#octavio paz

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soracities:Octavio Paz, The Art of Poetry No. 42 (interviewed by Alfred Mac Adam)[Text ID: “INTERVIE

soracities:

Octavio Paz,The Art of Poetry No. 42 (interviewed by Alfred Mac Adam)

[Text ID: “INTERVIEWER: Is this why the language of mysticism is so erotic?

PAZ: Yes, because lovers, which is what the mystics are, constitute the greatest image of communion. But even between lovers solitude is never completely abolished. Conversely, solitude is never absolute. We are always with someone, even if it is only our shadow. We are never one—we are always we. These extremes are the poles of human life.”]


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mifunebooty:

“No matter how complete our dominion over another is, there is always an impassable zone, an inaccessible particle. The others are unreachable, not because they are impenetrable, but because they are infinite. Each person hides an infinity. No one can possess the totality of another for the same reason that no one can give of one’s self entirely. A total submission would be death, a negation both of possessing and giving. We ask for everything, and they give it to us: a death, nothing. ”

The Universal Dissolution, An Erotic Beyond: Sade by Octavio Paz

WEIRD FORMAT WEDNESDAY: Marcel Duchamp, 1968More Duchamp!  Because, why not?Here’s a 30 second videoWEIRD FORMAT WEDNESDAY: Marcel Duchamp, 1968More Duchamp!  Because, why not?Here’s a 30 second videoWEIRD FORMAT WEDNESDAY: Marcel Duchamp, 1968More Duchamp!  Because, why not?Here’s a 30 second videoWEIRD FORMAT WEDNESDAY: Marcel Duchamp, 1968More Duchamp!  Because, why not?Here’s a 30 second videoWEIRD FORMAT WEDNESDAY: Marcel Duchamp, 1968More Duchamp!  Because, why not?Here’s a 30 second video

WEIRD FORMAT WEDNESDAY: Marcel Duchamp, 1968

More Duchamp!  Because, why not?

Here’s a 30 second video showing all the elements of this piece!

https://youtu.be/Gjfkp18UmK0

The author, Octavio Paz, was a Mexican poet and was awarded the 1990 Nobel Prize in Literature.  This set contains an essay by Paz about Duchamp, a selection of Duchamp’s writing compiled by Paz, several reproductions and a stand up cut-out of Duchamp.

Find it in the catalog

Find other Marcel Duchamp materials in our special collection

SEE ALL WEIRD FORMAT WEDNESDAY POSTS


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 ©Natasha Adrastea “More than air More than water More than lips Light light Your body is the trace

©Natasha Adrastea

“More than air
More than water
More than lips
Light light

Your body is the trace of your body”


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Standing: Tomás Segovia, Gabriel Zaid, Marie-Jose Paz, Alejandro Rossi, José de la Colina, Salvador

Standing: Tomás Segovia, Gabriel Zaid, Marie-Jose Paz, Alejandro Rossi, José de la Colina, Salvador Elizondo

On the floor: Octavio Paz, Juan García Ponce, Michelle Albán, Kazuya Sakai

Rogelio Cuéllar, Mexico City (1975)

Vía


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octavio paz, the labyrinth of solitude

feral-ballad:

You haven’t vanished. The letters of your name are still a scar that doesn’t heal,

Octavio Paz, tr. by Eliot Weinberger, from The Poems of Octavio Paz; “The Prisoner”

The mortifying ordeal of being forgotten.

Danny Castillones Sillada,Those Sweet and Painful Memories // Artwork by @/zhihuie on twitter // V.E. Schwab,The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue//Halsey,Angel on Fire//Steve Salo,Forgotten Art//Halsey,Angel on Fire//Sarah Thebarge,The Invisible Girls//Mitski,Working for the Knife // Artwork by @/bekysfairy on ig // Octavio Paz, tr. by Eliot Weinberger, from The Poems of Octavio Paz; “The Prisoner”

equilibriocomunicativo:

A world is born when two kiss.

Octavio Paz.

Octavio Paz - Between Going and Coming Between going and stayingthe day wavers,in love with its own

Octavio Paz - Between Going and Coming

Between going and staying
the day wavers,
in love with its own transparency.
The circular afternoon is now a bay
where the world in stillness rocks.

All is visible and all elusive,
all is near and can’t be touched.

Paper, book, pencil, glass,
rest in the shade of their names.

Time throbbing in my temples repeats
the same unchanging syllable of blood.

The light turns the indifferent wall
into a ghostly theater of reflections.

I find myself in the middle of an eye,
watching myself in its blank stare.

The moment scatters. Motionless,
I stay and go: I am a pause.


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