"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"

Fine Art Nudes by Juan Carlos Hernandez - Alda Merini poem "Paura de Tuei Occhi"

Paura dei Tuoi Occhi, Omaggio ad Alda Merini (http://www.aldamerini.it/)
Voce Recitante - Graziella Ferraccù
Pianoforte - Ovidio Bigi
http://www.poesianuda.com/

Registrato al teatro De Andrè di Casalgrande, Italia

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.

"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)

traduction du poème en français : http://www.le-perfologue.net/piloter/Strategie_et_tactique.html

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.

"Ain't No Sunshine", poem by myself + Bill Withers song

photo prise à la Rue des Bains, Genève, juin 2009


MA - RIZ -  HUM - DEN - ETC


Matraquée, ils te regardent
Riz amer
Humidité silencieuse
Déni persistant
Stock
Plus de stock ici
Ferme le magasin
Allegro ma non troppo


photo et poème par © Juan Carlos Hernandez, 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

Traverses / Regards croisés avec Stéphane Bataillon (photographie et poésie)

Voici une collaboration artistique avec le poète français Stéphane Bataillon, auteur du recueil de poésies "Où Nos Ombres S'Epousent". Si vous désirez connaître ses confidences et secrets d'auteur, je vous invite à écouter son interview du 19 février 2011 sur France Culture lors de l'émission "Ca Rime à Quoi"

J'ai laissé le libre choix des photographies à Stéphane et il a choisi 4 images présentes dans mon calendrier 2011.

J'espère que vous aurez du plaisir à découvrir et lire notre collaboration qui je l'espère en amènera d'autres.

Au plaisir et douce journée

1. Fatale

Tournoyer jusqu’à fondre
Jusqu’à quand
rester proie.

 --

2. L’oubli

 

 Non
pas se perdre Encore un petit peu.

--

3. Alma

La force ramassée
d’un épuisé de monde

Et le chant qui s’entonne.

--

4. Réticence 

Des racines crachées
seule la pierre devine
ce que masque ton parfum.

Textes © : Stéphane Bataillon / Photographies : © Juan-Carlos Hernandez.

"Into The Mystic", collaboration with poet Gwylym Owen ( & music of Van Morrison)

Hi there,

I'm glad to collaborate for a second time with the english poet Gwylym Owen.

I proposed him to wrote a poem inspired on this photograph I took in Barcelona (August 2010) and in a splendid song composed by Van Morrison "Into the Mystic". You will be able to listen this song activating the player below the Gwylym's prose.

I hope you will enjoy this new collaboration and I invite you to click here in order to see our other artistic collaboration.

Peace

INTO THE MYSTIC 

For the mystical mind fly's, into the oblivion of a souls eye

Trusting an unseen plan, being guided by the unknown

And now we fly, we fly on to, our grand destined land

Blinded by the light and obscured views, of constant truths

Showered rays in musical arrays and light waves

Lantern high and in the eye, of narrowed, certain pathways.

Heading toward the higher frequencies, resonates being

Now start seeing, looking out a window: No! It does not glow.

Now listen and look within your heart, be smart from the start.

Tuning, playing, tuning, playing, tuning bestowing.

Always walking toward the light, always mysterious in the plight.

Listen to thee, now let your mind see and let the glee run free

The mystery of mysteries, the souls key, the you and me.

by Gwylym Owen, February 2011

"Manic Depression",collaboration with poet Diana Matisz (+ Jimi Hendrix song) )

Hello,

Today, I'm so pleased to present you my third collaboration with the US poet Diana Matisz. If you mind, you can read and watch clicking here our 2 other collaborations.

And don't forget please to activate the player below the poem and listen the song of Jimi Hendrix reading the poem.

Bye for now

Juan Carlos

MANIC DEPRESSION 

You know the feeling

I know you do

it begins deep in the belly

a stirring of the entrails

an igneous eruption of emotion

firing torrid blood to every extremity

You know how it feels

I know you do

that edginess of lacerated nerves

riding the chafed surfaces

of skin and bones

the itch of containment

Admit it, you know the feeling

I know you do

the snap of synapses on overload

a drumbeat of tension

pinpricks tattooing their path

from toe to head

Yes, you know how it feels

I know you do

but is it joy or is it pain?

it makes no difference

because all you need

all you know or want to know

is release

by Diana Matisz, February 2011

                            

"Lost Moments", collaboration with poet Gwylym Owen (+ jazz music by Oliver Nelson)

Hi,

I contacted recently a poet from United Kingdom I appreciate a lot for a collaboration. I asked him to choose one of my photos and he has been inspired by the photograph below. Gwylym Owen offered me a splendid poem. Please visit his site in order to read other of his writings http://illiteratepoetry.blogspot.com/

And don't forget, to activate the youtube player (below the photo) reading the poem. I choosed a jazz tune called Stolen Moments by Oliver Nelson, a pure classic of jazz music.

Bye for now

Juan Carlos

Lost Moments 

Encased, within enveloping Time-Spatial Curves
Cosmic ray showers, fade as Muons decay
Swallowed whole, in that great ocean of sands
Likened to the silence, in-between Musical notes
Memory evokes such, wonderfully fond tales;
Cheap impersonations, that hardly fill the void;
Of stolen moments in, transitory Manifestation.
Hustle and bustle, tempered by the mild gentle wind.
Ebbing and flowing, toing and froing.
Untouched by even, the most severest, of frost.
A young boy never standing still, a childhood lost.
A moppet's memory, of scented meadows, freshly cut.
The way the scent fades, as the years pass.
Those treasured moments never seem to last.
Chasing them is a pointless and thankless task;
And as the Grand 'Ammon's horn', starts to stir and trip
On Neptune's vehicle in the high seas of the Hippocampus
Click, click, Clack, there's only one logical fact.
Steal your future back, Conjure up: 'Omnipresent Style',
Live, every waking instant, as if it were your last.
Fill all of those, pilfered Flashes, with moments; worth stealing.
Too busy fashioning, to look back, creating stolen moments;
That's the task, that will always last, this kind of trice is always nice.
So the choice is yours: Celebrate or Regret: "Stolen Moments."
Though - as you swoosh through; Fleeting, flashes;
Cherish and adore, as they do unfold,
For, surely this is the definition, of purest Gold.


copyright Gwylym Owen, 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