"who secretly host doppelgangers & strangers in the mirror stowaway stars parallel universes parallel nights rivers lives..." - henrik aeshna Amour & autres hallucinogènes - LOVE & OTHER HALLUCINOGENS Photography: HENRIK AESHNA, Paris, 2012 « Oh, I’m burning! I wish I were out of doors! I wish I were a girl again, half savage and hardy, and free; and laughing at injuries, not maddening under them! Why am I so changed? why does my blood rush into a hell of tumult at a few words? I’m sure I should be myself were I once among the heather on those hills. Open the window again wide: fasten it open! Quick, why don’t you move?’ ‘Because I won’t give you your death of cold,’ I answered. ‘You won’t give me a chance of life, you mean,’ she said, sullenly. ‘However, I’m not helpless yet; I’ll open it myself.’' Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights
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"He’s part of every era, stretching his groin towards the naked faces of teenage girls for centuries to demonstrate a different version of GOD." Paris and Jim Morrison (10/12/2017) My mind is a silent one, I like to drop my thoughts through pen. Like the Lizard King and then he’d sing. I, 27 years of age, walk through the streets of Paris reading Jim’s ghost as a roadmap. And yet, I never really knew where he lived, a reptile on a golden street. I wanna turn 28 and report back, tell him that we’ve cracked the code to our confusion, that we don’t need a revolution, just indulge in more illusion, to make this space more habitable. There’s no point to mourn about losing our son. He set his path in stone, now the whole world is on the run. The rain apocalyptic, the scenery cryptic, Jim’s spirit rhythmic in translating the energy of all the people screaming ‘WHY’. Never quite died. Re-runs through the questions of light, waiting for the sun at night, our son’s surrounded by the earth of Pere Lachaise, offered his flesh for school groups to take pictures. The place where he rests, much quieter than a Shaman’s death. Much smaller than a stage and the crowds surrounding it more humble in appearance. I hear his name in ancient flute sounds, on the aristocratic grounds of French history books, on the refugee camps of Canal St. Martin, floating through the memories of a town both he and I considered poetic. He’s part of every era, stretching his groin towards the naked faces of teenage girls for centuries to demonstrate a different version of GOD. I mapped his flag on my teenage girl room door, where his hair curled into my dreams of one day making Paris mine. So I did, but not in time to capture his essence through anything but nostalgia, copied his ways through rumour, engaged in his final age which never ends and planned on going further. Jim, what do I do when I turn older than you? My poorly developed teenage soul tears me back to days when my eyelids closed to roll my sight back in time and have you light the road outside my door, ready for departure. Ready for more. To me you’re always older, a tap on the shoulder to reassure my measure of growing is well within frame. But it’s you who evidently skipped so many beats on my behalf, leaving me to live and age in peace and never twist the image of you as a teacher. SARAH HELENA FALL of an EMPIRE and now the preamble to the fall of an empire hear the foundations crumbling as we speak in the cafes on the war on terror and global warming escalated fears of suicide bombers swarming and now the preamble to the fall of an empire one evening stand at the window and you will see your life both sinking and rising on the horizon before you there are many behind you there are many still who disappear into the thin line they have drawn for themselves worlds are created without and within they grow like leaves or words or the quiet hours whose roots reach deep and wide whose meaning may not be understood for generations to come one evening stand on the sky and dare to paint your world without a wooden frame then climb into the painting Antonia Alexandra Klimenko was first introduced on the BBC and to the literary world by the legendary Tambimuttu of Poetry London–-publisher of T.S. Eliot, Henry Miller and Bob Dylan, to name a few. After his death, it was his friend the late great Kathleen Raine who took an interest in her writing