Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
A song of me and you

© 2009 - Ben Heine
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One of my illustrations on paper
(black ink and watercolor)

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A moving poem sent
to me by Sana Iftikhar

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A song of me and you
With riddles that are no secrets to us
But make other weary
A song of me and you
With love and hope and joy for life
Senses elate with joy of making love
Hope of making it last a life time
A song of me and you
With celestial sounds that’s sweeter than honey
Introspection or just mere impulsiveness
The need grows as our song comes to life
A song of me and you
Like a tale of an ancient warrior
A Greek god maybe
With riddles that are no secret to us
But makes other weary
A song of me and you
With lyrics lingering on our skin
Tracing their way to each others soul
Embedded like stars in a deep blue sky
A song of me and you
Like a poem that tells a story
Of love lost and found
Of faith embraced and revered
Of hearts mingling with ecstasy
Of souls coming to rest
Let that be ... a song of me and you.
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Give a Heart
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Give a Heart


By Peter S. Quinn

Give a heart to your love
There’s always something there
Like drifting clouds above
Feelings to go everywhere
Summer dreams that go by
Or winter tales in mist
Spring’s forever blue sky
Autumn colors tinctured twist

You know you have it all
Inside where your beat goes
And from there will call
When roots of passion grows
For love is like a green tree
Leaves that shiver in the breeze
And from the inside will see
How kindness always frees

You have so much to give
Or take for what you’ll need
Each goal an example to live
And thus how love should lead
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Today on "The New
American Dream"

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Interview
Anthony Rayson of Chicago, toll-booth operator anarchist, prisoner, publisher

Top Button Issue
Vote Today for a Department of Peace

Poetry
David Ray of Tucson

Columnist
Karen Kwiatkowski, from a small farm in Shenandoah County, Virginia

Calendar
Rodger Routh
Alabama anti-death penalty work
Fasting for the end of torture
Protest on the opening day of Congress
DRESS WARM! Buy some of that heated poster board they've got at The Dollar Store

Political Art
By Ben Heine of Belgium
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Stairs to Heaven
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© 2008 - Hubert Lebizay
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Trinity of Order
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By Egal Bohen

All that is
Was will be
All that was
Was is
All that will be
Will be was
After it is is

(Poem's source : poetryofegalbohen.blogspot.com)

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The poem and photo appeared
on hubzay.deviantart.com
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Creative Commons License
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- Collapse On Your Palm -
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Die In His Fingers


By Kristine Buenavista (*)

If I was made to be destroyed, I want to collapse
on your palms, only yours
for they are the gateway to a better world
more responsible politics
more beautiful view of the Arts.

If I graced the Earth to be frozen, I wish to be
the woman on your caricatures.
You can draw me without a face, without a name
but I yearn for you to think of me as
you push that pencil and create
a masterpiece.

You, you are the Philippine sea
carrier of storms and cradle of the vast
where I always stand on its shores

where I soak my toes on its cold sand
where I dream of reaching places

without drowning
without drifting

If there is a need for me to experience
both

By all means, I am willing
as long as it brings me

on your
toes.

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(*) Kristine Buenavista is a poetess living in the Philippines. She recently sent me this lovely poem and this is how I wanted to illustrate her verses. Thank you Kristine. I'm very honored. You're truly talented.
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Creative Commons License
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"In His Fingers"
.© 2007 - Ben Heine


Black/white version of a colored cartoon
that will be published here very soon.
The woman is Kristine Buenavista,
a poetess living in the Philippines.
I will also publish a beautiful poem
she wrote to illustrate this drawing.
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Creative Commons License
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Marcel Marceau
Remembered
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Tu Vas Nous Manquer,
an Ode to Marcel Marceau

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By thepoetryman

As in silent motion
white faced petals
polish our living

nestled near, ready to rise
and outshine the sorrow
etched upon our face;
hate, that rusty nail
on the floor of hell piercing
the naked feet of our foul specter.

