In the Englischer Garten / Surfers surfing at night on an offshoot of the Isar River
Showing posts with label munich. Show all posts
Showing posts with label munich. Show all posts
Wednesday, 22 October 2008
Munich, October 2008
In the Englischer Garten / Surfers surfing at night on an offshoot of the Isar River
Munich, October 2008
Graffiti / church ceiling / lunchtime bocce ball with wine and cheese / a bike called Hercules
Munich, October 2008
View from the hotel to the Englischer Garten / The Jewish Museum / In the Residenz / Seashell Queen in the Residenz
Thursday, 21 February 2008
Sunday, 17 February 2008
munich, end of november 2006, pinakothek der moderne
John McCain's sunny disposition: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/17/us/politics/17mccain.html?_r=1&oref=slogin
Saturday, 16 February 2008
munich, end of november 2006, pinakothek der moderne
To a Sinister PotatoO vast earth apple, waiting to be fried,
Of all life's starers the most many-eyed,
What furtive purpose hatched you long ago
In Indiana or in Idaho?
In Indiana and in Idaho
Snug underground, the great potatoes grow,
Puffed up with secret paranoias unguessed
By all the duped and starch-fed Middle West.
Like coiled-up springs or like a will-to-power,
The fat and earthy lurkers bide their hour,
The silent watchers of our raucous show
In Indiana or in Idaho.
'They think us dull, a food and not a flower.
Wait! We'll outshine all roses in our hour.
Not wholesomeness but mania swells us so
In Indiana and in Idaho.
'In each Kiwanis club on every plate,
So bland and health-exuding do we wait
That Indiana never, never knows
How much we envy stars and hate the rose.'
Some doom will strike (as all potatoes know)
When - once too often mashed in Idaho -
From its cocoon the drabbest of earth's powers
Rises and is a star.
And shines.
And lours.
~P E T E R V I E R E C K, 1950
munich, end of november 2007, glyptothek
HelenAll Greece hates
the still eyes in the white face,
the lustre as of olives
where she stands,
and the white hands.
All Greece reviles
the wan face when she smiles,
hating it deeper still
when it grows wan and white,
remembering past enchantments
and past ills.
Greece sees unmoved,
God's daughter, born of love,
the beauty of cool feet
and slenderest knees,
could love indeed the maid,
only if she were laid,
white ash amid funereal cypresses.
~H.D.
munich, end of november 2007, folk dancers
LimitedI am riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains of the
nation.
Hurtling across the prairie into a blue haze and dark air go fifteen
all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.
(All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men and
women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall pass to
ashes.)
I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he answers
'Omaha.'
~C A R L S A N D B U R G
Friday, 15 February 2008
munich, end of november 2007, Galerie im Lenbachhaus und Kunstbau
Gray Stones and Gray PigeonsThe archbishop is away. The church is gray.
He has left his robes folded in camphor
And, dressed in black, he walks
Among fireflies.
The bony buttresses, the bony spires
Arranged under the stony clouds
Stand in a fixed light
The bishop rests.
He is away. The church is gray.
This is his holiday.
The sexton moves with a sexton's stare
In the air.
A dithery gold falls everywhere.
It wets the pigeons,
It goes and the birds go,
Turn dry,
Birds that never fly
Except when the bishop passes by,
Globed in today and tomorrow,
Dressed in his colored robes.
~ W A L L A C E S T E V E N S
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