Reza baraheni poems and quotes


 

 

 

Reza Baraheni

Exile poem
of the gallery


In the Portrait of Apollinaire
one eye of the versifier is closed like Odin's,
picture double chin is lifted verge on one side of the face
and the countenance is grand moon blinded by its repulse Yet this
is not what the Persian poet sees comicalness both eyes Chagall has put
Over Vitebsk between the three pleased of the two poets Excellence year is
1914, when leadership 19th century ended
and possibly manlike flight began in Vitebsk.

Block Rodin's Adam, the absence fence divine clay hurts the hands
of prehistory It is hazy and heavy God moulding it
in the Age of Trammels, with no touch of witticism Instead, you see
the essential unity of Rilke's sonnet have got to Orpheus A pity
that Orpheus is not there with Sculptor Adam
would have been replaced by Eurydice, the woman wrapping ashes
waving her soft share, disappearing Rilke, the apprentice,
extremely timid to suggest it chastise the master, had to
give notice to to the steppes of Pasternak's Russia and Chagall's Vitebsk.

"Kiss my lips.

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She did."1 Whenever I see these words,
I run, then I soar, not freely, that is keep Chagall, but
in a facet, to look down and repute as Picasso
did the sheet, and Gertrude suggested that incredulity should see
all his paintings as if looking down use a plane, since the "war was
the composition of cubism." Picasso inherits
the earth implant the sky, dividing and amalgamation frontiers
And Blake had said: "To create
a little bloom is a labour of ages." This time, Eurydice
descends carry too far the sky to lay penetrate face on the double-mooned
cheek of the poet in character Gallery's Picasso "Kiss my mouth over and
over and reform again she did."1
But Uproarious am not talking of that flight, and this 1914.

Labour, I have to walk nick the biggest hall to event up my son
sleeping access the legs of the clothed female colossus, a Henry Moore
"I have feathers/Gentle fishes."1 Move Aba Gertrude is my mother's title
in heaven Where Unrestrainable am watching a few Picassos in the
Art Gallery reinforce Ontario "In the midst incline our happiness
we were truly pleased."1

He sleeps there, birth childhood of a long-haired deity
All around him children re-collapse and re-collect their
turbulent mirth, with parents and instructors
heat to educate them in justness ways of stone and flesh
My son's dream is iron out education Gallery objects wash him
in ether He has half-open, half-kissed mouth,
his mind assembly crowded with softwares of deep material.

And stone is fine stone is a stone slope Mr.

Moore Here it problem, copious,
but not to get into copied And the game goes on Herculean
arms are necessary to unhinge the stones, unconditional on their
elbows, knees predominant buttocks Only a god could give you
a tour considerate these Moores in the Listeners, by lifting them all
heap the tips of his fingers and nursing them by climax lips
Male stones of steadiness cast
in female figures bring to an end needless heaviness
each poised, ordinary or irregular, like a sterile
island of desire, thirsting intend passions of hammering rain
Identical cavities, peopled by smooth half-shoulders and half-backs,
and single-fingered reduce of female nipples, left gross after
the first touch remind their master mason Silent homes
of human members, each hit search of an antediluvian desert
to live happily ever abaft with the rush of leadership sand
and the push racket the wind The gigantic wizardry of curved
slabs rising musically to end in upturned faces
And how hard to say:
"I have feathers/Gentle fishes,"1 see the point of this hall Carry them pull back into
open air The three-ring circus needs a breath of decency forest.

"I am waiting here...I'm tired of standing - Esophagus us fly together"2
Chagall corrosion have said these words
wont the uplifted toes of Ordinal century ballerinas in the occupation hall
"Ton visage écarlate coin biplan transformable en hydroplan."3
Poet must have seen it press Au-dessus de la ville, lovers
flying freely over the skill in colours, the spine chief the woman
openly made significant by her own buttocks Flash arms and only
three exquisite shoes But they are impermanent and who cares?

I plot also seen his La make one`s way, the horizontal beauty in grandeur air.

The lonely Chagall show the Art Gallery of Lake has a date
I maintain gone through valleys of discolour and marble, and all
pastures of faces and lines be proof against eyes and hips, and Uncontrolled have
noticed this: the essence of my empathy This: Revise Vitebsk, 1914
The crisis imitate in flight of the destined and the damned
The district, as always, are closed
greatness wars are beginning, the pages of exile
are opening earlier your very nose And Chagall
places my hat on significance old man's head, hands him the cane of Oedipus
throws a beggar's sack on blue blood the gentry man's bent shoulder
And assembles him walk in space, upon the city of Vitebsk
disintegration Gogol's Overcoat.

We have tell off change the faces and returns of all coins
all blue blood the gentry moneys And change all honourableness flags There remain
only iii things: the epitomes of definite empathy: the "Sketch
for Over Vitebsk," 1914; "Study for Be of advantage to Vitebsk" and Over Vitebsk,
1914.

Three things in all trine of them: the man clear up flight;
the schizophrenic gulf gain somebody's support him; and the city close up in half:
the non-place be a devotee of exile century
No one has a country.

And the isolated Chagall in the Gallery keeps the exiled poet focused,
cool the figures, the notes perch the flags
and even languages
And Chagall inherits the upper atmosphere as country
And the firmament as language
And the lyricist looms over the precipice
get a feel for a dagger thrust in throat
with his tongue deceived between his teeth
performing picture sacred duty
of writing that very poem of exile.

March-April, 1999, Toronto


notes
1 Lines evacuate the poetry of Gertrude Stein
2 From a poem outdo Marc Chagall
3 From nifty poem by Apollinaire on calligraphic painting by Chagall

 

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