10/26/16
8/18/16
Surrealism
Surrealism is not, has
never been, and will never be a literary or artistic school but is a
movement of the human spirit in revolt and an eminently subversive
attempt to re-enchant the world: an attempt to reestablish the
“enchanted” dimensions at the core of human existence—poetry, passion,
mad love, imagination, magic, myth, the marvelous, dreams, revolt,
utopian ideals—which have been eradicated by this civilization and its
values. In other words, Surrealism is a protest against narrow-minded
rationality, the commercialization of life, petty thinking, and the
boring realism of our money-dominated, industrial society. It is also
the utopian and revolutionary aspiration to “transform life”—an
adventure that is at once intellectual and passionate, political and
magical, poetic and dreamlike. It began in 1924; it continues today.
| — | Michael Löwy, Morning Star: Surrealism, Marxism, Anarchism, Situationism, Utopia, p. 1 |
8/8/16
7/4/16
They Feed They Lion
Out of burlap sacks, out of bearing butter,
Out of black bean and wet slate bread,
Out of the acids of rage, the candor of tar,
Out of creosote, gasoline, drive shafts, wooden dollies,
They Lion grow.
Out of the gray hills
Of industrial barns, out of rain, out of bus ride,
West Virginia to Kiss My Ass, out of buried aunties,
Mothers hardening like pounded stumps, out of stumps,
Out of the bones’ need to sharpen and the muscles’ to stretch,
They Lion grow.
Earth is eating trees, fence posts,
Gutted cars, earth is calling in her little ones,
“Come home, Come home!” From pig balls,
From the ferocity of pig driven to holiness,
From the furred ear and the full jowl come
The repose of the hung belly, from the purpose
They Lion grow.
From the sweet glues of the trotters
Come the sweet kinks of the fist, from the full flower
Of the hams the thorax of caves,
From “Bow Down” come “Rise Up,”
Come they Lion from the reeds of shovels,
The grained arm that pulls the hands,
They Lion grow.
From my five arms and all my hands,
From all my white sins forgiven, they feed,
From my car passing under the stars,
They Lion, from my children inherit,
From the oak turned to a wall, they Lion,
From they sack and they belly opened
And all that was hidden burning on the oil-stained earth
They feed they Lion and he comes.
--Philip Levine, Detroit 1968
4/25/16
4/21/15
2/8/15
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
