Ένα ημερολόγιο για τις σπασμένες εικόνες , τα θραύσματα και τις αποκομμένες λέξεις
this poem, as does your poem:wooden shorespice shopnest in the rainand all of your poetry, i dare to guess through the translation machine, is your way of paying attention, of being in the world. i read in a rilke poem yesterday about most of the world, "you see, i want a lot.maybe i want it all:the darkness of each endless fall,the shimmering light of each ascent.so many are alive who don't seem to care.casual, easy, they move in the worldas though untouched."you do not strike me this way. (i hope this comes through with translation.)xoerin
It is exactly that. A way of being in the world. Although we are already in the world, we have to invent, we have to make this cycle. I'll borrow from "noun as verb" - " living through body ". Noticing the details, their color, the smell ,the body in them. Thank you so much erin. Where the translation machine distords intuition and good will restores in a more profound way, i feelmakis
Όσα γράφονται εδώ, συνομιλούν. Η μη απάντηση , προσπάθεια μη παρέμβασης .Ένα μεγάλο ευχαριστώ.