loader image
La Piccioletta Barca - Issue 19

Stimulus

Lyon, November 20, 2008

And the days and the night 
passed

in the company of the Problem.

In my sixth-floor walk-up apartment, at the office, in bed, asleep… In my armchair, evening after evening, drinking one cup of tea after another after another, exploring paths and subpaths, meticulously noting every possibility, crossing off dead ends from my list as I go along.

 

– Birth of a Theorem, Chapter 6, Page 37.

Issue 19 – May 2020

Stimulus: Extract from Birth of a Theorem by Cédric Villani.

All Pieces

May Day & Pears Anyone

May Day & Pears Anyone

May Day   And in the time it took you to say my name, I had already strung up the maypole We spent every day turning around. I’m sorry, I should have waited, But I had to see what the colors would look like, One under the other over the next.   Pears,...

read more
Hope

Hope

Plymouth, UK, December 2019. I had just left the supermarket behind me, and I was walking back home with the week’s groceries. It was drizzling when I left the house, and even though the rain had now stopped, the clouds were piling up again quickly, so I started...

read more
On The Lost Center

On The Lost Center

An erudite creative writer in his own right, Zissimos Lorenzatos developed into a scholarly critic and commentator without the benefit of advanced formal studies and exposure to classroom instruction. As such, his writing is that of a natural sage, of a man of inward...

read more
Back To Square One

Back To Square One

The Madness: This work is a representational abstraction of a thought process.  The triangle aluminum base is only slightly different from the other directional supports.  Meaning the foundation on which it is built has no preeminence. The first movement, curved...

read more
Theorem

Theorem

The pursuit of knowledge and excellence, mastery at its highest degrees, makes for an arduous and confounding path, a befuddling pastime and downright harrowing proposition to boldly elect and make one's life's work. A...

read more
Where Does the Smoke Go & Listening to the Sun

Where Does the Smoke Go & Listening to the Sun

Where Does the Smoke Go where does the smoke of a wildfire go when the wind moves it does it go unwillingly particles massed together in defiant solidarity does it at some point decide it’s every wisp for itself and float off in all different directions not gone but...

read more
Virgil’s Tomb

Virgil’s Tomb

Today I finally visited Virgil’s Tomb. You know how important he is to me. As he was for Boccaccio, Virgil has been my guide through the labyrinths of a kind of hell. Perhaps you’ll say that ‘hell’ is much too strong a word. But this poet’s life has been difficult,...

read more
The Countless Elpenors of History

The Countless Elpenors of History

Elpenor By Takis Sinopoulos, Translated by K.D.   Elpenor, how have you come to this land… HOMER Land of death. The frozen sea the black cypresses the shallow shore ravaged by salt and light the hollow boulders the unwavering sun above and not a drip of water,...

read more
The Adoration

The Adoration

While organizing the files of a certain Professor M last week, I came across a dusty piece of parchment, folded elaborately in such a way that it resembled a flattened leaflet of origami. It was only because I glimpsed the edges of scrawled ink along some of the...

read more
Astonishment & Dublin Canals

Astonishment & Dublin Canals

Astonishment To which the acute and judicious proposer answers: “Not. . . . .’ William Molyneux, 1689, I do not think, he wrote, that a person Blind from birth who suddenly can see Can distinguish visually Objects known prior only by touch. I do not think, he wrote,...

read more
Dreaming in America

Dreaming in America

Mrs. Blanco has always known she had a smile, sensed it even before she became aware of it. When nothing else would do, her education, her figure, her presence, that simple pull at the ends of her lips spoke with a language of its own. This morning she knows she’s...

read more
Divan of Remembrance

Divan of Remembrance

    Faces are appearing again. On the ceiling. During a power outage, as she lies on the bed. Before, it was during an ice storm, in winter. Now, it is during a heatwave, when heatwaves threaten to never break but instead swell and gather over vast spaces of...

read more
Five Poems of Love

Five Poems of Love

A Poem of Love The first morning they forded the stream, the second morning they hold hands, and the third morning they kissed; their hearts fluttered… the jasmines and the hibiscuses are in full bloom; the bougainvillea scream its intense colors. Does dream has...

read more
Tokyo Business

Tokyo Business

  Marcus Weekley lives in Xinzheng, China (just north of VirusCentral), where he teaches English Composition to Chinese university students. He enjoys mostly horror, drama, and sci fi international films, including...

read more
Before the Morning Begins & The Moth Man

Before the Morning Begins & The Moth Man

Before the Morning Begins   To remind myself who I am every morning, I look in the mirror. This morning I see only the reflection of the window at first, its daisy-patterned curtain billowing toward me, then sucked back and away. Nothing about the curtain...

read more
Question

Question

You could hardly call question a lovely word Although it does make a curious play on the tongue And there’s something about the way that stroke dips Down on the letter q that gives it intrigue. I guess most of us prefer answers to questions Because in the safe height...

read more
The Goddess

The Goddess

Should I stare? Though my eyes are closed, Her radiance enters, Through the soft air, Her wings cut deep and fierce, Forward, always forward, With confidence in the soft air, “More!” she declares. Of me? Should I dare, to gaze upon her?   Justin Anthony Mann is...

read more
Come April & Silk

Come April & Silk

Come April If not for the hair caught in the corner where the broom cannot reach, I would never know that you were here. And if not for the corner where the broom cannot reach - if not for the moulding that pinned it - if not for the wall and the ceiling’s crease - if...

read more
Dust

Dust

It engulfs every inch of this world. Every surface, every face, every bit of once-blue sky. It is infinite. Never ending, never ceasing to cloud the air. Ash and grit from things burned so long ago, reminding us of our failures. Reminding us of why we deserve it’s...

read more
A Refutation of the Road

A Refutation of the Road

I have never, not once in my adult years, been on the road. I have left the house, you understand. I have driven and been driven to schools and offices, weddings and anniversaries, christenings and, lately, a funeral too. I have nothing against the occasional change...

read more

Follow us

Newsletter

Pin It on Pinterest