As in silent motion
dream’s painted face
fetches our melody…


Je dois y aller maintenant.
Adieu,

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
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* * *
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Mime Legend Marcel Marceau
passed away at 84
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Marcel Marceau, the master of mime who transformed silence into poetry with lithe gestures and pliant facial expressions that spoke to generations of young and old, has died. He was 84.

Wearing white face paint, soft shoes and a battered hat topped with a red flower, Marceau breathed new life into an art that dates to ancient Greece. He played out the human comedy through his alter-ego Bip without ever uttering a word.

Offstage, he was famously chatty. "Never get a mime talking. He won't stop," he once said.

A French Jew, Marceau escaped deportation to a Nazi death camp during World War II, unlike his father who died in Auschwitz. Marceau worked with the French Resistance to protect Jewish children, and later used the memories of his own life to feed his art.

He gave life to a wide spectrum of characters, from a peevish waiter to a lion tamer to an old woman knitting, and to the best-known Bip.
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Marcel Marceau Remembered
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Marcel Marceau, the legendary master of mime, died September 22 at age 84. Born Marcel Mangel to a Jewish family in Strasbourg, France, Marceau escaped the Nazis, joined the French Resistance and worked as a liaison to General Patton’s army. In 1946 he began studying acting in Paris, where he quickly established his career. The following excerpt was taken from a 2001 interview with Marceau by freelance journalist Jeremy Josephs:
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I was once asked about my “Jewish sensitivity,” to which I replied that I would prefer to discuss human sensitivity. Jews are sensitive, like other people, but in the modern world religion should not be so high up [in] the order of the day. I was brought up in a Jewish home, but I was brought up to be human, not fanatical, which is something that I don’t appreciate at all. I learned to become a humanist, and not to dwell on the differences between Jews and Christians.

I must be honest and tell you that I do feel slightly uncomfortable with people dwelling on this Jewish aspect of my life. I have the greatest respect for the sufferance of the Holocaust — my father died in Auschwitz — so I am perfectly well aware of what happened. But this did not make me superior to other people.

I don’t want to be part of a community. I want to be part of the world. I have never been a victim of antisemitism — if you put to one side my war-time experience. That said, I am lucky not to have been sent into a concentration camp. I produced false papers, I took Jewish children to Switzerland when I was a teenager… and [after the war] I went to drama school with Etienne Decroux. But I never denied that I was Jewish. I wanted to give my art to the people.

The memory of the Holocaust is so important though. The 20th century was the most criminal century. Despite this, it has been a great century too. There is a balance between good and evil. But I am happy that the memory of the Holocaust is kept alive, so that such a tragedy can never begin again. But I would not put a Jew who died in the Holocaust above a Catholic soldier who died in the trenches of the First World War. All wars are criminal.
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Silence falls on Marcel Marceau,
master of the mime

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By John Lichfield

When great actors die, they are said to "fall silent". The mime artist Marcel Marceau had been delighting the world in silence for 60 years.

In Paris on Saturday, he, and his restless alter-ego "Bip", fell still. He was 84. Marceau was perhaps the most loved and internationally admired of all French people. "Bip" – a pale, elastic-limbed clown with a striped shirt and limp red flower in his battered hat – was instantly recognisable from the United States to China.

"Bip" was inspired by the work of Charlie Chaplin, Harpo Marx and other early film stars. He also drew on – and revived – older, European traditions of silent theatre, such as the Italian Commedia dell'arte.

Marceau once suggested another, darker, reason for his wordless art. He was born into a French Jewish family in 1923. His father, Charles Mangel, a butcher, was deported from France in 1944 and died in Auschwitz concentration camp.

"The people who came back from the camps were never able to talk about it," he once said. "My name is Mangel. I am Jewish. Perhaps that, unconsciously, contributed towards my choice of silence."

The French Prime Minister, François Fillon, said yesterday: "A talent for telling stories without words conferred on Marcel Marceau a rare gift: the ability to speak to everyone, with no barriers of language or culture." The Culture Minister, Christine Albanel, said Marceau's "poetry and tenderness" had inspired performers in other theatrical disciplines for more than half a century.

