The Borders

by N Filbert

Mushroom State Park - N Filbert

The Borders

“The entire drama of life is manifested in borders”

-Alexander Ponomarev-

Threshold and barrier

the absenting interval

we call love and hate,

trust and hurt,

lust and fear,

the zero zone

we meet in.

We fix there

as often as we’re able

or will

even when naming it distance,

the forms fitting

hard as rock and bark,

and soft as air.

You press in…

over time I give,

where I won’t

you learn to rest.

We give, we burden.

They grow around us,

separate and entwined,

always there – the borders -

inseparably combined.

Striking

by N Filbert

“We variably live,

Such  mixed we, and such variable world.

It is the very rule of thriving

To be thus one day, and thus the next…

According to the rhythmic-fickle climates

Of our lives within ourselves…”

 

Laura (Riding) Jackson

baby talk

by xine marina

Another Ars Poetica

by N Filbert

Untitled by Thomas Ganzevoort

Another Ars Poetica

Here is what I do I look at it. What I am looking at is a struggling ecstasy a human acting with a dark luscious liquid on coarse fond paper. There is a brush in his hand it is dripping India Ink. He whacks the paper, creamy and porous, with the sopping bristles, they smatter and spread black begins to run, he directs it he begins to steer it an unwieldy course. He dips and strokes, pours and slaps guides and follows. Accident and intention are one: and here is the result.   I am looking at it. It is what I do.

It is an object, This thing in the world is fixed to its place the fluid dried and signature marked. I do not see it twice. It will not happen again. It says nothing, means nothing, is experience. Here is what I do: I look at it. At least once a day I stop myself, sit still, and stare. I see ink stroked onto paper in no particular patterning I see happening made by hand (in mind and body and eye). I respond. This is art.