The Artists excuses…

In our mad rush to achieve all those insignificant, material standards that are imposed on us by modern society, we often find ourselves forgetting the meaning and true values of life itself. Losing any true feelings or genuine wishes along the way! Living in the same society, it is only through my works that I can set myself apart from all of that and display my bare soul… finding strength within the work itself! So feel free to stop and wonder… to ignore and pass by, criticise or praise them… but if they do catch your eye, engage the emotions they stir in you… These works are neither easy, nor pretty on the eye. They are purely snapshots of states of mind, thoughts and emotions from life, as it unfolds…

The Confessions Cicle - 'Once we were one'

Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the perfumes of spring.

I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands; how did your

lips feel on mine?

Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks, the white

statues that have neither voice nor sight.

I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten your eyes.

Like a flower to its perfume, I am bond to my vague memory of you. I live

with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will do me irreparable

harm.

Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.

I have forgotten your love, yet i seem to glimpse you in every window.

Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because of you, I

again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting stars, falling

objects.

Pablo Neruda

The Confessions Cicle - 'Spring Mist'

I want you to know one thing.

You know how this is:

If I look at the crystal moon,

at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if i touch near the fire the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats that sail

towards those isles of yours

that wait for me.

Well now,

if little by little you stop loving me,

I shal stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgetten you.

If you think it long and mad

the wind of banners,

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where i have roots

remember

that on that day, at that hour,

i shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

But if each day, each hour,

you feel you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

Margaret Atwood

The Confessions Cicle - 'The Navel'

Leave me a place underground, a labyrinth,

where I can go, when I wish to turn,

without eyes, without touch,

in the void, to dumb stone,

or the finger of shadow.

I know that you cannot, no one, no thing

can deliver up that place, or that path,

but what can I do with my pitiful passions,

if they are no use, on the surface

of everyday life,

if I cannot look to survive,

except by dying, going beyond, entering

into the state, metallic and slumbering,

of primeval flame?

Pablo Neruda

The Confessions Cicle - 'The Soul's Corner Stone'

I do not love you except because I love you;

I go from loving to not loving you,

From waiting to not waiting for you

My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one that I love;

I hate you deeply, and hating you,

Bent to you, and the measure of my changing love for you

Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume

My heart with its cruel

Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who

Dies, the only one and I will die of love because I love you,

Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

Pablo Neruda

The Confessions Cicle - 'Trapped in a Riddle'

I can write the saddest lines tonight.

Write for example: ‘The night is fractured

and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’

The night wind turns in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest lines tonight.

I loved her, sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like these I held her in my arms.

I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes.

I can write the saddest lines tonight.

To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her.

Hear the vast night, vaster without her.

Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass.

What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her.

The night is fractured and she is not with me.

That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off,

my soul is not content to have lost her.

As though to reach her, my sight looks for her.

My heart looks for her: she is not with me

The same night whitens, in the same branches.

We, from that time, we are not the same.

I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.

Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses.

Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes.

I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her.

Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.

Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms,

my soul is not content to have lost her.

Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer,

and these are the last lines I will write for her.

Pablo Neruda

Alex Darziu

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