#CORAÇÃO BY MARCELO SAHEA (BRAZIL)

 

Poetry Film International

 

CORAÇÃO - HEART
by Marcelo Sahea
 
 

 

 

 

"CORAÇÃO (heart)"
Kollaboratives Filmpoem von Marcelo Sahea (marcelosahea.bandcamp.com/)

Während zwei Monaten waren Freunde und interessierte Leute eingeladen, ihre Clips von ihren nackten Körpern  - selbstgefilmt - einzusenden. Gefilmt wurde mit allen möglichen Kameras. Einige dieser Bilder wurden in das Kunstfilmprojekt "CORAÇÃO (heart)" aufgenommen

Produktion/Regie Marcelo Sahea
Poetry: Marcelo Sahea

#JERKER BECKMAN / TOMAS STARK - INGA FLER ORD

Poetry Film International
 
Inga Fler Ord - A film inspired by the surrealist poet Antonin Artaud
By Jerker Beckman / Tomas Stark

 

#PETER SZEWCZYK /W. H. AUDEN

 

As I walked out one evening

Poetry Film International

 

 

Your Crooked Heart | Short Film from Peter Szewczyk on Vimeo.

W.H. Auden's beloved poem set against London's Bricklane. Shot improvisationally in one night.

Director/Producer/Writer/Editor/VFX: Peter Szewczyk
Featuring: Milla Karkkainen, Luke Black
Based on the Poem "As I Walked Out One Evening", by W.H. Auden
DOP: Oscar Kudlacik
Narrator: Tom O'Bedlam
Music/Sound: Charlie Cristiani at Submarine Studios
Animator: Miguel Fuertes
additional VFX: Per Mork-Jensen.

 

W.H. Audens berühmtes Gedicht "As I walked out one evening"  in einer hervorragenden Verfilmung von Peter Szewczyk. Gedreht wurde an einem Abend in London Bricklane.
W.H. Auden lebte in seiner zweiten Lebenshälfte in Niederösterreich und New York und starb 1973 in Wien.

#SANDRA LAHIRE /SYLVIA PLATH - LADY LAZARUS

The poetess Sylvia Plath. Film by Sandra Lahire

 

Poetry Film International

 

ALISTAIR COOK / JOE BELL

 

Poetry Film International
 
Film by Alistair Cook  Poetry by Joe Bell
Music Vladimir Kryutchev

 

 

Film by Alistair Cook - Director of Dunbar Filmpoetry Festival  http://www.filmpoem.com/

TIM WEBB / PETER READING - 15TH FEBRUARY

Poetry Film International

 

15th February  by Tim Webb (film), Peter Reading (poetry)

 

 

Love gone wrong in 294 cuts. From a poem by Peter Reading, symbolism and sadism meet live action and stop motion in this tale of rhythmic rejection and its aftermath. The 15th February is from Reading’s book Diplopic. In explaining the title, Reading wrote, 'Diplopic means pertaining to double vision. Every subject is treated from two sides. The funny and the ghastly are symbiotic.' The 15th February is from one side.The film mixes 16mm live action, stop-frame and drawn animation.

DAN DOUGLAS/ PAUL SUMMERS - BUN STOP

Bun Stop

by Dan Douglas (film) and Paul Summers (poetry)

Poetry Film International

 

GUGLIELMO TRUPIA - SOTTORIPA

Poetry Film International

 

SOTTORIPA -  produced directed and edited by Guglielmo Trupia (Italy)
Based on a poem by Julian Stannard

 

 

 

Voice by Antonio Carletti, music by Barrie Bignold

Sottoripa uses an imaginative and seamless blend of archival footage from 11 different private and documentary films.

J. STEPHENSON/BPNICHOL - THE COMPLETE WORKS

Poetry Film International

The complete Works by Justin Stephenson/ pbNichol
Trailer

 

 

 

Justin Stephenson worked 15 years on this animated documentary in feature film length about the canadian poet pbNichol. www.thecompleteworks.ca

MARC NEYS - TWO WOMAN

 
Two Woman
 
Marc Neys
 
Poetry Film International

MARC NEYS / DAVID TOMALOFF

 

Proof  -  A Tryptich

Poetry Film International

 

 

