“A burning sensation”

Photographic representation “A burning sensation” imbued by “A poem is a walk” (by A.R. Ammons)

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(c) Christina Milassin, 2017




“A poem is a walk”

Photographic representation following “A poem is a walk” (by A.R. Ammons)
(photo credits: Christina Milassin)

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(c) Christina Milassin

“I can’t tell you where a poem comes from, what it is, or what it is for: nor can any other man. The reason I can’t tell you is that the purpose of a poem is to go past telling, to be recognised by burning.”

“poetry leads us to the unstructured sources of our beings, to the unknown, and returns us to our rational, structured selves refreshed. Having once experienced the mystery, plenitude, contradiction, and composure of a work of art, we afterward have a built-in resistance to the slogans and propaganda of oversimplification that have often contributed to the destruction of human life. Poetry is a verbal means to a nonverbal source. It is a motion to no-motion, to the still point of contemplation and deep realization. It’s knowledges are all negative and, therefore, more positive than any knowledge. Nothing that can be said about it in words is worth saying.”

” …as with a walk, a poem is not simply a mental activity: it has body, rhythm, feeling, sound, and mind, conscious and subconscious. The pace at which a poet walks (and thinks), his natural breath-length, the line he pursues, whether forthright and straight or weaving and meditative, his whole “air,” whether of aimlessness or purpose – all these things and many more figure into the “physiology” of the poem he writes…”

“…every walk is unreproducible, as is every poem. Even if you walk exactly the same route each time – as with a sonnet – the events along the route cannot be imagined to be the same from day to day, as the poet’s health, sight, his anticipations, moods, fears, thoughts cannot be the same…”


“Momentary stay against confusion” (Robert Frost):
Does inspiration originate in nature, in external reality, or in the self?
I think it comes from anxiety. That is to say, either the mind or the body is already rather highly charged and in need of some kind of expression, some way to crystallize and relieve the pressure. And it seems to me that if you’re in that condition and an idea, an insight, an association occurs to you, then that energy is released through the expression of that insight or idea, and after the poem is written, you feel a certain resolution and calmness. Well, I won’t say a “momentary stay against confusion” (Robert Frost’s phrase) but that’s what I mean. I think it comes from that.

Addicted to “Jazz”

Addicted to “Jazz”
Lost in transition
Creating art
Coloring space
in my soul
Creeping desire!
Busy bees everywhere!
Sitting and enjoying
I hear music and bees
Forgotten by tomorrow
But this moment
I will experience!
Emotions roll on
like balls!

And i enjoy
what I  –
Today a selfish soul easing writer!
Tomorrow ?”

(Christina Milassin 4/2017)

Dinah Washington & Max Richter- This bitter earth



(c) Christina Milassin

Imaginary space

“To fill my mind with new thoughts
To imagine the illusionary traceability of life-
I have only found in mind!
Never was I scared to lose you,
in the moment I found you.
Now I seek your presence,
-and I am afraid I will lose you –
when I find myself in your absence.
I stare into an abyss – whom do I see?
If you spill coffee over wooden floor – does it leave traces?
It destroys, hurts, colors and paints
the “space in between places” .
I flee into the imaginary space.”
(c) Christina Milassin, 2017

PROMISE – Ben Howard

And meet me there, bundles of flowers
We wait through the hours of cold
Winter shall howl at the walls
Tearing down doors of time
Shelter as we go

And promise me this
You’ll wait for me only
Scared of the lonely arms
Surface, far below these burn
And maybe, just maybe I’ll come home

Who am I, darling to you?
Who am I?
Going to tell you stories of mine
Who am I?

Who am I, darling for you?
Who am I?
Could be a burden in time, lonely
Who am I, to you?

Who am I, darling for you?
Who am I?
Going to be a burden
Who am I, darling to you?
Who am I?

I come alone here
I come alone here