Marceau claimed that mime was able to convey a more profound, or at least more universal, message than words. "Pantomime is a hypnotic art," he said. "It is a universal language". Marcel Marceau was born in Strasbourg on 22 March 1923. He fled the Nazi invasion of Alsace with his family in 1940 and eventually joined a resistance movement near Limoges.

After the war, he joined Charles Dullin's School of Dramatic Art, and studied under the celebrated mime artist Etienne Decroux. Marceau first made his name with his own company in a tiny theatre on the Paris Left Bank – the Théatre de Poche, where "Bip" was born 60 years ago this year.

A tour of the United States in the mid-1950s – the first of many – turned him into an international celebrity. In 1967, he bumped into his boyhood hero, Charlie Chaplin, at Orly airport in Paris. He launched immediately into a pastiche of Chaplin's dance routine with a cane and then burst into tears and threw his arms around the ageing star.

One of Marceau's most loved sketches was "Public Garden," where "Bip" became in turn all the characters in a park, from a small boy playing football, to the park warden to an old lady knitting. At other times, he might be a bad-tempered waiter, an incompetent lion-tamer, a man chasing butterflies or a flirt at a cocktail party. In one of his later routines – he was making 250 appearance a year until the late 1990s – he mimed all the ages of mankind, from youth to death, in a couple of minutes.

Although Marceau never spoke on stage, he did once famously speak in a film. He appeared in Mel Brooks' Silent Movie in 1976 and said the only word: "non". Off stage, like one of his heroes, Harpo Marx, he was a very talkative man. "Never get a mime talking," he once said. "He won't stop." Marcel Marceau was a modest man, except when describing his own achievements. "I have a feeling that I did for mime what Segovia did for the guitar, what Casals did for the cello," he once said.

In the 1950s and 1960s, his company was the only troupe of mime artists in the world. He founded the Ecole Internationale de Mimodrame in Paris in 1978, which is still the only school of its kind. The pop star Michael Jackson based his moonwalk routine on Marceau's sketch of a man walking against the wind.

Marceau is survived by his four children.

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Obituary
Marcel Marceau,
Mime artist and teacher

Marcel Mangel (Marcel Marceau), mime: born Strasbourg, France 22 March 1923; Director, Compagnie de Mime Marcel Marceau 1949-64; Director, Ecole Internationale de Mimodrame de Paris Marcel Marceau 1978-2005; three times married (two sons, two daughters); died Paris 22 September 2007.

Wearing white trousers, a crumpled top hat adorned with a bedraggled red artificial flower and a striped vest with big buttons, and with a mask of a face that was able to suggest a thousand different impressions, the celebrated mime Marcel Marceau produced an astonishing variety of brief dramatic scenes and comical encounters with himself – The Cage, Walking Against the Wind, The Maskmaker, The Park, among others – and a gallery of unforgettable characters – head waiters, mad sculptors, matadors, dictators and ballet dancers. Of Marceau's moving depiction of the four ages of man, Youth, Maturity, Old Age and Death, one critic said, "He accomplishes in less than two minutes what most novelists cannot do in volumes."

He was born Marcel Mangel, the son of a butcher, in Strasbourg in 1923. He attended schools in Strasbourg and Lille and even as a child was a gifted mimic of animals and human beings. He enjoyed the silent movies of the 1920s, in which his favourite stars were Buster Keaton, Harry Langdon, Stan Laurel and above all Charlie Chaplin ("To us, he was a god"), whom he was to meet later in life. Their films were silent, so they had to express their feelings through mime.

When Marcel was 16, the Second World War began and in September 1939, Strasbourg had to be evacuated. For a while he took courses in painting and enamelling at the Ecole des Arts Décoratifs in Limoges, and he was to become a gifted illustrator of his own works. His father was deported to Auschwitz, where he later died, and Marcel joined the Resistance, moving to Paris. On one occasion, in 1944, as he was coming out of the Métro, he was stopped by two plain-clothes policemen who asked to see his papers. They were perfect fakes, for Marcel Mangel, as both a Resistance spy and a Jew, was on the wanted list. The narks kept examining his papers and looking at his face, while he stared back at them without batting an eyelid, showing no trace of fear. The men were baffled, and let him go. It was an early demonstration of the powers of mime.

