Rahdel Protoetry
A place for artist wannabes xxx street poets xxx spelling bees xxx muses pets ---> Thx.
Sunday, March 19, 2006
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Pictured Encyclopedia: from Basketball to Burma
Learning from the past, today the letter B. Click on the picture to make em larger!
B is foremost about the body its fine tuning mechanics
But it also about the respect and appreciation of other cultures
"it rocks gently back and forth when the wind blows"
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
Ol'wax: Lectura de Don Quixote (Audio)
First episode of a new series on the reading of Don Quixote by the Eugenio Florit as recorded on a dateless piece of vinyl.
Details on the source: Grabacion de alta fidelidad por Gabriel Oller Jr, Estudios SMC Pro-Arte, en la ciudad de Nueva York (USA), Manufacturado por Spanish Music Center 127 West 48th st, New York 36, NY
Track 1: Capitulo XI, primera parte del disco
Al final del capitulo anterior, don Quijote y Sancho Panza, que acaban de pasar varias desgraciadas aventuras, topan, ya de noche can unos cabreros que los acogen con buen animo y les dan de comer y beber. Ante ellos pronuncia don Quijote su famoso discurso de la Edad de Oro.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Relief Exposé
Wild Books: Elle et Lui
Following on the Wild Books project
Elle et Lui by George Sand, one view of the legendary Sand-Musset story where the serendipituous Pagello becomes the good ol' American acquaintance.
Bought in Paris released in the Art Studio on Harrison ave, Boston.
Make up your mind about their affaire and let us know about it!
Wild Books: Marco Polo - The Travels
Did the Chinese invent pizza?
Book released at the Boston Radisson Hotel as part of the Wild Books effort. If you find this book and feel like reading it, tell us about it, you, and where you went with it.
Wild Books: The prospect
As spring shovels the cold away, the migration of books begins. Even today, some do not hesitate to abandon books by the side of the road because they can’t take them on vacation or simply because they would rather make use of a gym than of a library.
Picked from the trash, saved from the rain, a spirtiuous reading gave these books the confidence required for another life of travel. It is always difficult to release a beast one has been reading the guts of for hours. But there is the excitment of thoughts moving along a space freed from lines, high speed cables, and webs; the belief that a book that finds you is worth as much as a whole library's worth of words turned into digits.
To whoever sees one of those books fly by, take a moment to read their notes and write us back, where are they? Are they feeling good? Who are you?
Friday, March 10, 2006
iScape Nippon: Capsule Radio (Audio)
The final of original sounds recorded in
Track 15: Roaming through the AM band from within the same capsule
Radio is full of surprises
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
Guest Poet Series: Kate Harp
Because poetry is tough taco guest poets will from now on plenish the apetite of Rahdel comentators. It was hard to select starters for this series. Thanks to Kate Harp for standing up.
Of this last summer storm
Begin to drop like pebbles
On our lips ad the sand,
Take a breath of comfort
As the crushed sky opens -
Remember only you
Could taste
The rain
In me
It would be a landscape painting, otherwise.
Expanse of snow. Sky, unfinished, the color of canvas,
Night dirtying its edges. A picture framed by a windshield,
Seen through scratched glass. The tongue-shaped patch
Where the car was, the pools of red its tail-lights cast
Nothing to mark the way the view recedes; the scene is shapeless,
Indistinct. It makes its way towards dark.
Far back, beyond the lot, a boy in silhouette takes one last shot.
The ball, in perfect arc, wont touch the rim. There is no net.
By the time the silence breaks, youll be on the road,
And gaining speed. But in this last look back, your glance
Catches the boy in motion, in solitary light,
And turns the scene into a portrait.
The river shattered,
caught me up
in arms stronger
than the ones -
of lover, brother, father -
that I had known.
I flew,
and surfaced.
Now snowflakes fall,
ghosts of withered violets.
Ice kisses
land softly on my lips,
paint a bridal lace
on my cooling brow.
In all the nights
I hid with you
I never dreamed
that it would be
the one I fled from
whom I did not
have the strength
to live without.