Wandering in Woodacre – 21 January 2021

Contemporary Indian Art – Sonal Poghat

Below – “Longing”; “Secret midnight falls”; “My secret place”; “Moon Child”; “A memory?…Or a dream maybe…”; “Her cosmic dance.”

A Poem for Today

“Yam”
by Bruce Guernsey

The potato that ate all its carrots,
can see in the dark like a mole,

its eyes the scars
from centuries of shovels, tines.

May spelled backwards
because it hates the light,

pawing its way, padding along,
there in the catacombs.

Below – Nicholas Chagouris: “I Am A Yam”

Contemporary Bulgarian Art – Trayko Popov

Below – “Leaving My Troubles Behind Me”; “You’ve GOT to Read This Book”; “Swimming. Diving. Passing Through”; “She’s Leaving”; “Birds Know the Way”; “Walk-Through. Obstacles. Hurdles.”


This Date in Literary History: Died 21 January 1950 – George Orwell (pen name of Eric Arthur Blair), an English novelist, essayist, journalist, critic, and author of “Animal Farm,” Nineteen Eighty-Four,” and “Homage to Catalonia.”

Some quotes from the work of George Orwell:

“The further a society drifts from truth the more it will hate those who speak it.”
“All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.”
“War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength.”
“Big Brother is watching you.”
“The most effective way to destroy people is to deny and obliterate their own understanding of their history.”
“All tyrannies rule through fraud and force, but once the fraud is exposed they must rely exclusively on force.”
“The people will believe what the media tells them they believe.”
“It’s frightful that people who are so ignorant should have so much influence.”
“There is no swifter route to the corruption of thought than through the corruption of language.”
“Journalism is printing what someone else does not want printed: everything else is public relations.”


Contemporary Russian Art – Alex Van der Bellen

Below – “Ghosts”; “Winter girl”; “Nimph”; “The snow Queen”; “Revenge”; “The smell of a woman.”


A Poem for Today

“Aubade”
By Dore Kiesselbach

“Take me with you”
my mother says
standing in her nightgown
as, home from college,
I prepare to leave
before dawn.
The desolation
she must face
was once my concern
but like a bobber
pulled beneath
the surface
by an inedible fish
she vanished
into the life
he offered her.
It stopped occurring
to me she might return.
“I’ll be back” I say
and then I go.

Below – Janos Huszti: “Leaving”

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