*** It was winter. I had lunch with my dog at the lake town, On the shopping street full of movement - Where people were sort of “homeless”. I was…
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*** Besides the poems, What do I like to do? Hmmm... Hunting! Hunting your eyes, of course, To ward off homesickness. They are my horse-drawn vehicles On rutted and foggy…
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*** Black rainstorm - warning signal, alarm bells about our changing climate, rain as a sign of the apocalypse, exceptional cold over my Siberia, where average temperatures reached as low…
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*** In the emptiness of the lemon gardens, The afternoon sunshine uncages a smile. Not far behind, There is snow and the Volga iced, Every couple of meters you see…
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*** It paves roads where previously there were none. It attracts people to the inner shores, Mortals who would otherwise be at dinners: Restaurant waiters, joggers, risk-seekers. The bluish mist…
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Visually oriental and narratively opaque, “99 poems e 1 night” is the journey of a roaming spirit (Sara Maino) as she wanders in the interminable whiteness through memories and the…
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*** The eyes, which promised magic, Fleetingly become alive Projected on the facades of presepi, The aprons Of Italian wives. The eyes, which harboured fealty, Jump on the snow sledge…
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*** We invent scenes and characters That don’t exist, We replay history with alternative outcomes, We envision social and love utopias, We revel in imagination and arts, And we muse…
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*** Before the night falls, A process above thought - I see the ballerina’s leg move, Ideas don't occur In abstract form, They come in bodies. The moment when the…
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*** Snow is a blank blanket, A clean canvas, Obscuring what lies beneath it, Snow is a poem of the air. Snow was my first material For sculpture From early…
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