what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice
A few months ago I read Hill of Doors by Robin Robertson and his words are hammering from inside my teeth still.
He sets scenes at a measured pace, his narrative starts a frost feathering up bowel walls. The images he draws are melancholic and musical, autumn at dusk, bright and frightening. “A whicker of pigeons” and a collie’s “rib cage like a sprung trap”. Delicious.
Robert Robertson reads At Roane Head.
poems, prose and pathways
Writer | Artist
Fatos e Curiosidades sobre a natureza e tecnologia
Meditations on Art and Life
"per l' allegria il pianeta nostro è poco attrezzato. Bisogna strappare la gioia ai giorni futuri "
a resource for moving poetry
Linking collage work to the meaning of personal and universal symbols.
This is my adventurous story about buying, designing, and renovating homes in ITALY