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| Marie Bortolotto 2019 |
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| Marie Bortolotto 2019 |
November 3, 2019
October 20, 2019
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| Marie Bortolotto 2019 |
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| Marie Bortolotto 2019 ...one of my favourite songs by Leonard Cohen... "...if it be your will that a voice be true from this broken hill I will sing to you from this broken hill all your praises they shall ring if it be your will ...to let me sing..." - Leonard Cohen, Canadian singer, songwriter, poet, novelist. 1934 - 2016 |
October 6, 2019
September 26, 2019
September 8, 2019
September 2, 2019
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| Marie Bortolotto 2019 The deep parts of my life pour outward, as if the river shores were opening out. It seems that things are more like me now, that I can see farther into images. I feel closer to what language can't reach with my senses, as with birds, I climb into the windy heaven, out of the oak, and in the ponds broken off from the sky, my feeling sinks, as if standing on fishes. - Rainer Maria Rilke, Poet, 1875 - 1926 |
August 31, 2019
August 30, 2019
August 18, 2019
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Marie Bortolotto 2019
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Marie Bortolotto 2019
“The fish trap exists because of the fish.
Once you catch the fish you can forget the trap.
The rabbit snare exists because of the rabbit.
Once you catch the rabbit, you can forget the snare.
Words exist because of meaning.
Once you get the meaning, you can forget the words.
Where can I find someone to speak with
who has forgotten words?”
― Zhuangzi, Chuang Tsu: Inner Chapters
Chinese Philosopher 286BC-369BC
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July 28, 2019
June 25, 2019
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| Marie Bortolotto 2019 Poetry 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 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. I did not know what to say, my mouth had no way with names, my eyes were blind, and something started in my soul, fever or forgotten wings, and I made my own way, deciphering that fire, and I wrote the first faint line, faint, without substance, pure nonsense, pure wisdom of someone who knows nothing, and suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened and open, planets, palpitating plantations, shadow perforated, riddled with arrows, fire and flowers, the winding night, the universe. And I, infinitesimal being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, felt myself a pure part of the abyss, I wheeled with the stars, my heart broke loose on the wind. -Pablo Neruda, Chilean poet-diplomat 1904 - 1973 |
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