_object  { -ions in the mirror

 

testosterone funny blanket

ripped sheets and new years

 

origami weathervane

mutational excerpts for cash

 

cornbread is your birthday;

your birthday, she is alive

 

with a middle name like Salvo,

you never have to bring your own

 

the frat boys fill your tin cup

with cigarettes, aerosols—

 

and meats

 

and call you a pretty taxicab

to take you pretend home

 

no knees are good knees;

no prayer is prayer enough

 

I saved the last sentence for you—

you, crawling on your bad knees

 

trying to make sense of the sense

you left bragging in the hallway

 

a microscopic orgasm;

a see-through, a piñata

 

light fuse and back away

are  closer than they appPROOF VON MARC NEYS AKA SWOON (BELGIUM, MUSIC, VIDEO) UND  DAVID TOMALOFF (USA, POETRY, VIDEO)

Interview & Orginaltexte (Englisch)

_object  { -ions in the mirror

 

testosterone funny blanket

ripped sheets and new years

 

origami weathervane

mutational excerpts for cash

 

cornbread is your birthday;

your birthday, she is alive

 

with a middle name like Salvo,

you never have to bring your own

 

the frat boys fill your tin cup

with cigarettes, aerosols—

 

and meats

 

and call you a pretty taxicab

to take you pretend home

 

no knees are good knees;

no prayer is prayer enough

 

I saved the last sentence for you—

you, crawling on your bad knees

 

trying to make sense of the sense

you left bragging in the hallway

 

a microscopic orgasm;

a see-through, a piñata

 

light fuse and back away

are  closer than they appear

 

 


Read more about ConnotationPress.com | Swoon & David Tomaloff - Featured Artists of the Month by connotationpress.com

 

THESPIANIC MYTHOLOGY No. 4

 

"Iceland.  Anesthesia? What was that word again?" The nebulous blue shadow cast his voice in the form of a question from the wings. He was never quite sure of himself in these situations. "It’s Gravy!" called an usher from the rear of the auditorium. "Gravy is majestic! Gravy is no false induction, jack!" Just then, rotten eggs. A minute later, the salmon. They make their way upstream and gather the old popcorn in readiness for their winter slumbers. "I could have been a flower girl," the nebulous blue shadow whispered to himself as he shrunk in despondence. “I could have pondered {XXX}, physics, or subliminal linguistics. I am the opposite of river. I am a slave to my one distinguishable character—my lack of proper face.”

 

 

_object  { -ions in the mirror

 

testosterone funny blanket

ripped sheets and new years

 

origami weathervane

mutational excerpts for cash

 

cornbread is your birthday;

your birthday, she is alive

 

with a middle name like Salvo,

you never have to bring your own

 

the frat boys fill your tin cup

with cigarettes, aerosols—

 

and meats

 

and call you a pretty taxicab

to take you pretend home

 

no knees are good knees;

no prayer is prayer enough

 

I saved the last sentence for you—

you, crawling on your bad knees

 

trying to make sense of the sense

you left bragging in the hallway

 

a microscopic orgasm;

a see-through, a piñata

 

light fuse and back away

are  closer than they appear

 

 

 

THESPIANIC MYTHOLOGY No. 4

 

"Iceland.  Anesthesia? What was that word again?" The nebulous blue shadow cast his voice in the form of a question from the wings. He was never quite sure of himself in these situations. "It’s Gravy!" called an usher from the rear of the auditorium. "Gravy is majestic! Gravy is no false induction, jack!" Just then, rotten eggs. A minute later, the salmon. They make their way upstream and gather the old popcorn in readiness for their winter slumbers. "I could have been a flower girl," the nebulous blue shadow whispered to himself as he shrunk in despondence. “I could have pondered {XXX}, physics, or subliminal linguistics. I am the opposite of river. I am a slave to my one distinguishable character—my lack of proper face.”

 

 

PROOF

 

I cast my skin in the direction of your mouth. My hands &how they’re quick to come undone along the tiny recesses of your canvas—the white of it. The trees outside have grown suspicious. They have made a list of demands, &they are asking from me a name. I cover the stains on my lip with their shade; I tell them the name is wire. They want to know who is there in the house with me. They want to know what I’ve done with the light. I tell them the mold on the walls, how it makes me sick some nights. How the cries are the souls on wax that bluesmen have left behind. They are burrowing as we speak, below me. We are all of us, in our own way, reaching for a tatter of proof.

—&now October / is where my / tongue is best.


Read more about ConnotationPress.com | Swoon & David Tomaloff - Featured Artists of the Month by connotationpress.com

PROOF

 

I cast my skin in the direction of your mouth. My hands &how they’re quick to come undone along the tiny recesses of your canvas—the white of it. The trees outside have grown suspicious. They have made a list of demands, &they are asking from me a name. I cover the stains on my lip with their shade; I tell them the name is wire. They want to know who is there in the house with me. They want to know what I’ve done with the light. I tell them the mold on the walls, how it makes me sick some nights. How the cries are the souls on wax that bluesmen have left behind. They are burrowing as we speak, below me. We are all of us, in our own way, reaching for a tatter of proof.


Read more about ConnotationPress.com | Swoon & David Tomaloff - Featured Artists of the Month by connotationpress.com

object  { -ions in the mirror

 

testosterone funny blanket

ripped sheets and new years

 

origami weathervane

mutational excerpts for cash

 

cornbread is your birthday;

your birthday, she is alive

 

with a middle name like Salvo,

you never have to bring your own

 

the frat boys fill your tin cup

with cigarettes, aerosols—

 

and meats

 

and call you a pretty taxicab

to take you pretend home

 

no knees are good knees;

no prayer is prayer enough

 

I saved the last sentence for you—

you, crawling on your bad knees

 

trying to make sense of the sense

you left bragging in the hallway

 

a microscopic orgasm;

a see-through, a piñata

 

light fuse and back away

are  closer than they appear

 

object  { -ions in the mirror

 

testosterone funny blanket

ripped sheets and new years

 

origami weathervane

mutational excerpts for cash

 

cornbread is your birthday;

your birthday, she is alive

 

with a middle name like Salvo,

you never have to bring your own

 

the frat boys fill your tin cup

with cigarettes, aerosols—

 

and meats

 

and call you a pretty taxicab

to take you pretend home

 

no knees are good knees;

no prayer is prayer enough

 

I saved the last sentence for you—

you, crawling on your bad knees

 

trying to make sense of the sense

you left bragging in the hallway

 

a microscopic orgasm;

a see-through, a piñata

 

light fuse and back away

are  closer than they appear

 

 

_object  { -ions in the mirror

 

testosterone funny blanket

ripped sheets and new years

 

origami weathervane

mutational excerpts for cash

 

cornbread is your birthday;

your birthday, she is alive

 

with a middle name like Salvo,

you never have to bring your own

 

the frat boys fill your tin cup

with cigarettes, aerosols—

 

and meats

 

and call you a pretty taxicab

to take you pretend home

 

no knees are good knees;

no prayer is prayer enough

 

I saved the last sentence for you—

you, crawling on your bad knees

 

trying to make sense of the sense

you left bragging in the hallway

 

a microscopic orgasm;

a see-through, a piñata

 

light fuse and back away

are  closer than they appear

 

 

 

THESPIANIC MYTHOLOGY No. 4

 

"Iceland.  Anesthesia? What was that word again?" The nebulous blue shadow cast his voice in the form of a question from the wings. He was never quite sure of himself in these situations. "It’s Gravy!" called an usher from the rear of the auditorium. "Gravy is majestic! Gravy is no false induction, jack!" Just then, rotten eggs. A minute later, the salmon. They make their way upstream and gather the old popcorn in readiness for their winter slumbers. "I could have been a flower girl," the nebulous blue shadow whispered to himself as he shrunk in despondence. “I could have pondered {XXX}, physics, or subliminal linguistics. I am the opposite of river. I am a slave to my one distinguishable character—my lack of proper face.”

 

 

PROOF

 

I cast my skin in the direction of your mouth. My hands &how they’re quick to come undone along the tiny recesses of your canvas—the white of it. The trees outside have grown suspicious. They have made a list of demands, &they are asking from me a name. I cover the stains on my lip with their shade; I tell them the name is wire. They want to know who is there in the house with me. They want to know what I’ve done with the light. I tell them the mold on the walls, how it makes me sick some nights. How the cries are the souls on wax that bluesmen have left behind. They are burrowing as we speak, below me. We are all of us, in our own way, reaching for a tatter of proof.

 


Read more about ConnotationPress.com | Swoon & David Tomaloff - Featured Artists of the Month by connotationpress.com

 

THESPIANIC MYTHOLOGY No. 4

 

"Iceland.  Anesthesia? What was that word again?" The nebulous blue shadow cast his voice in the form of a question from the wings. He was never quite sure of himself in these situations. "It’s Gravy!" called an usher from the rear of the auditorium. "Gravy is majestic! Gravy is no false induction, jack!" Just then, rotten eggs. A minute later, the salmon. They make their way upstream and gather the old popcorn in readiness for their winter slumbers. "I could have been a flower girl," the nebulous blue shadow whispered to himself as he shrunk in despondence. “I could have pondered {XXX}, physics, or subliminal linguistics. I am the opposite of river. I am a slave to my one distinguishable character—my lack of proper face.”

 

 

PROOF

 

I cast my skin in the direction of your mouth. My hands &how they’re quick to come undone along the tiny recesses of your canvas—the white of it. The trees outside have grown suspicious. They have made a list of demands, &they are asking from me a name. I cover the stains on my lip with their shade; I tell them the name is wire. They want to know who is there in the house with me. They want to know what I’ve done with the light. I tell them the mold on the walls, how it makes me sick some nights. How the cries are the souls on wax that bluesmen have left behind. They are burrowing as we speak, below me. We are all of us, in our own way, reaching for a tatter of proof.


Read more about ConnotationPress.com | Swoon & David Tomaloff - Featured Artists of the Month by connotationpress.com

 

THESPIANIC MYTHOLOGY No. 4

 

"Iceland.  Anesthesia? What was that word again?" The nebulous blue shadow cast his voice in the form of a question from the wings. He was never quite sure of himself in these situations. "It’s Gravy!" called an usher from the rear of the auditorium. "Gravy is majestic! Gravy is no false induction, jack!" Just then, rotten eggs. A minute later, the salmon. They make their way upstream and gather the old popcorn in readiness for their winter slumbers. "I could have been a flower girl," the nebulous blue shadow whispered to himself as he shrunk in despondence. “I could have pondered {XXX}, physics, or subliminal linguistics. I am the opposite of river. I am a slave to my one distinguishable character—my lack of proper face.”

 

 

PROOF

 

I cast my skin in the direction of your mouth. My hands &how they’re quick to come undone along the tiny recesses of your canvas—the white of it. The trees outside have grown suspicious. They have made a list of demands, &they are asking from me a name. I cover the stains on my lip with their shade; I tell them the name is wire. They want to know who is there in the house with me. They want to know what I’ve done with the light. I tell them the mold on the walls, how it makes me sick some nights. How the cries are the souls on wax that bluesmen have left behind. They are burrowing as we speak, below me. We are all of us, in our own way, reaching for a tatter of proof.


Read more about ConnotationPress.com | Swoon & David Tomaloff - Featured Artists of the Month by connotationpress.com

 

THESPIANIC MYTHOLOGY No. 4

 

"Iceland.  Anesthesia? What was that word again?" The nebulous blue shadow cast his voice in the form of a question from the wings. He was never quite sure of himself in these situations. "It’s Gravy!" called an usher from the rear of the auditorium. "Gravy is majestic! Gravy is no false induction, jack!" Just then, rotten eggs. A minute later, the salmon. They make their way upstream and gather the old popcorn in readiness for their winter slumbers. "I could have been a flower girl," the nebulous blue shadow whispered to himself as he shrunk in despondence. “I could have pondered {XXX}, physics, or subliminal linguistics. I am the opposite of river. I am a slave to my one distinguishable character—my lack of proper face.”

 

 

PROOF

 

I cast my skin in the direction of your mouth. My hands &how they’re quick to come undone along the tiny recesses of your canvas—the white of it. The trees outside have grown suspicious. They have made a list of demands, &they are asking from me a name. I cover the stains on my lip with their shade; I tell them the name is wire. They want to know who is there in the house with me. They want to know what I’ve done with the light. I tell them the mold on the walls, how it makes me sick some nights. How the cries are the souls on wax that bluesmen have left behind. They are burrowing as we speak, below me. We are all of us, in our own way, reaching for a tatter of proof.

 


Read more about ConnotationPress.com | Swoon & David Tomaloff - Featured Artists of the Month by connotationpress.com

MARC NEYS / HOWIE GOOD - THE KILLING

Marc Neys / Howie Good - The Killing
 
Videopoetry International
 

 

MARC NEYS / INGEBORG BACHMANN - ALLE TAGE

 

Ingeborg Bachmann: Alle Tage  - Film by Swoon

Poetry Film International

 

MARC NEYS / YAHIA LABADIDI- OCHTEND- DAWNING

 
Ochtend - Dawning
 
Poetry Film International
 

 

 
Selected for '25th Instant Vidéo Poétique' and screened at Bibliotheca Alexandrina - Arts Center (28/11/2012 Alexandia, Egypt)/Official selection for the filmselection of ZEBRA 2012 /Screened at 'In de Luwte' (Roosdaal, Belgium) from 18-20 may 2012 (kalmkunstfestival.be)
 
A film by Swoon for the poem "Dawning" by Yahia Lababidi from 'Fever Dreams' (Crisis Chronicles Press, 2011).
 
 
 

MARIE CRAVEN/CANDIDA BAKER - IN THE FOREST

 

In the forest

by Candida Baker (poetry), Marie Craven (film)

Poetry Film International

 

 

MARIE CRAVEN/KALLIE FALANDAYS - ONE DREAM OPEN INTO MANY

Poetry Film International


One Dream Opening Into Many
by Marie Craven (film) and Kallie Falandays (text)

 

 

Poem Kallie Falandays

NOUSH ANAND/ CHARLES SIMIC - THE WHITE ROOM

The white room 

Poem Charles Simic, film by Noush Anand

POETRY FILM  International

 

OFF THE TRAIL - WINNER POETRY FILM FESTIVAL ZEBRA 2016

Off  The Trail

By Poets: Gary Snyder, Michael McClure   &  Filmmaker: Nick Jordan, Jacob Cartwright (USA)

Poetry Film International

Winner film International competition Poetry Film Festival ZEBRA 2016

Filmed in former US military barracks, and in the long-abandoned homes and circular library of Gary Snyder and Zen philosopher Alan Watts, Off the Trail follows a central protagonist, a soldier from another era, as he performs a series of actions and rituals. The uniformed figure paints Chinese nature symbols, chants, meditates and wanders dreamlike through a rolling Californian landscape of fog-shrouded hills, coastal defences and dense woodland valleys. Scenes are accompanied by haiku and poetry readings from poets Michael McClure and Gary Snyder, and the disembodied voice of Alan Watts, ruminating upon the passage of time and our perception of the wild. nickjordan.info/offthetrail.html
A short film adapted from Jacob Cartwright and Nick Jordan's longer work Headlands Lookout vimeo.com/87261286

POETRY SHORT BY MAGGIE BAILEY ABOUT SYLVIA PLATH

Video Poetry International

Poetry Short by Maggie Bailey

 

 

 

An Interview stems from a desire to explore the life of Sylvia Plath. This short film analyzes Plath’s feelings about her relationship with her husband, daily life, and raising her children, through dance and gesture work, paired with excerpts of an interview with Plath and her husband, Ted Hughes. Though she says quite the opposite in this interview, we can infer that she feels a loss of identity and purpose in life, in the midst of caring for a new baby. The year of the interview is 1961, two years prior to Plath’s suicide. Directed & filmed by Maggie Bailey. Edited by Maggie Bailey and Tyler Rubin. Performed by Heather Bybee. Music by Michael Wall. Interview with Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.

R. VILK/G. ISKANDER - GILGAMENSH'S SNAKE

Poetry Film International

Gilgamesh’s snake

by Roxana Vilk (film) and Ghareeb Iskander (poetry)

 

 

 

Authentic, full of emotion!

ROBERT PEAKE /VALERIE KAMPMEIER - URSULA

Robert Peake / Valerie Kampmeier

Poetry Film International

 

STUDIO REVOLT / KOSAI KHIEV - WHY I WRITE

Why I write
 
Poetry Film International
 
 
 
Winner in the categorie Best Poetry Performance  ZEBRA Poetry Filmfestival 2012
WHY I WRITE is the first episode of VERSES IN EXILE, a spoken word video series produced by Studio Revolt in collaboration with Khmer Exiled American (K.E.A.) poet Khiev Kosal. Through his poetry, Kosal reclaims his place in the world as a free man— a step that begins in Cambodia not America.

Studio Revolt is a Collaborative Media Lab: http://Studio-Revolt.com/
Kosal Khiev's Official Website: http://SpokenKosal.com/

Kosal Khiev is a poet, tattoo artist, and survivor of the US prison system. At age 16, Kosal was arrested in a gang fight, tried as adult and sentenced to 16 years in prison. He was released after 14 years on good behavior, and immediately detained by the U.S. immigration authority. He had to spend another year in the immigration prisons. In 2011, Kosal was deported to Cambodia, a country he had never seen. Life in Phnom Penh was the first freedom he experienced in 15 years.