young man,
caresses a woman. The stroke of his hand
erases the wrinkles around her eyes,
and returns some of the youthful 
Luster on her graying hair.
Her voice murmurs hauntingly without
Vocabilaire, paling every word, speaking 
In sentences..
Mind runs dry.
The yearning, the need, the “Never More” choking every heart beat.
“Remember for hours I was gazing
Into your eyes... still didn't know us.”
Swimming in a murky river, the bodies
Try to reach the familiar banks.
Trembling, trembling so...
With eyes closed to see. 
The island is lost and the wind vanishes resistance.
Time brings happiness.
Time kills time.
Welcome friend, or enemy.
Mine, First Love, began with a caress.
Muzzle, neck, legs, my hands run over my Horse's Splendid body.
Then a word carefully chosen, or Silence. 
That was a pure Love's Joy!
Eternal to Be.
Ah Love, you only stay with Love,
To make Happy.
Stay young, he once said, tossing her
slender body up in the air.
There were kisses, summer rhymes, caresses.
Descending in his young arms, on a sea of anemones,
felt his Kiss, his lips ... and Love.
Exuberance full strength.
Rapido Con Brio.
Ah Love, you only stay with Love,
To make Happiness.
Like a Horn of Plenty, the Messenger's Bag spills out a haze of Joy and Sad.
Memories lost and found.
The invisible wounds within,
suspended passions, simple desires
waiting to be revived, to be felt again,
to have a second chance, bending on hard cold ground never to return.
Souls are cleaving to reach...without hope.
A knife suspends from the sky never known where-when will drop to cut.
This sky soon will be starry but the stars don't care, they have their own life.
Angels are not real.. Make their own life.. Who will care.
The night shrinks to nothing.
Stillness.
The Rhythmical clock sounds out of breath.
His distant gaze reflects a Forest Burning..
Flames dancing in a young woman's form,
calling erotic verses echoing his lust desire.
Faces light up for a moment of flash
to disappear In an ebony darkness.
His desire will fall on a cold marble bed on Time's Call.
Doesn't take much time for evil to stage.
The soul wants to Be, to feel the touch in the young woman's arms,
Deep in her arms, on her inviting softness..
breathing her Love, Quiver that take his breath away.
But Everything still, only the sound of the rattling time.
Stillness is an invitation to death inside, nothing will be revived.
Is softness in silence.. Hurting Stills.
This Life will be viewed behind a misty glass.. creating healing illusions.
Their footsteps will echo through empty corridors of time...
Perhaps a little night's music will bring a sliver of reality past..
sans prelude of herald melodies.
Time steals love... No ransom.
No living back the taken.
Time steals time.
"Don't let the children go through the smoldering gaverous fields..
their innocence will make deep holes in their souls."
In a spike of light she will see the first
wrinkles on his forehead..the lost desire
in empty eyes.
Tonight let's put away the Real!
Compassion in C minor will do in the new settings!
Time kills in time.
Life Heals in Time.
"I saw a shooting star! Good luck!"
BIZZZ!!! ........ LIFE IS ON!!!
Sophia Fine JUNE 2011
Inspired by a photo... Inspiration applied on other, than the obvious.

8/10/2011

"Mi táctica ..." + poesia recitada por Mario Benedetti


Fotografia de "su" mano, una mano negra, publicada originalmente en mayo del 2010. El tiempo paso y lo puedo decir ahora, la publiqué despues de una gran pena de amor. Creo que no fui ni buen tactico .. ni buen estratego y mismo si paso mucho pues .. no pasa nada, la vida fluye ;-) "Avec le temps, va, tout s'en va" decia Léo Ferré

Táctica y estrategia (Mario Benedetti)



translation of this poem in english : http://www.emule.com/2poetry/phorum/read.php?4,32871

Mi táctica es
mirarte
aprender como sos
quererte como sos
mi táctica es
hablarte
y escucharte
construir con palabras
un puente indestructible
mi táctica es
quedarme en tu recuerdo
no sé cómo ni sé
con qué pretexto
pero quedarme en vos
mi táctica es
ser franco
y saber que sos franca
y que no nos vendamos
simulacros
para que entre los dos
no haya telón
ni abismos
mi estrategia es
en cambio
más profunda y más
simple
mi estrategia es
que un día cualquiera
no sé cómo ni sé
con qué pretexto
por fin me necesites.

