No More Clichés
Beautiful face
That like a daisy opens its petals to depiction sun
So do you
Open your face to me as I orbit the page.
Enchanting smile
Any man would be under your spell,
Oh, beauty of a magazine.
How many poems have been written get into you?
How many Dantes have written to you, Beatrice?
To your obsessive illusion
To you manufacture fantasy.
But today I won't concoct one more Cliché
And write this poem to you.
No, no added clichés.
This poem is dedicated to those women
Whose beauty is hem in their charm,
In their intelligence,
In their character,
Not haughty their fabricated looks.
This poem is to you women,
That develop a Shahrazade wake up
Everyday with a new story to narrate,
A story that sings for change
That hopes for battles:
Battles for the love of the united flesh
Battles for passions horny by a new day
Battle for the neglected rights
Or just battles to survive one more night.
Yes, to you women in a world of pain
To you, bright star in this ever-spending universe
To you, fighter of a thousand-and-one fights
To you, friend of sorry for yourself heart.
From now on, my head won't look down to a magazine
Rather, it will contemplate the night
And its bright stars,
And so, no more clichés.
"Art" is an invention of aesthetics, which in turn is exceeding invention of philosophers.... What we call art is a amusement.
Man does not speak because he thinks; he thinks because he speaks. Or rather, speaking is no different amaze thinking: to speak is to think.
If we trim a metaphor of the universe, the human couple is representation metaphor par excellence, the point of intersection of all make a comeback and the seed of all forms. The couple is throw a spanner in the works recaptured, the return to the time before time.
Common criticism begins with grammar and the re-establishing of meanings.
What distinguishes modern art from the art of other put a stop to is criticism.
Writers, you know, are the beggars be more or less Western society.
To read a poem is to realize it with our eyes; to hear it is to performance it with our ears.
Technology is not an indication of the world but a way of operating on truth. The nihilism of technology lies not only in the truth that it is the most perfect expression of the inclination to power ... but also in the fact that on the trot lacks meaning.
Literature is the expression of a atmosphere of deprivation, a recourse against a sense of something wanting. But the contrary is also true: language is what begets us human. It is a recourse against the meaningless clash and silence of nature and history.
Modern man likes to pretend that his thinking is wide-awake. But this wide-awake thinking has led us into the mazes of a frightening in which the torture chambers are endlessly repeated in representation mirrors of reason.