and encouraged her to publish. Although her manuscript was orphaned upon “Tambi” s passing, her poems and correspondence have been included in his Special Collections at Northwestern University. A former San Francisco Poetry Slam Champion and devotee of Spoken Word, she has read and performed at various venues including S.F.’s renowned Purple Onion and The Intersection for the Arts. Her sold-out one-woman show Where the Blue Begins was presented in conjunction with Sonoma’s performing art series Women on the Edge. More recently she was a featured poet with Helene Cardona and John High at Poets Live, presented her work at Shakespeare & Company, participated in five présentations hosted by Three Rooms Press as well as performed at 100 Thousand Poets for Change here in Paris. Klimenko’s works are widely published in journals and anthologies–among them: XXI Century World Literature (in which she represents France) The Poet”s Quest for God, CounterPunch, The Original Van Gogh’s Ear Anthology, The Rumpus, Writing for Peace, Big Bridge, Levure Litteraire, Iodine Poetry Journal, Literary Orphans, Danse Macabre Anthology,The Opiate, Strangers in Paris, Paris Lit Up, Vox Populi, Occupy Poetry (in which she is distinguished as an American Poet) and Maintenant: Journal of Contemporary Dada Writing and Art archived at the Smithsonian Institution in Washington D.C and in New York’s Museum of Modern Art. She is the Writer/ Poet in Residence for SpokenWord Paris. BITE ME BITCH I have a thing about biting Biting people to stay alive Biting made the little boys cry I masticate on red meat This we enter is our pact Bite me Bitch Go to a pocket of flesh Tongue me like a knife Wet me down, cut me up Take me to the razor edge Incise me with your fangs I will come like a free verb Bite me bitch Plunge into my neck Dive deep and sink Pierce my thigh with your sharpened nail Each cut an article of faith Bite me Bitch I'll take you by your knotted hair Your excited limbs flail wildly Like two hungry canines Stalking for the blood We howl, we fill the empty night Bite me Bitch * 5 AM Laid in a pocket between darkness and dawn, City shit and lipstick mate salty sweat on the cushion you rest your head upon at her place she hands you a broken cigarette you light off the burner of the the stove. It's 5 a m over boulevard Magenta in a tree across the rue pigeons squawk at two crows fighting like cats and dogs a rat drags away a pizza with pepperoni dropped on the sidewalk wetted red in wino piss when a woman steps by in shoes that kill I would follow her in a New York minute just to kiss her breathless lips and walk beside her, so shapely as I've ever cast eyes upon. Ca vas cheri, she asks and I say oui babe play les Fouiles Mortes and we surrender our carnal knowledge, put asleep to the hiss of the number 9 metro. (Moe Seager, from Moe Poems - A Paris Selection, Steel press, 2014) Rue Gît-le-Coeur, Paris. Visite-happening-shooting (photo-vidéo) de la légendaire librairie indépendante parisienne Un Regard Moderne ( https://www.facebook.com/UnRegardModerne/ ) pour célébrer les 60 ans du mythique BEAT HOTEL, épicentre de la Beat Generation à Paris... Votre présence est un évènement ! Les lectures auront lieu à l'intérieur de la librairie (n° 10), et aussi devant le Beat Hotel (n° 9). lecture de poèmes (bilingue) avec: - STEVE DALACHINSKY (NYC): jazz poem + évocation de william burroughs -HENRIK AESHNA (Paris): "Mydriase", poème-bombe-conversation en hommage à CLAUDE PELIEU - HAIKUT-UPS (modalité poétique expérimentale inventée par Aeshna, en mélangeant haiku & cut-up), KOKAIN, en copulant Burroughs, Patti Smith, Anita Berber, Sebastian Droste, et Sainte Thérèse de Lisieux lecture de textes Beat (bilingue): - EMMANUEL BARROUYER (Paris): mashup/cut-up créé par Henrik Aeshna avec des extraits en français de Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso, William Burroughs, Brion Gysin, Harold Norse, Sinclair Beiles, avec une épigraphe-évocation sur le peyote de Henri Michaux, et une intervention d'Arthur Rimbaud (Illuminations) + - JAMIKA AJALON (US) - MALIK CRUMPLER (US) Venez nombreux le 3 NOVEMBRE - entre 15h et 16h - Librairie UN REGARD MODERNE 10 Rue GÎT-LE-COEUR, PARIS 75006 Métro: SAINT-MICHEL LIVING IN FEAR I’M ON THE EIFFEL TOWER DOING A BONG HIT REALITY CREEPS IN I’M SCARED SHIT