All that is rare for the rare...

Someone made a comment on our shop, "It's rare to see a artshop in this town".

In the end it must be as it is and always has been: great things remain for the great, abysses for the profound, nuances and shudders for the refined, and, in brief, all that is rare for the rare. —Nietzsche said this and he died in an asylum.

I had my existence

artwork by Josephine Wang © 2011

Between heather and marigold,
Between spaghnum and buttercup,
Between dandelion and broom,
Between forget-me-not and honeysuckle,
As between clear blue and cloud,
Between haystack and sunset sky,
Between oak tree and slated roof,
I had my existence. I was there.
Me in place and the place in me.
Where can it be found again,
An elsewhere world, beyond
Maps and atlases
Where all is woven into
And of itself, like a nest
Of crosshatched grass blades?
— A Herbal, Seamus Heaney

doesn't enter into this

artwork by Josephine Wang © 2011

The sky is taking on light,
through the moon still hangs pale over the water.
Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.
— Raymond Carver

Le ciel prend sur la lumière,
grâce à la lune bloque encore pâle sur l'eau.
Une telle beauté que pour une minute
la mort et de l'ambition, même l'amour,
ne pas entrer dans ce.

Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"

artwork by Josephine Wang © 2011

The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question...  Oh, do not ask, “What is it?” Let us go and make our visit. ............................ —T. S. Eliot

when faces called flowers float out of the ground

artwork by Josephine Wang © 2011

 

when faces called flowers float out of the ground
and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-
but keeping is downward and doubting and never
-it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring!
yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
(yes the mountains are dancing together) — e. e. cummings
artwork by Josephine Wang © 2011

Beautiful as pictures

artwork by Josephine Wang © 2011

I Went To Heaven — Emily Dickinson
I went to heaven, —
'Twas a small town,
Lit with a ruby,
Lathed with down.
Stiller than the fields
At the full dew,
Beautiful as pictures
No man drew.
People like the moth,
Of mechlin, frames,
Duties of gossamer,
And eider names.
Almost contented
I could be
'Mong such unique
Society.

And it was at that age...

artwork by Josephine Wang © 2011

POETRY — Pablo Neruda
And it was at that age...
Poetry arrived in search of me.
I don't know, I don't know where it came from,
from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no, they were not voices,
they were not words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.