PHOTOGRAPHY, 1957 A fine wind blows into the heart, And you fly headlong on, While love within the roll of film Holds the soul fast by its sleeve. Bird-like she steals grain by grain From oblivion – and now? She does not let you fall to dust, Even dead you’re still alive – Not wholly but a hundredth part, In muted tone or sunk in sleep, As if you wandered through some field In a land beyond our ken. All that’s dear and seen and living Makes the same flight as before, Once the angel of the lens Has your world beneath his wing. Arseniy Tarkovsky brightbrightday/portfolio_image_8.htm
Posted on: Fri, 21 Nov 2014 00:01:16 +0000
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