IS THIS AN ANTENA FOR ANOTHER RACE GONNA COME TO EARTH TO TAKE OUR PLACE IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN HAPPIN AROUND HERE IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN I’M JUST LIVING IN MY FEAR THERE’S MEN IN BLACK SUITS DRIVING UNMARKED CARS SOLDIERS WITH BOOTS TATOOS AND SCARS CHECKING PASSPORTS AND YOUR PAPERS TOO THEY THINK SOME ONES HIDING OUT INSIDE OF ME AND YOU IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN HAPPIN AROUND HERE IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN I’M JUST LIVING IN MY FEAR I‘M SO VILE, IM OUT OF STYLE, IM SINGLE FILE, I’M IN DENIAL ,I’M ON TRIAL , I’M SUICIDAL BUT IT AINT GONNA HAPPEN HAPPIN AROUND HERE IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN I’M JUST LIVING IN MY FEAR VOICES ON THE LEFT AND VOICES ON THE RIGHT SO MANY VOICES I DON’T SLEEP AT NIGHT I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO OR WHERE TO GO WITH ALL THIS MAD INFO BUT IT AINT GONNA HAPPEN HAPPIN AROUND HERE IT AINT GONNA HAPPIN I’M JUST LIVING IN MY FEAR, * PICK UP THE PHONE ; FOR LOU REED INTO THE NIGHT WITH MY RADIO WITH A FLASH LIGHT HERE I GO FIND ME A SIGNAL TO TRANSCEND FIX ME UP A BROKEN FRIEND WRITE A POEM ABOUT LOVE AND FEAR IS ANYBODY OUT THERE? I DON’T WANT TO BE ALONE SO PICK UP THE PHONE JUST A MOON BEAM AND A SATELITE THE RED ROOSTER LOOKING TO FIGHT PLAYING HOUSE AND COOKING YOUR MEALS FLYING AWAY TO SEE HOW IT FEELS I DON’T WANNA BE ALONE SO PICK UP THE PHONE GOTTA TALK TO SOMEONE ON THE WILD SIDE MY LOVE IS TRUE, TRUE AND TRIED ITS UP IN THE CLOUDS OUT OF MY MIND I’M CALLING YOU WITH MY LAST DIME I CAN SEE YOU LAUGHING I CAN SEE YOU SMILE INTEGRITY IS UP ON TRIAL THEY FOUND ANOTHER LIFE AND ITS UP ON MARS THEY HAVE CHAMPIAGN AND TITTY BARS WE CAN GET YOU ANYTHING YOU NEED YOU CAN EVEN BE LOU REED I DON’T WANNA BE ALONE PICK UP THE PHONE TROY HENRIKSEN About the author (via GALERIE W): Troy Henriksen is an American artist of Norwegian descent. His optimistic style, close to Free Figuration (Figuration Libre), plunges in the dream. Both his canvas and Plexiglas works reflect an imagination nourished by memories and aspirations. Cities; cars; personalities like Marylin, Rimbaud, Sitting Bull the Indian, Gandhi, James Dean, etc. Allegories : hearts, or the same personalities who are, in their own ways, symbols. Their common points : bright colours which make the life much more joyful. Troy is a true artist, who thinks about and interprets life, working mainly from his heart. He responds to current events with art. All the demons that had haunted Henriksen might have turned his painting dark and gloomy. But his canvases are quite the opposite – full of light. "In my opinion, being an artist means you have the ability to change problems into beauty, to encourage hope, to convince people it's possible to reach out to others and join hands," Henriksen continued. His taste for painting probably comes from his childhood as fisherman, from visions of the see. After 15 years as a commercial fisherman, Troy Henriksen has embarked on a new journey, a brilliant career in art His interest grows for painting history: Abstract Expressionism, Surrealism, Dadaism, Impressionism, and the Beat Generation, German expressionists and the Bauhaus. Troy discovers France through the book “le Petit Prince and Rimbaud. One day, he decided to come to Paris on a one-way ticket. That was in 1998. In Paris, Troy Henriksen painted in the street, on the banks of the Seine. Soon, he made a fateful encounter, with Eric Landau, head of Galerie W in Montmartre. His works have been snapped up by famous French entertainers [plastic artists, writers, musician, actors… like Arthur H and Gad Elmaleh]. Nearly one thousand of art collectors in France, Europe (Luxembourg, Belgium, United Kingdom, Italy…) and all over the world (China, United States of America, Canada) made enter Troy into their life. "Blakean Bum/Time is Honey", "Blackswan" & "Kamikaze" by © Henrik Aeshna
