Art

“Art isn’t only a painting. Art is anything that’s creative, passionate, and personal. An artists is someone who uses bravery, insight, creativity, and boldness to challenge the status quo. Art is a personal gift that changes the recipient. The medium doesn’t matter. The intent does. Art is a personal act of courage, something one human does that creates change in another.”― Seth Godin

Art by Eyvind Earle.

Song of Spring

Written for the Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective.

Spring is a princess
without voice
only fingers
to mix colors
in the rainbows.

She’s got a vessel
for the softest fragrance
pressed in archives
in the Library of Scent…
There are plums
the cherries
and the blooms of vines
escalating
on the earth’s shelves…

Anyone who writes down
to Spring
is simply wasting
a leaf of scent.

No one is ever so poor
as not to write up
music
to all the shades of Spring
and to the dancing stars
to give a gift
of chaos…

© Iulia Halatz

I AM VERY PROUD AND HUMBLED TO HAVE CONTRIBUTED TO ALIVE WORDS THAT CREATE A WORLD WITHOUT MAPS.

Beauty

“Beauty is not caused. It is.”
Emily Dickinson

Photo – Audrey Hepburn signs autographs for fans on the set of Sabrina (1954).

Anthology Volume I: Writings for the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

These are no Great Songs of indifference
They are the Great Songs of out-of-time
and out-of-life
that light
this new dominion
which is the old…

29 petals of all the flowers
in the world
line up to write a map
draw sounds and borders
in as many secret alphabets
as breathing proof that

Language is not like the sun
heating and scorching
but like the moon
keeping secrets
and the arcane magic of the night
throwing stars
in the lilacs’ claws
till dawn.

Words are lamps
they shimmer in the vilest of places.
They make dreams
out of particles and matter.
The words in the
29 secret alphabets
burn for all.

© Iulia Halatz
Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

Time machines

“We all have our time machines, don’t we? Those that take us back are memories, and those that carry us forward are dreams.”
H.G. Wells

Art by Gian Andri Bezzola.

What can I give you?

PROUD TO HAVE CONTRIBUTED TO ALIVE WORDS THAT CREATE A WORLD WITHOUT MAPS:

Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

What can I give you? I am the blue
as imagined by a blind
and the roots of knowledge
as watered by a scholar.

I am the yellow
wind and the mauve
respond of light
perched
in the ubiquitous trees
tethered in the clouds
that barely scratch
the sky.

I am the green
storm and colorless waves
that wished upon a mountain
to break water in tryst
with the sun.

Not by blindness
we can reorder colors
but by the painting of a soul
in a moment tender
as the liquid moon
is quivering above the forest.

© Iulia Halatz

Love

“Great love is never justified. It’s like the little tree that springs up in some inexplicable fashion on the side of a cliff: where are its roots, what does it feed on, what miracle produces those green leaves?”
Wisława Szymborska (July 2, 1923–February 1, 2012), the Polish Nobel laureate

Art by Christian Birmingham.

What you are

“Children learn more from what you are than what you teach.”
W.E.B. Du Bois

Art by Waldemar Kazak.

The Three Foundations of Art

Writing anything original is art whether it is a review, a letter, an email, a cover letter, a presentation, a poem … Everything is art because it is a singular assembly of words never written before.
“Author James Elkins writes of the three components necessary for someone to become an artist: seeing, making and the tabula rasa.
First, students need to learn to see. They have to see the world as it is without labels, without knowing the name of what is seen.
Second, they are taught how to make. How to use hands or voice or body to take what they see and reflect it back to the world.
And third, and most difficult, the artist starts with a blank slate. Art must be done for the first time, not repeated, and that first stroke, those first words – this is the source of our fear.”
Seth Godin – The Icarus Deception

First, you are leaving your corporeal body and seeing with inverted eyes to “quiet your cleverness”. Seeing what could be, and not what it is, as in Samuel Butler’s study of hypothetics at the Colleges of Unreason (Erewhon). Turning our own good poetry of the seen into the hypothetical language or the poetry of the unseen.
Second, as in learning how to use our imagination and the words of the unseen to create something first taking shape in ink from your pen.
The last, the most painful and fearsome act, the blank sheet of paper awaiting to be filled by you, by your drawing of new sounds and thoughts. You do not know if it is good, but if you do not know, then it is good.
Have words drop numb at your touch and arrange them in easy-to-carry-in-the-heart images.

The unique magic of Michael Cheval’s imagination is always a source of inspiration.

If I cut a word in two – Iulia Halatz

My poem on Sudden Denouement:

https://suddendenouement.com/2018/06/11/if-i-cut-a-word-in-two-iulia-halatz/

I wouldn’t have lusted
for your limbs
softened with
iron syllables.

I wouldn’t have lusted
for your shiny dark eyes
like the sea
lit by two moons…

We could wake up
to what we were…

You
breathing the air of
another planet…
basking in an estranged sun…
When winds
herald the evening
the stirs are in the
dunes
and the communal
place of storms.

I
braved a lackless sea
for naught
My kisses tell you
of another small
and drifting planet
where water
falls from the sky
and blows away
the ink of dusky clouds.

The sands tug
at my feet
and quarrel like ghosts
dervishing
blindly in the whirlwinds….

There is a hole
in the world
where you stood
brazenly stealing
the burnishing silver
of two Moons.

Yet you continue
to hurtle constellations at me.
You fumbled for Orion
and you stumbled
as I inhabit
my spell-forged star
to enhance
blandly
the clear lights of greener planets.

Oh, how I miss my autumn roses!
They carry the pungent smell
of sea and decay
to your world of
liquid sands
and honey torpors.

My finitude and fragility
are yours
The heart you melted
drips down with
dews of late
that put the sands
forever in my soul.

I have a sieve
that sifts
grains from dusts.
They heat and burn
my skin
like thousand cerulean touches
that freed me
from the toils
of lingering moons.

I will love you
for a hundred years of Blue
and for the handsomest years
of Grey and sand Yellow
that will follow.

© Iulia Halatz

Art – Caroline Trentini by Sofia Sanchez and Mauro Mongiello.