blue man/bird-man in his

feather-embroidered wings

the cock of the walk

between his favourite women

embraced with fine slender

fingers/great bodylines of

a dusky-golden muse with

fire streaming from her belly

her fav leg supported on

the head of her indian

ancestor –

bells ringing/the music of

seduction playing/the drum

of life beating

the rhythm of life

in a round-dance

a roundabout of emotions and

freed minds –

love the greatest healer of

wounds and weary hurt

love the bridge across every

man-made obstacle.

love will achieve all.

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

gentle brush strokes depict

on the painting

the poet’s state of innermost

feelings:

half of the portrait’s left side

as if excitement will rush his

blood/lift him up to a tete-a-tete

with his beloved

at an intense moment of having

fallen in love/dreamy eyes/ but

then the right side where the

stirrings of love have petered

out –

the shards of remembrances

of a love that had been tragically

lost splinters his face

her dusky almond shaped eyes

drowned in the ink-blue sea

of sadness of shed tears of being

taken untimely from this world

of a few minutes if happiness

violence opposed to a happy glow

at the purple moment

the poet fused spiritually

with his muse.

purple.elprup

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

the way you draw

and paint

that’s how I’d aim

to write:

at least for a start a few

poems

one could turn-out

a wondrous reflection

the art selected from the

pool of the world-history

of art –

that endless louvre of all

collections combined

including your own

symbolistic art –

an amazing bedazzlement

of mind and soul

melting down of all

resistance to be seduced

and finally being taken

fish/hook/and sinker

into the artist’s wonderland

of eternal magic:

that’s how i try to illustrate

my feelings

where i’ll turn the written

words into a drawing/

a painting/a mixed media

piece of creation/

recalling the way you draw

and paint.

hommage.egammoh

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

today’s artist has to be intrepid

when exhibiting his originals

in a public space. indeed!

‘Raubkunst’ – ‘Art-jacking’ is a

criminal act like any robbery is

handed down from the fascist

era

but also prevalent thru’ history.

instead of paying the artist’s due

he or she – messengers of the

gods –

kicked/beaten/destroyed in an act

of denunciation

by the perpetrator

for the benefit of an incognito

collector?

usually.

however/the artist has observed

with fright the development of

estranged attitudes toward art

world-wide

an increase in disrespect and

violence:

jackers and rippers on the move

stay intrepid/artist

intrepid.dipertni

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

“it’s great what you’ve done

the past years” H said at the

meeting

before even the first impressions

of them had sunk into H studying

the exhibition of zg/

artist and poet/but as an artist

he recognized the works of

another artist immediately.

as they talked H switched on his

digital phone and recorded

zg’s talk

and his thoughts on his

apollo-frieze

and he explained to H his own

inspirations that led to its unique

creation in athens.

“this is superb” H said and carried

on recording ‘the meeting’.

since some tome the artists

hadn’t met

but then their life’s boats steered

into different directions.

“now then” H said “i will help you

to have a set of good pictures for

reproductions of your art.

“yes/i’d like to bring out a good set

of reference-photographs in book

form

to show my work when required.

H filmed with his high-resolution

handy while Z spoke

finally the owner got interested in

one of the paintings he referred to

as a watercolour

although Z mentioned mixed media

but essentially it was all water-based

media anyway.

however it’s thus amazing to hear

that paintings with any other media

than oils

are considered in the general

mainstream of opinions

are considered of less value

perhaps even in a world-city like

vienna –

knowledge about art is limited

to surface depictions and materials.

unlike aristotle already stated the

purpose and the aim of art

not to represent the outward

appearance of things

but their inner significance.

we find ourselves in the

21^st century

still in a sea of deep ignorance.

for the artist/aristotle is the

take-off point for the departure

in creativity

understood and formulated.

the meeting.