BLAKEAN BUM / TIME IS HONEY "don't spend time beating on a wall hoping to transform it into a door", coco chanel said - i kick off the week sipping life's sweet & sour (dew & debris) as if tasting a bottle of champagne for breakfast calmly enjoying my honeymoon w/ madness BLACKSWAN i’ve got two stripes of vertigo in place of the eyebrows smile carved by knife & nytroglycerin tongue i’ve got you in my sky necklace as a Morning-Starlike pendant KAMIKAZE first time we made love i heard a nova in the sky with honeysuckle stars swandiving into my fishbowl * EN FRANCAIS: CLOCHARD DE BLAKE / TIME IS HONEY « ne gaspilles pas ton temps à frapper un mur en espérant le transformer en une porte », disait coco chanel - je débute la semaine en goûtant le doux & l'amer de la vie (rosée & débris) comme si c'était une bouteille de champagne au p’tit déj' en profitant calmement de ma lune de miel avec la folie CYGNE NOIR j’ai deux rayures de vertige à la place des sourcils le sourire taillé au couteau & une langue de nitroglycérine tu es dans mon collier de ciel comme un pendentif de l’étoile du matin KAMIKAZE la première fois que nous avons fait l’amour j’ai entendu une nova dans le ciel & des étoiles de chèvrefeuille se précipiter dans mon aquarium THE MUSE IS ON THE LOOSE The Muse is on the loose and wastes herself away on some cretin. A severe goer through everyday scandals. It is well worth risking a damnation or two. Almost anything stumbles upon its quest. Try to imagine the absence of your voice. La Grande Messe Des Mots resumes next to nothing. It is only a gradual misconceiving that alerts the beginning and the end of the days. The widths of the most important poet of your neighborhood eradicate the rest of the absolutions. (2009) * Yannis Livadas is a contemporary Greek poet, born in 1969. Livadas' aesthetic position, both in his poems and his essays, constitutes the idea of experimentalism based on «organic antimetathesis» - the scaling indeterminacy of meaning, of syntactic comparisons and structural contradistinction. He is also an editor; essayist, translator, of more than fifty books of American poetry and prose; an independent scholar with specialization on modernism, beat literature, postmodernism and haiku. He is also a columnist and freelancer contributor to various literary magazines, both in Greece and other countries. His poems and essays have been translated in eight languages. He lives in Paris, France. PATRICK MODIANO It was this and that and the other. It was another of those dog day August afternoons in Paris. The streets emptied and those last-known addresses with their outstretched ghosts. It was those empty Metro stops in the midnight hour. Those clanging auto shoppes. Young girls skipping rope. Who was the first to die? Who was the last if such a last would come undone, but for an instant. So many names go up in smoke. So many sidewalks reflect the smoke. So many times we’ve settled at the Flore exchanging anecdotes until it’s time for turning corners, heading home, buffeted by darkened rains, by whirling shadows GERARD MALANGA, from Whisper Sweet Nothings & Other Poems (Bottle of Smoke Press, 2017) About the Author Gerard Malanga was born in the Bronx in 1943. His previous books of poetry are No Respect: New & Selected Poems 1964-2000 (Black Sparrow Press, 2001), and Archives Malanga (Waverly Press, 2011), a 4-volume set of fanzines comprising new poems and non-fiction. An accomplished photographer as well, his first monograph, Resistance to Memory , appeared in 1998 with an introductory essay by Ben Maddow, and a poem by Thurston Moore, followed by Screen Tests Portraits Nudes 1964-1996 (2000), Someone’s Life (2009), Souls (2010), Ghostly Berms (2012) and Photobooths (2013). Long Day's Journey into the Past, Gunnar B. Kvaran Speaks with Gerard Malanga, was published by the Astrup Fearnley Museum of Modern Art & Skira in Oslo (2008), and Gerard Malanga, a biography by Lars Movin was published in Copenhagen (2011). He is presently at work on his memoirs, In Remembrance of Things Past. Gerard Malanga lives with his cats, Sasha, Zazie, Xena and Mishkin in upstate New York. His website is gerardmalanga.net TSUNAMI GANG: a wild art & poetry zine edited by Henrik Aeshna/Eros en Feu Tsunami bOOKS Paris "i like the slowest poisons, the most bitter drinks, the most powerful drugs, the craziest ideas, the most complex thoughts & the strongest feelings. my appetite is voracious and my hallucinations even crazier. you can even throw me off a cliff, i'll say: - so what? i love to fly"
(clarice lispector) |
Author"PARIS est un vertige Archives
May 2018
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