artMovingProjects
166 N.12th St, between Bedford and Berry Sts.,
Williamsburg (917-301-6680, 917-301-0306).
Subway: L to Bedford Avenue Thurday -Sunday, 1pm -
6pm
http://www.artmovingprojects.com
http://artmovingprojects.blogspot.com
Feb.28th - Mar.30th 2008 :) by appointment only
Closing Party: March 23rd Easter Sunday 7.00 p.m.-
Performance : Ken Butler, Leon Dewan
and Brian Dewan, Scott Fulmer, and
Tim Spelios
Cynthia Bloom
ÒOnly the good die youngÓ
Paintings,
photographs, credit cards, and assorted items come out of a home prepared for
sale to support her upcoming medical expenses. Also, savaged from the house the manuscripts for the ÒHappy
Holocaust Ò by J. Zvi Namenwirth and the definitive text in three volumes on
Mahler by his brother Micha Namenwirth. A mother-son psychodrama.
A new fresh
spring and a fresh new sound:
I want that
this song rings as the birds call
That oft
heard on a summer night
In an old
town along the water way.
Inside, it
was dark yet the silent street
Collected
twilight, last rays shone late
In the sky,
there fell a golden speckled shaft
Over the
roofs into my window pane.
Next blew a
youngster as on an organ pipe,
That shook
ripely in the open sky
As mellow
cherries do when a springtime wind
Awakes in the
woods to start its trip.
It roams on
bridges, and at waters edge,
So slowly
going, blowing everywhere.
Chirping as a
long bird, unaware
Of its joy
over the eveningÕs quietude.
And many a
spent man awaiting supper meal
Listened as
if it were an old tale,
Smiling while
the hand that closed the pane
Dawdled
momentarily for the youngster sang.
At war, I did
dream it was wartime yet:
A wooden
airplane tumbled from the sky
And rockingly
drove through the grass
To stop the
groaning, singing, and relief.
From the
sickly ark came wounded animals
Of each kind
one, dragging feet to a tent
While I was
to beautify this heavenly house
With grass,
tree twigs, the fieri firmament.
Then
what did I see on a long whitish
table
But the white
birdie with the bluest head
Just a blue
fire that in the evening heat
Burns on a
summery hillside top.
Was he badly
hurt and should I care for him?
Firmly he
clawed my finger tight.
Then, it was
night. Blenchingly white
Removed the
dawn when the sun appeared.
And, examing
my own two tiny hands,
The finger that
he clawed became blue.
I wrote this
verse as the bird did burn:
He glanced
back as to bless me as it seemed.
(in scripted
Cynthia Bloom the last poem 1991 by John Ree aka J. Zvi Namenwirth)
New
Media Project Space
Jens Brand
Music
and a music video based on what Madonna (Madonna Louise Ciccone) thinks it is
(or a respirator sounds like);