In 1945, he began attending Charles Dullin's famous school of dramatic art in the Théâtre Sarah Bernhardt, where he also followed classes given by Etienne Decroux, who had invented the system of "mime corporel" – corporeal mime. It became the basis for Mangel's own art of facial and bodily control. One of his fellow students was Jean-Louis Barrault, who appreciated his exceptional talents as both actor and mime. Mangel became a member of Barrault's own company and was cast in the role of Arlequin in the "mimodrama" Baptiste, a role Barrault had made famous in the 1945 film Les Enfants du Paradis.

Mangel was such a success that Barrault encouraged him to present his own mimodrama, "Praxiteles and the Golden Fish" (1946), at the Théâtre Sarah Bernhardt. Its popularity made Mangel decide to embark upon the career of a mime. The stage name he chose was Marcel Marceau, taken from a line in a poem by Victor Hugo about a great general, Marceau-Desgraviers. But the character he created was "Bip".

Marceau borrowed Bip's name from the character of Pip in Charles Dickens's Great Expectations and indeed Bip resembled the wan-faced waifs of Dotheboys Hall in Nicholas Nickleby. He had the woebegone orphan look of children in early silent movies, like Jackie Coogan in The Kid or Oliver Twist.

"Born in the imagination of my childhood," Marceau once wrote of his greatest success, "Bip is a romantic and burlesque hero of our time. His gaze is turned not only towards heaven, but into the hearts of men."

Marceau's scenarios for his sketches were minimal, given body by his weird physical agility and an acute sense of "scenic time". In 1949 he started his own mime company at the tiny Théâtre de Poche in Montparnasse. Its first performance, in 1951, was a mime drama based on Gogol's tale The Overcoat. It was such a popular success that Marceau enlarged the company and produced classic period mime dramas including Pierrot de Montmartre (1952) and the more ambitious Le Mont de Piété ("The Pawn Shop", 1956).

But unlike the "straight" theatre, mime in France has never enjoyed official financial sponsorship, so Marceau had on occasion to abandon his company and start to make a living on tour as Bip in celebrated solo turns.

He toured Europe for eight years. His big break in America came in 1955-56 and Marcel Marceau and mime became inextricably linked in the public mind across the world.

"Americans are like big children – they never lose their sense of amazement and wonder," he once said of his transatlantic fans. "I show them something they have never seen before."

Marceau's beautiful Bip Hunts Butterflies had obviously influenced the great ballet dancer Jean Babilée when in the 1950s I saw him dancing in London in the ballet Le Papillon. Bip toured the whole world, to universal acclaim. He enchanted the Japanese, who after the war were still trying to learn foreign languages. They adored Bip because he was able to express every human feeling without words, and when I arrived in Japan in 1959 the Japanese were still under his spell.

By the end of his life, by Marceau's reckoning he had toured in 65 countries. He gave a rare touch of originality to television shows and appeared in several films, including the cult sci-fi adventure Barbarella (1968), starring Jane Fonda (with Marceau in the role of Professor Ping) and Mel Brooks's Silent Movie (1976), in which Marceau spoke the only line (in fact the only audible word), "Non!"

The list of Marceau's prizes and academic honours is enormous. He was an Officier de la Légion d'honneur, Grand Officier de l'Ordre nationale du Mérite, Commandeur des Arts et des Lettres de la Republique Française, and received honorary doctorates from American universities including Princeton, Michigan and Columbia. Bip received a "Molière d'honneur" in Paris in 1999. And the city of Paris finally endowed the art of mime and Marcel Marceau with enough money to run a permanent school there.

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(--> The article and obituary appeared on belfasttelegraph.co.uk)

Thepoetryman's Newsletter
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A RANT (Newsletter)

(In association with A Poetic Justice (Don’t burn the flag. Wash it!)

