Contemporary Belgian Art – Pol Ledent
Below – “My garden flowers”; “Winter 4531”; “Red poppies summer 2020”; “October 2020”; “Village in the Snow”; “Nude 575111.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 18 November 1939 – Margaret Atwood, an award-winning Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, and author of “The Handmaid’s Tale” and “Selected Poems”: Part I of II.
Some quotes from the work of Margaret Atwood:
“I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary.”
“Another belief of mine: that everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.”
“In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.”
“Love blurs your vision; but after it recedes, you can see more clearly than ever. It’s like the tide going out, revealing whatever’s been thrown away and sunk: broken bottles, old gloves, rusting pop cans, nibbled fishbodies, bones. This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes, not knowing the future.”
“Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.”
“Stupidity is the same as evil if you judge by the results.”
“When you’re young, you think everything you do is disposable. You move from now to now, crumpling time up in your hands, tossing it away. You’re your own speeding car. You think you can get rid of things, and people too—leave them behind. You don’t yet know about the habit they have, of coming back.
Time in dreams is frozen. You can never get away from where you’ve been.”
Below – “Seawind”; “Frida”; “Intuition”; “Einstein the girl and the question”; “Spirit of the forest”; “vrouwen erotiek.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 18 November 1939 – Margaret Atwood, an award-winning Canadian poet, novelist, literary critic, essayist, and author of “The Handmaid’s Tale” and “Selected Poems”: Part II of II.
by Margaret Atwood
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can’t breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
Below – Agnieszka Dabrowska: “On the Cypress Hill”
Below – “The chinese algorithm landscape”; “The pale garden – the european Syndicate”; “Hyeres-Giens-Peninsula-Southfrance-mediterraneenature”; “Landed, Hunt & Gather”; “Awakening”; “The animal Roulette.”
A Poem for Today
“The Thrift Store Dresses”
by Frannie Lindsay
I slid the white louvers shut so I could stand in your closet
a little while among the throng of flowered dresses
you hadn’t worn in years, and touch the creases
on each of their sleeves that smelled of forgiveness
and even though you would still be alive a few more days
I knew they were ready to let themselves be
packed into liquor store boxes simply
because you had asked that of them,
and dropped at the door of the Salvation Army
without having noticed me
wrapping my arms around so many at once
that one slipped a big padded shoulder off of its hanger
as if to return the embrace.