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

the temperatures cooled down

but life hasn’t yet

sleep was relaxing

the chance to use a room

in the city

close to the café salon

where the artist’s exhibition

takes place

in the core of the city of vienna.

well now H the artist’s friend

is keen to conduct an interview

he wishes to record.

well now – let’s see where we

go

where we start is important

the flow of interaction

the thoughts that come-up

about why we have been placed

into this position.

feelings of expectation –

small stones of a mosaic

to be set into the one great

artwork of life.

i hadn’t asked the question

would he be on time at all?

or – would he pitch-up at all?

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

the artist sits in a cool

souterrain of a viennese café

sampling a croissant and an

espresso-macchiato

phone calls are not that clear

from the bowels of viennese

cellar spaces

well-known since the

middle ages.

h/the man of photographic

reports

a friend who has not always

the mood or time

to be of assistance to the artist

creating his own interviews

using his own multiple talents

for his own success

but a super-sounding board

for any artist

if he accepts H’s quirky run-thru’

life

being a deus ex machina

even Leonardo would have

welcomed the unorthodox pair

for a session in art-discussion.

yes/ he’s looking forward to

this meeting of art and explication

adventure

of profiling an artist’s portrait

the artist calls > the meeting.<

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.

“good morn‘ neighbour“

”hi/good morning poet“

he responded

“what’s the matter with your

leg?” the poet said

“still hurting from your last

soccer game?”

“yes”/the neighbour said/ but

now I feel the weather changes.”

the poet placed his hands together

“i can feel it in my operated hands.”

“well then we both suffer”/joe the

neighbour uttered with a drawn

face.

“i feel my age with all its added

benefits”/the poet retorted.

joe the neighbour laughed

he knew the poet’s ironic attitude

to pains.

“let’s talk about life/ joe said/ one

day i’ll tell you about my wanderings

from afghanistan to turkey/greece/

romania to hungary and austria.

“indeed/you’ve experienced a lot

already in your youth/ write it!

“i can tell it to you and you write it”

“well/i prefer you’ll write it/i will help

you with editing “

“and you?” joe said.

“mhh/i’m here now having travelled

the world/ mainly north-south until

i reached the cape of good hope

however/ as my wife and i are die-hard

individuals – fighting each other all

our lives with lots of hurting words…”

“well”/ joe interrupted – “hurting is all

i know about until i arrived here / and

it stopped.”

“ok/that’s good to hear/ but now in our

advanced ages we don’t hurt each other

any longer

now all scars on our bodies hurt

but our souls are still drifting on a sea of

hope.”

“bye for now”/joe said.

“by joe.”

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20

you know about the

nature of man/woman?

yes?

but then why do you

fight your brethren/friend/

neighbour/husband/wife/

partner/teacher/facilitator/

educator/local authority/

country/state?

are you a rebel without a

cause?

a marlon brando imitator?

she said: ”i’m with you

together for fifty years

but i don’t know you.”

well/who’s that lucky to

know oneself?

the poet heard these kind

of sentences quite often

when attending literary

workshops in jo’burg.

whenever he met a couple

these questions remained

as if chiselled into tablets of

stone.

when the poet met his

female counterpart who

led him to the path’s process

of creative writing

he suddenly flowered artistically

in a literary spring

she jumped into with him and

wondrous things did happen

in this spring/summer of a-z

a-z.z-a

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20

a sudden cold snap

winds from the north as

if a hardliner-ruler has

played his iron hand

swiped the roads clean

removed all the unwanted

things and people too

cleansing – that reminds of

the darkest hours of the

past –

most contemp fellows are

not aware of

that we sit on a boat

being steered into most

dangerous waters/rapids/

torrents/impossible to

navigate

even with the reasonable

experiences of a skipper.

now then/diplomacy is

required from the artist?

capabilities alone do not

qualify him or her

in this country of his birth?

thanks for the gods who

sent some friends

who care

so not all

will be lost

and the will to continue

will be foremost important

beside the human aspect/

in midst of all tohuwabohu

stay a human being/

human.namuh

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.