By Thepoetryman

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Wow! It has been a good while since last you saw one of these! No! Not the photomontage above, you’ve never seen that, I was talking about The APJ Newsletter! It’s been what, six, seven, eight weeks? My only excuse is that I have none. But here we are, eh? You reading and I'm jabbering on about my inconsistent behavior.

Let’s get to the business of useful information before you hit the dreaded delete button, shall we?

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The header of this email is actually the latest addition to my copious blogs. It is rather self-explanatory don’t you think? RANT! I mean the idea is right there in the word! RANT! Of course one can rant about anything under the sun given the inclination to do so, but since most of you are familiar with my works of poetry, plays, short-short stories and photomontage you probably know what the subject of my rants would be, and you’d be correct.

Most people that know me personally might find the word “rant” rather appropriate, but some of you who are only privy to my work online might find it a bit hard to believe that I can string more than two sentences, let alone paragraphs together without breaking into verse. Some of you may find me to be more like a Broadway musical than a ranter and some of you may find me more a ranter than a Broadway triple threat, so I do hope this new site RANT settles the rumors of my iampentameterous tongue or my otherwise eversible utterances.

(What the hell does that mean?)

Well, iampentameterous is a new word I just made up based on iambic pentameter- a line of poetry that is made up of five units of rhythm, for example, five pairs of stressed and unstressed syllables- which I can hardly lay claim to, and eversible is a condition of being turned outward which I can certainly lay claim to!

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Need a taste before you enter the land of RANT? Okay.


Here’s a nibble:

“This man is not to be made fun, he is to be pitied. He is a product of people like Ted Nugent, and Ted Nugent is a product of other Ted Nugent’s, and they are all the byproduct of years and years of the (1) dumbing down of the American education system, particularly K through 12, (2) which includes the educators. They are a product as well of (3) the lack of any worthy historical perspectives and of (4) the growing divide and disconnect between the rich and the middleclass/poor.

And here’s a snack:

“I’d like to take this opportunity to express my thoughts and with all due respect, speak bluntly, Mr. President.

Nothing in particular really, just a random chain of cognitive ideas wrought by your blundering half-cocked-swagger-accented-“heh”-times three-strut that tumbles out your Milli Vanilli cowboy giddy-up spittoon wet with nothing coherent, or true, or resembling good English, or honor, trust, strength, anything at all respectable, or even within an nth of godliness, just a haphazard chain of disingenuous spaghetti westernized one-liners of insidious claptrap-twaddle-rubbish gurgling and splattering projectile spittle out down and on your never-been-man-enough-to-do-anything-on-your-own-without-daddy-or-mommy-or-your-team-of-sycophant-whispering-sweet-nukular-nothings-in-your-ear-of-never-had-any-real-character-to- speak-of existence only to reflect on your heroes- Larry Curly Moe and the oft ignored Shemp-“ Again…what are you waiting for? Contribute your own rant! I will create a photomontage to match it!

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Hey, poetryman?

Yes, voice in my head?

Why don’t you can the get-rich quick scheme and give these dear readers something they can sink their teeth into?

Good idea, voice in my cranium.

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Thepoetryman’s My Space profile

Thepoetryman’s live digital profile

Thepoetryman’s Hi5 profile

Thepoetryman’s YouTube profile

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That’s better…but is that it?

Oh. Right. Sorry, voice in my cranium.

Do you thing that’s funny?

You asked me not to call you “the voice in my head”.

And you think substituting “cranium” for “head” is the way to appease me, your muse?

Just trying to be funny. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of my head this morning…

First; you’re not funny. Second; from my vantage point it matters not which side of your head I awake from; they’re both humorless.

That’s an odd way to put.

It was a perfectly legitimate way to put it. With utter honesty.

Fine!

Stop talking to me and give these people something of substance!

Okay. Aaaaaah… Dab a dab…Dat’s all folks!

Why me? Of all the writers in the world, why did I get “muse duty” with a humorless twit?

