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Poem

Gordana Benić

Stix, the Mask of Anarchy

In the August of 1999 Marion Frua said: The moon set off, slowly
devouring the sun


The images have gone missing: said Ann Callis. Someone was heard, playing the violin, through the black hole of a negative shadows fell from things

A woman with a child in her arms paled visibly, a Madonna rocking in the ecstasy of a Dance Macabre

Florio, Xsaver and Franz were among the last to escape that illusion. They still recall the moment when the curves of the centuries came apart

Said Salvador Dali, If we knew what anti-matter was, we could portray angels

Faithful to tradition, printers’ wives crush sheets of newspaper flat beneath their feet. From afar they call to mind a strange field, transected by the characters of an unknown script

Pictured just before death, gallant portraitists as though they see before them confused copy of Eden. In silence they passed over embittered evenings round the Steam Mill, the intimate neighbourhood of McDonald and the Buddha mascot

J’s autobiography carefully describes the harlequin dolls of clowns: The light of the entire nineteenth century glitters in their eyes of metal

Alexander Doda wanted to know how the nature of a fallen demon quickened. He saw it in the damp hollows behind pulled-away tiles, on dank domestic stairways suffused with the reek of sentimental attraction

The intentions of Marlowe and his heirs are known too by the basket-carriers from Franz-Josef-Ring 3 when they speak of last things and human souls as though telling of old bicycles and foggy paths along a river

Stix, maska anarhije

Stix, maska anarhije

U kolovozu 1999. Marion Frua je rekla: Mjesec se pokrenuo, lagano proždire Sunce

Nestalo je slika; ispričala je Ann Callis. Čulo se kako netko svira na violini, kroz crne rupe negativa sjene se odvojile od predmeta

Žena s djetetom u naručju naočigled je izblijedjela, Madona leluja u ekstazi mrtvačkog plesa

Iz tog priviđenja Florio, Xsaver i Franz izašli su među posljednjima. Još pamte trenutak kada su se razmaknule krivulje stoljeća

Kad bi znali što je antimaterija, mogli bismo naslikati anđele, rekao je Salvador Dali

Vjerne tradiciji, supruge tiskara pod stopalima gužvaju novinske listove. Iz daljine podsjećaju na fantastična polja ispresijecana grafijom nepoznata pisma

Snimljeni neposredno prije smrti, galantni portretisti kao da pred sobom vide zamućene edenske kopije. Prešutjeli su ojađene večeri oko Paromlina, intimno susjedstvo McDonalda i maskote Buddhe

U autobiografiji J-ea pomno su opisane šarene lutke klaunova: U njihovim metalnim očima svijetli cijelo devetnaesto stoljeće

Alexander Doda želio je znati kako se budi priroda posrnula demona. Viđao ga u vlažnim šupljinama iza iščupanih pločica, po memljivim kućnim stubištima gdje se rastače vonj sentimentalnih atrakcija

O naumu Marlowea i njegovih sljedbenika znaju i nosačice košara iz ulice Franz Joseph Ring 3. Kad govore o posljednjim stvarima i ljudskim dušama, kao da pričaju o starim biciklima i magličastim stazama uz rijeku
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Stix, the Mask of Anarchy

In the August of 1999 Marion Frua said: The moon set off, slowly
devouring the sun


The images have gone missing: said Ann Callis. Someone was heard, playing the violin, through the black hole of a negative shadows fell from things

A woman with a child in her arms paled visibly, a Madonna rocking in the ecstasy of a Dance Macabre

Florio, Xsaver and Franz were among the last to escape that illusion. They still recall the moment when the curves of the centuries came apart

Said Salvador Dali, If we knew what anti-matter was, we could portray angels

Faithful to tradition, printers’ wives crush sheets of newspaper flat beneath their feet. From afar they call to mind a strange field, transected by the characters of an unknown script

Pictured just before death, gallant portraitists as though they see before them confused copy of Eden. In silence they passed over embittered evenings round the Steam Mill, the intimate neighbourhood of McDonald and the Buddha mascot

J’s autobiography carefully describes the harlequin dolls of clowns: The light of the entire nineteenth century glitters in their eyes of metal

Alexander Doda wanted to know how the nature of a fallen demon quickened. He saw it in the damp hollows behind pulled-away tiles, on dank domestic stairways suffused with the reek of sentimental attraction

The intentions of Marlowe and his heirs are known too by the basket-carriers from Franz-Josef-Ring 3 when they speak of last things and human souls as though telling of old bicycles and foggy paths along a river

Stix, the Mask of Anarchy

In the August of 1999 Marion Frua said: The moon set off, slowly
devouring the sun


The images have gone missing: said Ann Callis. Someone was heard, playing the violin, through the black hole of a negative shadows fell from things

A woman with a child in her arms paled visibly, a Madonna rocking in the ecstasy of a Dance Macabre

Florio, Xsaver and Franz were among the last to escape that illusion. They still recall the moment when the curves of the centuries came apart

Said Salvador Dali, If we knew what anti-matter was, we could portray angels

Faithful to tradition, printers’ wives crush sheets of newspaper flat beneath their feet. From afar they call to mind a strange field, transected by the characters of an unknown script

Pictured just before death, gallant portraitists as though they see before them confused copy of Eden. In silence they passed over embittered evenings round the Steam Mill, the intimate neighbourhood of McDonald and the Buddha mascot

J’s autobiography carefully describes the harlequin dolls of clowns: The light of the entire nineteenth century glitters in their eyes of metal

Alexander Doda wanted to know how the nature of a fallen demon quickened. He saw it in the damp hollows behind pulled-away tiles, on dank domestic stairways suffused with the reek of sentimental attraction

The intentions of Marlowe and his heirs are known too by the basket-carriers from Franz-Josef-Ring 3 when they speak of last things and human souls as though telling of old bicycles and foggy paths along a river
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère