Singaporedriving License In Bali

act

" Still what remains of fire against the cold test, and what we can perceive future blooms. " Nathalie Riera

" ... You exemptions freedom feverish and clear to all who have lost. You re-enchanted our nights with the innocence of urgent a cuckoo call invisible to the edge of the woods .. . " A. Chenet , from a letter to Natalie Riera .

the night of June 15 to 16, Nathalie Riera, poet and creator of the magazine "The books Eucharis ", his companion and her child were victims of the deadly flood that hit the Var. Their modest home was flooded by torrents of mud, farm animals were drowned, the vegetable food devastated. In extremis, they could take refuge on the roof of their "shack" with their dog. A helicopter rescued the night. Around 8am, June 16, I talked on the phone with Nathan who had not slept the night she told me was a nightmare when the waves engulfed by black everything she had built with his own, in recent months: a very small paradise which gave them just what it takes to survive as long as love poetry and do stand emperlent days and nights of unmatched beauty. Her voice had the gravity of these beings who have nothing to lose since they have already lost everything except life. All his writings, his computer, its records were covered, obliterated by mud. She asked me just to warn his friends and readers that the magazine does seem likely further long for an indefinite period would remain unreachable. The tone of his voice so tense expressed extraordinary courage. Despite the disaster, Nathalie was good, she stood beyond the despair that she was going through. Woman, wife and mother sublimely prepared to fight to recover his home, his tribe to restore the courage to overcome this "test of fate." As she described to me the visions of a country overwhelmed by a kind of liquid Apocalypse, I suddenly felt an intense joy, mad joy: it was safe, she, with her son and the man she loves.

Nathalie Riera has fully dedicated, through his acts, his writings and his work (she leads writing workshops at the Remand Prison in Aix-en-Provence) poetry, art and literature to the extent these disciplines in perpetual motion we give, probably better than any theoretical learning or moral conscience of our unlimited freedom whatsoever in sharing a common experience intense, or contemplation and meditation. The achievement of art, whatever form adopted, it is for implementation of human solidarity, the highest perhaps if the artist does not merely expose himself, but to parade "pass" vital signs that can change and evolve the human condition. Each of his "Notebooks", consisting in the love of the work to be done, fabulous open horizons of what seems to be the only conquest worthy of a human being's Insight. And for that we must put all his heart and his whole sensibility. Where intellect comes to himself and divides it subverts everything develops and dissected, where reason ignoring any sense to want to force strict, freezes the living, there remain only ruins and desolation, throughout human history shows us. It is certainly no coincidence that Nathan titled " Clairvision " one of his recent books it celebrates the thinness of its sensitive relations with the world in immediate connection with the exclusive beauty of moments that most people called civilized are no longer capable of perceiving. In this sense, it brings us back to our roots vital, where the arts of creation marry infinitely varied currents of all life forms.

Now, the urgency, I will first call for solidarity of all those who made poetry their true place of birth, axis of metamorphoses which operates the propitiatory magic words and images, those for whom poetry is the field of action of thinking beings to the good of all, I appeal to you, men and women for whom the generosity n is not the pebble that is thrown into the sky. Today, Nathan does not even have a car to move (she lives in the countryside away from towns). I suggest we all send him a check in his name, each according to his means, at: She and her family can not return to their home before September. It will make a loan in order to hold on even more reluctant than assurances already et dans le cas des meileur it verseront miettes par rapport à des que ce qu'ils ont perdu. Merci à tous

A poème de Nathalie: http://lescarnetsdeucharis.hautetfort.com/

In a fraction of time



find heart
immensity

Who spoke of death?


gardener fate


speak without ornament, which means it does not obscure
never air this

is always beyond the poetry
beyond the farthest in life



I have not withheld anything

***

Streams are peaceful
without fire without salt

try the right word


approximate arrival of your voice my fingers


you approach the water in the light of what we do is





in a fraction of time
say say say you re telling me the trip


is always a prelude




truces and undertows
a letter

a shadow wing

pollen
disorder

memorable herbs




alcoves



bubbling inside me


you always
nearest


beyond me
Ridge


know the sun

** *

in a fraction of the time blazing

shining
Dans une fraction de temps


intensely there
helianthi
groundnuts
cabbage Siam
departments honey


late frost

Nathalie Riera, May 2009

________________________ ________________________

in una di tempo frazione

heart back in the immensity

who told you about death?


gardener fate

unadorned
speak means
never darkens the air

is still beyond the poem
beyond the farthest in life



I n 've learned nothing


***


The streams are peaceful
no fire no salt

I seek the right word to your voice



approach heightens my fingers up

water in the light of what does not remain


in a fraction of time
tell me tell you re saying is that
the trip is always a prelude





surf lulls and a letter
a shadow
wing


pollen in the disorder

memorable herbs



alcoves



bubbling inside of me


you always
nearest


overflows
fills me


I know sun



***



in a fraction of time
burning bright

distraught


intensely

pear sunflower sprouts ground
Siam
honeycombs


late frost
in a fraction of time

© Nathalie Riera, 2009

This poem was published online: http://www.bribes-en-ligne.fr/spip.php?article700


■ The Notebooks Eucharis No. 23, June 14, 2010: http://lescarnetsdeucharis.hautetfort.com/archive/2010/06/14/bulletin-n-23-carnets-d-eucharis- June-2010.html

Enlarge Maxx Cock Growth At Walgreens Store

Exorcism of poetry (2)

Selected Poems of Erwin Christian Andersen :




1

Stripped shadows
Countdown that night
pallor of the digits in the peat

hands and singing at the turn of the razor

man knows the killing of wolves under
laugh
where the mask of the mouth lips

kills the butcher and the hook
stripped the shadows at night

assumed the weave of a word often
remugle hale and persistence
out bunkers belly
palms
say the saga of headwinds
and birds nest in the chilly
eyes



2

the way of the ford the stream
sneaky awaits the traveler suddenly he springs

and grabbed him by the ankles
man surprised
wobbles resists falls
struggles over water soothed body goes

why it means the river would
he denies is that revenge
he calls a tribute ransom
water means nothing
the river is without desire
the torrent without hate there is no conspiracy

each substance has its
and sacrificed to the ephemeral
all go watch the man
belly up to the discretion of the severe flood
attentive and they
reflect the chronic
banks and drowned
count on their long fingers algae



3


We had a shared
sky where the birds were playing for a few

rare patches of blue
we have made war
birds fled
the sky closed
spring breakup

took everything we had to live a life

among an infinity of destinies


no other project than to live as motionless

made and unmade
sun
stirred hiccups
sweet and luxurious
in fruit ripening
there was neither sense nor reason

but only the sky

single life we had shared a sky

will not be repeated



4

nails are brazen
snickers when water

to live escapes the noose cry

grass grass tilts the scythe

granite granite wife's womb and not betray
point drop



5

Caresses jostle
the door of my hands which
bend your body seeking

which I tear you cry I do not know

already beg your sex
your eyes say the pleasure latent
our bellies
marry and the wedding is beautiful
a young girl moans in you
her beauty overwhelms me and makes us complicit

it is gentle death at the confluence of your

legs heavy and long and held to ransom




6
If
was the gaze of the other kennel
in what and how I stop
barked
tell me suspicious man
of every infamy
and bloodshed
my beautiful soul
do I use other
is well in your eyes I wash my

your mouth and I speak as I cut off the
hand
m'excave
eyes or cut my tongue

not change anything when I put my skeleton in the ground

will charge you in the scapula
I used as a mirror and we laugh together

pigs
discover us why would we

economy because we did litter

we slept in the same lair
traveled by the same dreams and obscene
knife between his teeth
celebrated incest pictures
captive
this mirror you old friend the other

we know so closely and for so long you're touching

when you disarm
and m ' open the door of your arms
if I were to die soon
you're the only one that I would miss
the only



7

Before write
will see your poem
he waits on the threshold
why did you come
he does not know
put it in trust
you read unhurried
facing
your poem and you read it you

eye to eye and are

random wells
people of the desert when they cross

after walking long

spell it well
every word

for the first reading because it is inevitable you will know where to

if the eyes of your poem fleeing
that it is slaughtered, the felon


if instead you feel great joy because you
recognized

your child take it in your arms
hug him
walk your fingers over his body

it difficult to ecstasy
delights to discover if his poem
aspen
finally rejoice
is a good poem



9

that day had risen early
he wanted to be memorable and put on his gloves
White
was in another time on another planet


without angles or white lines
no constraint

one would lose force in circles
I had strayed too

without
know we lived the same loss
when I passed him
suit
long waiting
death


Erwin Christian Andersen

Small Clear Bubbles Inside Lilps

Exorcism of poetry (1)

Christian Andersen Erwin, writer and poet French-speaking Belgian, Danish-born father, André Maurits Flemish and Belgian mother, Yvonne Marie is Dhuygelaere born in 1944 and lives in Charleroi, Belgium. By 1960, at age 16, he agrees politically supporting Algerian independence (it was found recently - in September 2005, the former Algerian president Ahmed Ben Bella , for whom he worked at the an evening at the Chateau de Monceau-sur-Sambre, Charleroi, Belgium) and joining the Trotskyist Fourth International, which at that time just had a new division under the leadership of its Latin American office then headed by Juan Posadas , aka Homero Cristalli .

Andersen became one of the founders of the Belgian section of the 4th International called the Revolutionary Workers' Party (Trotskyist - POR (T)). After being at 16, secretary of the nucleus of Monceau-sur-Sambre (Charleroi), it quickly became, under the pseudonym Andrew, politburo member Belgian alternate member of the European office and responsible for the newspaper The Workers' Struggle (Which became "Workers Fight") and in charge of security of the organization in Belgium.
During these years he participated very actively in supporting the organization of Guatemalan guerrilla commander MR13 of Yon Sosa (who was murdered by the Americans, like the other leader Turcios Lima ) as well as, training activists smuggled into Spain to fight Franco. He made many visits to France and Italy.
After 1967 it is moving towards anarchism and nurtures strong sympathy for the RAF Ulrike Meinhof .
He interrupts his schooling at 17 and becomes official at the Ministry of Works until 2005.
He discovered the Algerian Sahara in 1969. That glare: a passion that began last until 1995. A serious accident prohibited him permanently from his rooms again in the desert. Andersen, who had discovered the poet in 1973 had given up writing for 22 years to deliver better this passion sands. He returned to writing in 2004: Address to the Dogs and Early History of Murder ( poems prefaced by Marcel Moreau) and in 2005, with sad poems for children of unspeakable century.

He had published three other books before: Earth Blood Fire (1976), Elements for a Sacrifice ( price-Maurice Gauchez Philippot 1977) and LIGATION & CLOT foreword by Werner Lambersy in 1982 .
Meanwhile, he began to prose and published some essays: I deserted my beans , Exorcism of Sand , Standard jubilant, poetic function. He defines himself as a poet and traveler, and individualist anarchist, since 2004, as a polemicist.
In the 1970s, Charleroi, he founded the "g roup yBy " who published the poetry journal Watermark. In 2003 he created
Profana Bellic CRM (coordination of resistance to monotheism) and launches poetry collection " nothing that 1 poem" with Baloise Nicoletta Gossen .
is still with her in 2004 he created the website bilingual French-German Verbalta poetry.

Coming soon: GLASSBREAK or defenestration of Angels, with a before-say Marcel Moreau and a preface by Yann Orveillon .

Dr. Moreau knows Erwin Christian Andersen past thirty years is his next book " GLASSBREAK or defenestration of Angels":

It's poetry I like it raw and odor coming out of the woods, where convoluted goldsmith and his leather work.

That beast is close behind Love that precedes it, she calls on her skin a light flickering, like the old Suns fell, as they were dancing despair into the arms of drunkenness.

From this point too light, just enough to remind us that words do not come to light, but as adultery or incest, between dog and wolf.

It will be understood that in poetry, I am wary of too much bare breezes, reflections and those I do not know what that intangible is assigned uses. Nothing like here: the flesh wants to decide what the verb and the verb answers the grip of incarnations. This does not music. The music is, and it is sensory, necessarily. She rhythm all seasons of the body.

Like any poet in whom the compass is a time of appendicular desire, making it impossible for a serious starting point mapping or fall, our poet wanders. A deranged he walks, trails presses. But he wandered for a good cause, the cause of women.

With it, his reason can rotate up to seven times more in the Cartesian before dying, still dripping, to an orgasm.

The man did his time in the desert, contemplative hermit, indolence caravan. He invaginated all the dunes. He now devotes himself to irrigation luxurious. It moved his thirst for the river to Venustic. After sanding the raw, out of sight. After the vast, mystical, the deep, abyssal, another religion, without God, a sacred organic, a plump spirituality.

The enjoyment has changed unknown or unseen. It is always praise and vertigo, tongue hanging out, but this time the Absolute is female, he has the guts, belly, shouting and illegibility final borders of the uterus and madness. And it is harder journey, nor

more incredible, I know something.

I happened to never come back: it was not really a trip, it was a return to the beginnings of the world was an Adoration. Erwin Christian Andersen is a seizure when he hates, which génufléchit when he likes.

What he wrote touched me, and I say.

Marcel Moreau

is a small selection of poems that I sent December 8, 2009 at Yann Orveillon so that it get an idea of poetry Erwin Christian Andersen :



" Finally out of the night, out of the mud. Ho! As they take the feet and legs at night and mud "... Robert Desnos


BIOGRAPHIES" poetic "and" VULGARIS "

zonard fool the naked man from the suburbs of Geiger blinked red oscillating Å on level of anxiety to the more stubborn salt qu'aiguilles Carthage lost in trade exchanges with Africa and compasses Nilotic spearhead pointed to where came rattling semaphores switches sealed off from the cold sky as notary will lead to certified vacuum where everything finally understood that blends brews and remoulded without complaint or request barbaric plan beard lichen and pus of days in the brine hands without anger or pleasure in age blindness deaf walls belies the grim town to the bone of the first bits of surgery and pain "like a wire in my skin oder nichts aber immer ja arriba.

( extract clots Tying - 1981)

My blood is born in the country without
Dogs
close to sources of questioning

he is the vassal and smells the time
his singing is for dogs
designed
infinity can be heard from as many
I want ants that
the henchmen sent to
honey from my lips and try to dry up
my speech today is my blood
joyful young

however he was among those who are
on the cutting knives
he
shroud of memory that he put in this time of

pale dawn raids and insults
farm where it was hitting in the aortic arch

my singing has learned his banner is
bruises
background puzzle is

become proud, but it can be deferens:
he talks to dogs dog

***

I'm more
without knowing how many people yesterday

tomorrow lined up

confused with the night time they move

speak and sing in me pride and joy especially strong muscles
vibrate under my skin until

shiver and my heart beats for miles
the Faucard decimated their ranks
the passage of large rivers
time they went their hordes
yet reached the other bank
their mothers often have
kidded in the mud and I'm
muddy
come to me I smell

centuries and hell
hasten
my injury is my song that takes you


they announce my poem that moves and calls the dawn

***

Do you have more truth
stumbling
that the purest gems

ringing language
O masks superimposed
as silent and quiet
purposely
tables Act
I get drunk here
the pullout
you recompose
endless
and book me panting

glare of nine masks

lifting arms rattle
at sunset
the sky ablaze
knife to the throat glows

life is to spread it on a deserted beach

that death

our children vomited

***

He watched the canoes
they guessed there
in the curve of the river they approached

propelled at high speed with lots of shouting
by paddlers dressed in black brawlers

they were already within range of a few temples
Quick
still separated man from his death
the turbulence of water were being
Violent
he grabbed a wild rose petal
and drank quietly accumulated water in his hollow

then the finger he picked
a bit of fine dust of the road
and has painted a sign on the front
a tear appeared at the corner of his eye
hesitated and stopped
with tiny licks
as a puppy he began to lap
he drank it very slowly disappeared inside
his body wide open as reconciled

already docked canoes

he embarked on a new journey

***

Children loved the company of well
their eyes water and deep dark

their strong shoulders
stone sealed
singing haunting
pulleys
penalty under this learned magisterium I knew

happy death without having to undergo
in fatal wedding party
it was I was able to laugh at
wells ironic
called
happy death traps and misinterpretations
sense of reason
sluggish sweetish the pale
narcosis dreams
distillates tenuous and fragile
consciousness
they taught me
drunkenness dizziness
initiating me to the dangerous proximity of sinkholes

wells were
my mirrors I saw my double front
I 'learned to read lips

***

Where does the blood flow in long and


in streams on the slopes of
be
and centuries

do to these vast prairies redheads
haunted by thirst irreducible
and wild beasts
to these places before the ancestor of apes

to mischievous eyes
openers of the first tracks he would

killings in the crush of falling drops

discovering the litany of defeats
forgotten the essential
tropisms of heaven and earth
water and fire
rejected
mysterious signs carved in stone or
painted purple
which always led to sumptuous

epiphanies where is the blood that still guides

and if necessary the
otherwise harass the few sheepdogs
weavers glanders
burdened with a thousand and syphilis
I tend ear in vain
we hear more songs
where are they remained
Is mad poet on his swing
to sing his poem still
where drums and fifes
cries of women
laughter of children clapping beats
deaf
feet that will give rhythm and tempo
to light trance
muzzle fevers
teach where and how to get to bed

when hungry and cold
afraid we laid
green wood on the fire which is dying in the darkness of
refuge
coughing a bad cough
which does not bode well
took cold blood
we threw the bread

Christian Erwin Andersen

Top photo: EC Andersen Cape Tenes in Algeria (1973)

Links:

- Broken glass

- the outside

- Hostel

In No. 4 Voice Other to be published this week you will find many poems taken from " Broken glass or defenestration of Angels" as well as a test EC Andersen entitled: "The standard jubilant "

Are Gential Warts Balck

Voice Other No. 4 of

Cover design: Pascal Gabet
Model: Dom Corriera

"Poetry is a Thurs
dangerous "Friedrich Hölderlin

" ... We express our emotions, as violent as they might be, we make our ways of humanity, armed with prestigious passionate visions, which have continued divert us for us to dismiss where we were already expected ... "Andre Chenet (From editorial)

BE DISTRIBUTED TO THE REVIEW FROM THE NEXT 15 May

S UMMARY
" Always listen in the voice itself
other " Monny of Boully

- Florence Christmas : Ghosts of the infinite little

p2

".../...

sometimes a sailor, a killer of wolves, a crammer monster, a child perforated
home late from her date
you with his latest ghost
they were summoned to the edge of the sands
.../..."


- Didier Manyach : Zero Hour

p4

".../...
Some boats hollowed with fire
bones of beasts cold
Loads of gold and weapons.
Land uninhabited and hungry families.
snowy passes and straits of ice covered by
hordes
and embankments mass graves.
The sea was a vast plain
An endless steppe
.../..."


- Remy Katy: Stories of the Great Plague

p5

" ... if there was indeed a common will in fact locked up here and finish with the company whatsoever, incorrigible dreamers had kept pens and paper, just discovered they were assassinated on the spot, they blew up ships, planes explode, we went to our loss in the belief and I can tell the joy of a child who flies to imitate the birds, we did not expect death inactive, we helped to die each other in an immense burst of humanity ... "

- Camille Loty Malebranche : Disenchantment

p8

".../...
I woke
And I saw as heavy gestures and interaction of our ills
Juggling maniac for our Spartan disillusioned
Our anthropomorphic beasts, cannibals
.../..."


- Jean-Marc Lafreniere : What have we done with the beauty of the world?

p11

"dispossessed by the slot machines, piggy bank gutted ghettos balance his blood and sweat. Children from pain to play between the virile old condoms and dirty needles. They are not left suffering a life-sucking, shit the elderly, the derision of the world in garbage bags. The standard of living goes down but the Dow Jones back ... "

- Yann Orveillon : The Passion Rimbaud

p13

"... Whatever the degree of consciousness he has of his disposition, the observer who does not himself work as a poet can not help but judge of poetry as a gratuitous act. Having no market value it has no exchange value, so it is free to think that there is no point !..."

- Ghyslaine Leloup : This germinating world awaits our courage

p18

".../...
The thirsty land of miracles
reveal his songs betrothal
And our vows of love confiscated
.../..."


- Tahar Bekri : Palestine Salam

p19

".../...
If Jenin Arab embryo and fetus
you buried alive forgetful of history
If the powder is your censer
If your rockets hurt my dark night
Your slabs they console themselves for being my rubble ;?
.../..."


- Jullian Isabelle : The High Walls

p21

".../...
Saida works ... It works

long under fire from guns.
Under the storm of bombs
singing a tune very sweet
to rock her little brother
.../..."

- Pedro Vianna : I was there

p22

".../...
I live man rising in his fall
I saw the man preserve his death
I saw the man grow up its negation
.../..."


- André Laude : Poems found

p24

".../...
We are the people of the ashes of anxiety and offense
we race scattered along the tracks of blood
us this gigantic pile of bones at times deficient renewed violence today is the
sacred book that records battle defeats hopes
We're not only lost in one night putrid ruled by monsters
.../..."


- SPECIAL SECTION emmanuelle k : Bullies (full version)

p26

".../...
And your eyes of stillbirths
miserably roses without blood flow and your heads
obtuse poor orators
see nothing there
include drop .
But the terrible death instinct of beasts who lives

you feel the uncommon thing

single living thing to kill so

.../..."

- Tristan Cabral : General Hospital

p32

".../...
in another dorm
attached to a heater exploded in
face towels white
you ask an old poet who painted Jesus

doing the Iron Cross on a flying trapeze

.../...


- Erwin Christian Andersen : Standard jubilant (reflection, followed by a selection of poems)

p34

"... We must" take and create happiness "A simple pleasure, situated at the antipodes of bulimia consumer, the happiness of the cheetah lazily lying on a tree branch in an unspoiled nature, the happiness of the angler, and to show it, show it in designing a legitimate pride and hope that it provokes in the other the desire to try to turn ... "

- Nathalie Riera : Clairvision

p38

.../... our mouths, green leaves of the dream I think when you
between paragraphs & verses

wrapped in silence
buttons to where you defeated me
your hands tied Flax
unwinds me unhooks unfolds & I trust in
rate of the foam in the heat of hot
.../...


- Carlos Henderson : Excess black

p40

".../...

he said he must start all over again, we must remake the world, continue the sentence
endless bursts of speech furrowing nothingness



he said
continue digging still in the dark there comes the glare
no pact with the absurd: a pact with my empty plain and clear
; ; ; speech
.../..."


- Cristina Castello : Tides

p43

".../... For
scissors I cut off the alphabet

I castrated my country * Ink and sap

Without that and nothing in this South

Exiled from the echo of my alpha
... / ...


- John Joubert: The reversal of speech

p45

".../...
Now this is unexpected: a fresh look

resurrection as the eye of childhood
on a garden of love where happiness
opened in the innocence of the rose
.../..."


- Cristian Ronsmans : Poetry Is a Game?

p47

"... the entertainment is, of course, the action to be entertained or entertain. Or entertain nothing vulgar, contrary to an idea too often received and accepted, alas. In fact entertained is to be different. It be different, be different, be the Other. It goes back to ancient times, the "mimesis "Very ancient method used in all initiation rites in origin. Differentiate themselves ... "

- Flaviano Pisanelli (Italy): Genesi / Genesis

p49

".../...
First the white list

root in the desert once
deaf fiber
harps-fossil

e il mondo di inability
sfiorare altro mondo
.../..."


- Xavier Lainé : Front fog water and

p51

".../... Frail
evanescence
At the heart of the fracture
What remains of life
Between scattered fragments

abolished the borders of time
Is that front fog and water
.../..."

- Paul Mari : From a country that does not exist yet

p53

".../...
Like others drink their red wine
on table corners of rulership

social conflicts, the curses of the gods,
he hopes the end of storm winds,
that man becomes man
.../..."


- Dom Corriera : Unpublished Poems

p56

"... / ... I'll change my dreams

For children's drawings on
fogging the windows of trains
Crossing winters indifference
.../. .. "


- Marcel Moreau : Word and Venus

p59

".../...
I've been looking for my words in my desire to tell you I have found in
want your love you do
.../..."


- Andre Chenet : Secret poem (Excerpts)

p60

".../...
There was an innocent child
who picked it apart
the place upside
a child with narrow hips
gestures acute
playing with a green bird
.../..."


- Umar Timol : Blood (Preview)

p62

".../... You are
mirror. And I'll smash. And your

fissures settle my veins. And my blood
long after my death
reap your breath on the esplanade of the madness.
.../..."


- Werner Lambersy : Coimbra (Excerpts)

p64

".../... The song had stopped

Or something
thing in singing is not known
Something
Who had no place
And the silence was
A lid on a lack of eye

was unimportant
For trade or reports from

forces was irrelevant
Tell yourself you could do without
: speech without
miracle was still a bright
.../..."


- Pier Mayer-Dantec Poems

p67

".../...
Dogs backwards
sleep in our brains
It's going to rain in torrents
On the backs of devotees.
.../..."


- to read, see and discover (Presentations, Events, News)

p68

- Zen & Haiku (Test of Andre Chenet )

p69

"... Elusive mirror shards illuminating the spirit, the haiku (the contraction of two Japanese words: haiku-ka and hokku, the first poem which could bring free while the second suggests the initial verse a poem or longer composed of two or more people) have such humble little riddles (koan *) quivering, soothing, amaze, either gay or sad ... "

" Always listen in itself
the voices of others "

Monny of Boully

Publication Manager: André Chenet - literary Advisor: CE Andersen, Artistic Advisor
-comp Dom Corriera - Cover design Pascal Gabet
Printing: CAP 49, av. Georges Clemenceau BP 21 101-06002 Nice Cedex 1 Tel. 04 93 44 55 08
1 May 2010 - ISSN 1766-6945

Voices of Others, Poetry, founded in 2003, will reappear once or twice times a year initially. Its editorial board (not final) is already composed of a constellation of poets from different regions of France and francophone countries. In each issue of foreign authors will be invited to present an overview of poetry in their countries. The online journal will DANGER POETRY relay and crucible of creation to the printed journal (A4). Exchanges and connections with other journals are already underway. Poetry does not belong to anyone and we do not leave jail in a spirit of chapel and for this reason that members of editorial boards and reading are from very different backgrounds
Not being dependent on grants of state bodies or private, the Executive Committee (founding members of the association) of the magazine launched a subscription to readers of DANGER POETRY and more generally all those for whom poetry is par excellence and the rigorous art inspired live in freedom.

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Subscription

Simply fill out the form below and after reproduction send a check made payable to :

DANGER POETRY, "La Casetta" 53 Rue Yves Klein, 06480 La Colle s / Loup. ________________________________________________________________

Name: Name

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the heart of your choice:

♡ simple Subscription to The Voice of the Other is: 12 € + 3 € 50: 15 € 50

♡ Subscription Support risk for 3 issues: : 36 €

♡ Subscription to the association DANGER POETRY, who will publish the Voice of Others: 25 €

♡ € 5 for the unemployed and people in difficulties.

Any contribution as a gift of course bring additional creative energy to continue this odyssey a little crazy.

♡ Benefactor, from: 100 €
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email addresses :
- lavoixdesautres@wanadoo.fr
- danger-poesie@orange.fr

provisional Site: http:// poesiedanger.blogspot.com /

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