Careful there, sweetcheeks, I could run for president someday…


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A Small Hand

The new light was lean;
crawling
like a horrid serpent
it made its nest.

It slipped over the eyes of the children
certain not to rouse them of their sleep.

The wailing came next,
its throat
with its lament
a woeful tide of loss.

Faint at first
then
to shattering pale prayers
with its great howl.

Have we not enough
madness, destruction,
man’s angry shell
over children's throats?

Are there now
other rifles to aim,
bombs to plunge
like God’s will?

Her small hand motions to us
from the mists of tomorrow,
pleading, come forward
out war’s great sorrow.

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

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Until next time…let’s liberate the peace…

Mark (thepoetryman)
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Interview with the Poetryman

“The idea of blogging to the powers that be
is terrifying and they’d love to control it”

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Known as the “Poetryman”, Mark Prime is a prolific North American poet and Peace activist. He runs several blogs: "A Poetic Justice" (updated everyday, mainly with political poetry and illustrated with his own photomontages). He is also the head of other sites, such as "The Peace Tree" and "Poets for Peace". Sometimes he even writes plays, you can read his texts there: The Origin Theatre. You can reach him at prime63@cox.net.


BH:
You are a prolific American poet and Peace activist. You are also a blog expert and own several ones, including A Poetic Justice, The Origin Theatre, Poetic Justice Pictures, The Peace Tree, Poets for Peace…
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MP: Prolific, perhaps in the since that I always have writers cramp. As for my myriad of blogs? I had to compartmentalize my various forms of expression for my own sanity and they each needed their own pages.

BH: When and why did you start to open your first blogs?

MP: I first began blogging, as a commenter, when I happened upon a blog called Crooks and Liars during a search for crooks and liars and politicians. But I repeat myself…

I suppose I was a bit out of the loop since C&L had been around for some time before I found it, but once I began to comment, there and around the web, I was quickly caught up in the liberation of personal expression and exchange of ideas. It wasn’t long after that that someone recommended I begin writing my own blog. I’m not sure if it was someone concerned about the bandwidth I was using at C&L (knowing the best way to remedy this was for me to begin my own blog), or if one of the many blogging friends I had on the web recommended I do so, either way it worked out well for me.

I soon began to summon my muse, or perhaps she summoned me, three or four times a day and the rest, as they say, is… I suppose the fact that I was so upset by my government’s occupation of Iraq, and other policy matters, that I couldn’t stop blogging even if I had wanted to. Protest poetry, anti-war plays, photomontage, and anti-war videos are the forms I use, with poetry being my main blog’s focus. I feel that the arts are the most vital forms of expression we have and we’d better use them while we can.

BH: Which audience does your site(s) target?

MP: Certainly it (they) targets and receives a more liberal audience, but I have had right, left, center, Christian right, Christian left, communist, socialist, atheist, agnostic, and a myriad of readers, that don’t seem to fit any political mold, pay my site(s) a visit or two. I like a diverse readership; it is, after all, the liberal way.

BH: Is it manageable, in terms of time and finances?

MP: The Blogger platform, there are many others out there, is free which is the only way I could manage to do this at this particular juncture in my life. As far as time is concerned; it is only manageable because I don’t get much sleep.

BH: Some of your blogs are collective sites (The Peace Tree, Poets for Peace); how do you recruit members?

MP: I ask them via email to start, and always put it out there that I am open to contributions from any and all, as long as they match the sites intent of course. If they don’t, you may find me starting another blog so that they might have a home to express themselves.

I’ve stumbled upon some great talent by not closing myself off to a certain stripe or style. Just because I’m anti-occupation and a peace activist doesn’t mean that I should stop listening to any and all angles. It’s what an open-mind is supposed to do, right?

