Coverage of the 2010 A&F Top 100
Posted 23 August 2010 - 12:20 PM
I think your last response here was supposed to go in the Glen 2010 thread.
Posted 24 August 2010 - 08:39 PM
I was quite confused. Haha!
Posted 27 August 2010 - 02:38 PM
Posted 03 September 2010 - 03:55 PM
In an unnamed, dilapidated city on a remote Swedish island, a Russian poet named Andrei Gorchakov, who left his homeland in order to research a biography of a psychologist named Kris Kelvin, was reading a translation of a book of poetry when he dreamt of a sleeping woman levitating over a bed. “It was my dead wife,” Gorchakov recalls.
Time moves by gracefully
Memory, guilt, and illusion
Allow for community, penance, faith, and redemption.
“She once locked our family in our house for seven years to await the end of the world.”
She pasted prints from a 15th-century monk who was Russia’s greatest inocographer, Andrei Rublev--a recitation of the Emmaus Road story, a character donning a crown of thorns, a bird landing on a boy’s head--in all the house’s windows. The light in the house was washed-out in sepia tones so murky and muted, it was difficult to imagine anything surviving there.
It lets those pass who have lost all hope;
Not good or bad, but wretched people.
It trades terrestrial rules for a glimpse of a spiritual realm.
Kelvin interviewed astronauts who returned to Earth after a years-long mission investigating Solaris, an alien planet. The planet’s cloud cover enveloped it in an unyielding desaturated twilight, the sort of subdued silver light that should mark the end of creation. After his first meeting, Kelvin described them as “placid, patient, and terrifying.” He concluded,
“Outer space provides not a bold frontier
of new sights and discoveries,
but a mirror to the human psyche.”
When Gorchakov awoke, he found himself face to face with his deceased wife, mysteriously reincarnated, the way a dream might blend an artistic failure with a window into heaven. She told him he must cross the pool of St. Catherine with a lit candle, where his deepest wish would be granted.
Art in a fallen world
Is no cheap or desanctified metaphor, but literal truth;
His visual poetry translated into a new language.
If there are any casual onlookers who aren’t supplicants, then nothing happens.
Posted 04 May 2011 - 10:14 PM
Posted 05 May 2011 - 01:45 AM