7/05/2011

"Night Stalking",collaboration with the poet Maureen E. Doallas + piece of Debussy "Nuages"

I'm pleased and sincerely honoured to introduce you the poet Maureen O. Doallas who has been inspired by one of my atmospheric photographs I've taken in 2009


Maureen E. Doallas is a features writer and editor who recently published with T.S. Poetry Press her debut collection of poetry, Neruda's Memoirs: Poems. Maureen's poems also have appeared in the anthology Oil and Water... and Other Things That Don't Mix and at Poets for Living Waters, the sad red earth, and Red Lion Square. Her interviews have been published at The High Calling. Maureen posts daily at Writing Without Paper, primarily about poetry and other literary, visual, and performing arts. She owns a small art-licensing business Transformational Threads.


Please check other artistic collaborations I had clicking here 









Night Stalking

Red-winged blackbirds
unperched from cattail


stalks bleed silhouettes
into the nimbus, the sky

parched into night
threaded into dream's
space, emptying
and filling.

© 2011 Maureen E. Doallas






1/29/2011

A Sliver of a Winter’s Night, collaboration with poet Sophia Fine

Hello, 
I'm happy and proud to collaborate again with Sophia Fine, a fantastic painter and very talented writer.
Once more, she was inspired by one of my photographs to write a beautiful poem. Her style, as always, is modern poetry at it's best!
I'm looking forward to collaborating with Sophia again and again!
Juan Carlos  ps : please, don't forget to hear (activating the youtube player at the end of the article)  reading the poem and/or watching the photograph the wonderful masterpiece of the US composer Samuel Barber "Adagio For Strings"






























A Sliver of A Winter's Night 


Memory still holds the faintest gleam that soothes my intimate energy.
I smothered the fragrant dance, but its flame and force still leaps,
revealing my soul to light.

None of us can fathom feelings the same.

His dream–dusted cloak is now hiding alight wings that want to take me away,
but none of us knows this... 

Give me your heart and soul...
 
Moving with a swift motion he wrote like a pencil the letters in the air.
I read the essence of them one letter at a time and however I start and finish, the word is only one: LOVE

The burning eyes of desire scorch-tear with their flames that won't die wherever they glance, are smalling to a dark dot... this

I am soul-naked now and I see my breathing words engraved on a marble pad to be read eternally... absurdity, drollery I didn't unmake... 

I want to emerge before my soul's nakedness reveals, 
to speak before the stars faint into light and images start to change...
l want to align with my own rhythm before I'm swept into his world... 

This city ablaze in nocturnal light displays an antithesis as the neon lights start to faint like little fireflies’ sparkles, reflecting on the sleek streets where the melting snow is drawing his love letter on the ground to be seen...
 
Soon will be the end of night; the day will comfort the sleepless. 

This moment is sent by your hand I held. 

This voice I hear: “Tell me will you ever love anyone or anyme?”
 
These words are the offspring of his desire, spreading onto the glistening ground to take deep roots that in time his desperation will feed... 

When the day's light makes its grand entrance I will see him reduced to his smile... 

A warm feeling wraps the body and soul in light that will lead the way, even if these stars are shining on someone else’s sky... 

The distance shows me a harp's strings, vibrating still... 

“You are Aphrodite's rose” my wakeful dreams will tell you.
 
At the end of the path, I hear our festering talk, on and off again... with voices not wanted... 

To love and be loved... isn't what the harp voice sings? I’ll love to that! 

My lucky line!

Sophia Fine — January 2011
 

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