BH: Blogging about politics is a good way of taking part in the world’s affairs, which other advantages do you find in running a blog?
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MP: The biggest benefit for me is the honing and use of my artistic expressions. It is a great release. Keeping these sorts of things bottled up inside might prove to be dangerous to one’s health. I also find that there are people out there, blogging or surfing the net, who will ask me questions and offer me stories that I might not hear were it not for my blog(s). I’ve heard and read so many points of view on any number of topics that I cannot help realize that this benefits me greatly. It gives me the chance to filter through emotions and points of view and allows me to see things more clearly by hearing the many voices around the globe. It’s not like talking to mere friends on any given day, with blogging I can converse and freely exchange ideas with people from any and every country on earth that is able to connect to the web… and freedom of expression and the exchange of ideas is never a bad thing, right?

BH: Have you been able to meet new people, poets, artists and peace activists through your blog activity?

MP: I’ve been introduced to artists of every stripe and variety.
Blogging is a wonderful hodgepodge of people; idealists and realists, artists and non-artists, all coming together to express their ideas!

BH: Now a few questions on the digital divide: Although some analysts say they are mainly places for entertainment, do you think that the cybercafés (and the other public centers where a low cost Internet connection is available) are a good weapon against the digital divide in poorer countries?

MP: Without question. The mere fact that one has need to ask this indicates to me the enormous power within the question. Who gains from the free exchange of ideas? The people, everywhere. Who has the most to lose? Those who try to control the switches, be it in DC or Israel or Russia or East Timor or Darfur. The idea of blogging to the powers that be is terrifying and they’d love to control it. We must never let that happen.

BH: Don’t you think that the Western political rhetoric about the digital divide is a kind of political slogan which purpose is to force the countries of the Global South to conform their economic system to the Western one, for example, by inciting them to buy the same Western software and hardware?

MP: Absolutely. The game is money (control) whether it be called “oil”, “software”, “automobile”, “hardware”, “class”, “race”, “sex”, “age”, “the flag”, “god”, etc. The dynamics of competition are always at play, and in many respects that is very unfortunate.

BH: We have recently heard about very cheap « generic » laptops being sold in Africa and in India. Do you think that the individual access to these computers and their potential Internet connection might be better to bridge the gap than collective access in public centers? Wouldn’t it be easier for peace activists in poorer countries to work individually with these cheap laptops rather than in public centres where they often sit next to people who have no specific militant mood?

MP: Another absolutely! I think if one has to be “herded” into a group setting to access what many carry with them every day that this may constitute oppression.

This idea, from Apple I believe, is one that offers a great many the opportunity to be heard. I mean it is a human, fundamental right, in my opinion, to be heard, to express yourself, to call out for help, to offer your ideas. What on earth could be more fundamental in this electronic age than the world coming together on the web? Might we then be less inclined to want to go to war and kill them or they us, and might they be more able to see that not all Americans, etc, think like Blair and Bush or Sharon or Ahmadinejad or Bin Laden, or “fill in the ruler”...?

BH: My last question: How would you define the ideal digital society in a few words?

MP: Free.
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We Went Out At Night
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Warriors
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By André de Korvin
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We went out at night, moving through streets
too narrow for traffic.

The future was quoted on posters by old men
always driven
in black sedans.

We walked past hotels where dark stood still
in the rooms,
past women in green stockings,
war paint running
down their faces.

I remember, one night, François said
the only future was
death of bourgeoisie.

One of the women winked,
a blue and red skull
on her left eyelid.
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© poem 2007 adk/andrédekorvin

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WomenAgainstViolenceAgainstWomen


Below are other images I realized for the women's cause


"The struggle
will go on"


Hunger Moved In
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Depression

By André de Korvin

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Hunger moved in
with its truck loads of sleepless hours.
It went to bed with many children.
They said economy was real depressed.
Bureaucrats blamed telephone poles
for staring at the moon,
blamed the moon
for being tardy,
blamed the wind
for being stubborn.
From tall buildings you could see people
lying prone in parking lots
and you imagined their deaths as
pale stars falling on the black
asphalt of poor neighborhoods
and you saw their bodies as
footnotes, as asterisk markers shining
at the bottom of a story
no one wanted to read.
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© 2007 adk/andredekorvin
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