My writings: Art & Poetry: My Death

Antonio Gisbert (1834 -1901) The Execution of Torrijos and his Companions at Málaga Beach (1888)

MY DEATH


Our fight
isn't a fight for me
nor a fight for you.
It's bigger than us,
bigger than our dreams.

I shall die
by their hand,
but my death
isn't only mine.
It's yours.
It's your children's
and it belongs to
all of those
who dare
to say
to believe
and to dream
of freedom.





By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: My Friends

José Moreno Carbonero (1860 - 1942) El príncipe don Carlos de Viana, 1881

My Friends



My rebellion gave birth
to my solitude,
to my two friends:
my dog and my books.

My books talk with me
instead of my father
who rejected me,
who denied me my right.

My dog is the friendship I lost.
My corner of the innocent happiness
that I kept inside me as a child,
that once was the silent corner
in an unforeseen future,
in a dissolved friendship
with you, My Father.





By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: The Gift

Fra Angelico (c. 1395 - 1455) The Annunciation (Prado, Madrid)

THE GIFT



Would you believe me
if I told you
that the child I carry
is a gift from GOD?

Would you see
my passionate night
as a forgivable answer
to our endless prayers
for a child?
For the life
we want to
take care of?

Does it matter,
If it isn't yours?
If you don't know?

Would you see it as a gift?

For what is
a passionate night
with donated sperm
which grows inside me
if not a gift?

A gift from GOD!





By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: The sunflower

Anthony van Dyck (1599 - 1641, Flemish) Self Portrait With a Sunflower

The sunflower


A self-portrait with a sunflower
the sunflower with no meaning
with thousand meanings, debated
touched and untouched.

What is a sunflower, a flower
A flower with a long life, that shines
as the sun, that brightens your mood
with its sunny disposition.

He points at the flower and
himself, but he holds a chain
is he as the flower,
is the chain the connection

and the cloud, behind them
is it a symbol, is it a token
is it merely a highlighter of
the subject, or is something
hidden.

A sunflower, a man, a chain
and a cloud, and the pointing
and not to forget that the man
is looking at the viewer, he
is looking at you.






By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: The line and the light

Robert Vonnoh (1858 - 1933) Leah

The line and the light


The soft light
enters the room
through the curtain
that protects
her naked body
from the
gaze of others
through the
window.

The softness
the line
the curve
of her back

is touched
by the invisible
viewers
by us.

The invisibility
is protecting
us in our
voyeurism.

The invisibility
is protecting
her in her
innocent nakedness.

The invisibility
is a form
of protection
to not see
what is
to be seen.





By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: The beauty of hiding

Roberto González Fernández (1948 - ) Lawrence Schimel (2017)

The beauty of hiding


To see but not to be seen
The beauty of hiding is thrilling
The partial hiding is an illusion
The illusion of being seen without
The actual act of showing

The hands hide but
The hands even show
The marital status, the ring
The deep brown eyes
The mystery, does he have hair
The painting cuts his head,
The secret: Is he bald?
The beard, the lips in hiding
The illusion of a portrait
but here without a face

By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: Polite pleasure

Domenico Ghirlandaio (1449 - 1494) Portrait of Giovanna Tornabuoni (1488)

Polite pleasure


The polite pleasure
of a correct posture
in profile
is showing
a richness
in boldness.

The boldness
of color
of brocade
of beauty.

A simple pleasure
that was made
after her death
for the living
for the remembering.

The polite pleasure
of acting correctly
of doing right
when there
isn’t anything
right to do
any life to
correct.

The beauty
in remembering
the dead.

By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: A Self-Portrait

Egon Schiele (1890-1918) Self-Portrait with Physalis (1912)

A Self-Portrait


A Self-Portrait
six years before his death,
22 years old,
before the Great war 1914.

1918 50 to 100 million died
of the flu pandemic,
and he was one of them
in World War I
over 17 million died.

Only six years
but so many deaths
so many forgotten lives
so many broken promises,

But now
22 years old
with a Physalis
and raised eyebrows
arrogant eyes
a narrow face
that looks down on you
through the paint
and into your inner dreams
with a smug face.





By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: Secrets

Jan Vermeer (1632-1675) Girl with a Pearl Earring

Secrets


Secrets are whispered
in the dark
behind the corner
where the unseen
truth is having
a nightmare.

Secrets are held
in the hands of
members of
the secret society
when in a handshake
their fingers
dance to an already
told and in advance
decided pattern.

Secrets are told
with soft lips
and a deceitful
mind
that’s waiting
to conquer
another mind
another place
and there
flourish restlessly
in the new soil.

Secrets are foul
and honest
at the same
time
They divide
the world
between the
included
and the excluded

If the secret
is true or not
is beside
the point

The only
important thing
is to whom
the soft lips
whisper and
at whom
the eyes
glance.








By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: Vulnerability

Gustave Caillebotte (1848 - 1894) Homme au bain (1884)

Vulnerability


You’re naked
You’re vulnerable
You're a wall of vulnerability
a naked wall between
the viewer and the curtain
a wall of trust
a wall of invisibility
we see you
but you, not us

The bathtub, the chair
the boots
and the curtain
and your footsteps
confronts you
are en face to you

Your naked body
once seen unmanly
once seen wrong
now captures the
notion of being a man,
a naked man standing,
vulnerable, with his back
in front of us

By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: Reading woman

Sofonisba Anguissola (c. 1532 - 1625) Self-portrait (1554)

Reading woman


To read is to enter
a new world
A new unlimited world
with words, connections
and invaluable thoughts
on the other
of the unseen
of the untouched.

To read is to shelter
an enemy
when the guards are
looking for a scapegoat.

To read is resistance
to stupidity
to ignorance
to the unhealthy
relationships
you once
escaped from.

To read is to be.
To be the one
you can be
instead of the one
you are.

To read is to
reach the collective
mind of others

and for the
time of reading
escape the loneliness
that capsules you
in ignorance.

Once reading for
a woman was
a privilege.
To enter
the world
of men.
To enter
a forbidden
space.







By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: Thoughts

Radi Nedelchev (Ради Неделчев, 1938-2007) Thoughts (1977)

Thoughts


To think is not always
to understand
to comprehend
to be understood
by others.

We think
that if someone
doesn't see our
point of view
that they
don't think

but a point
of view is not
an actual fact.

The grimmest
and the most
human opinion
about something
has in common
the fact
that they are not
facts.

They are the
glasses
someone chooses
to look through.

They are the
revealing point
where you can
see a person's view
on humanity
on life
on death
on God.

You can see
the context
of the person
The light
of his faith
but not always
the facts
because
they are
hidden in the
cobweb
of desires
and wishes
that are intertwined
with the belief
of the true way
to approach
something

so to think
can mean
to put on
the glasses
and refuse
to see another
point of view.

By © Dolores Meden 2017

My writings: Art & Poetry: Death

Jacques-Louis David (1748-1825) The Death of Marat

(The painting shows Jean-Paul Marat, murdered by Charlotte Corday in his bath on 13 July 1793.)

Death


Death is a question
of the present
and the past

of the future
not to be
and the life
that was.

Death wakes the
sorrow of the
ones
who loved
who cared.

Death in an
instant
is cruel
is unintelligible.

Death in
waiting
is foreseeable
and forgivable
Murder
is understandable
but not to be
understood
The understandable
part is the innocence
of the death
that only had
a minor part.

The main character
was the murderer
an unintelligible
person
that has to be
blamed and
punished.

For the act
of killing
is an act
of theft
and rebel.

The theft
of someone’s
life
and the rebel
against death.





By © Dolores Meden 2017