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Malcolm Eaves May 2016
Hitherrealm is here and there,
The Highrealm past the sky,
The Deeprealm underneath us all,
The Sixtus are nearby.

The Farrealm is a nightmare,
The Lowrealm hates the heights,
The Midrealm is the world mundane,
The Sixtus dim the lights.

The Crossrealm makes connections,
The Underrealm survived,
The Overrealm is greatest,
The Sixtus have arrived.
They're here...
RAJ NANDY Oct 2015
(Sorry Friends, for posting educational type of poems, I know Haiku are easier to read & comment! But if you happen to like this true story, kindly recommend it to your other friends! Thanks, -Raj)

STORY OF EUROPEAN RENAISSANCE: PART TWO

THE CITY-STATE OF FLORENCE :
The city of Florence lies in the historic valley of Tuscany ,
Along the banks of the Arno river, surrounded by hills
of scenic beauty !
Here during the first century BC , the conquering Romans
established their ‘Colonia Florentina’,
To settle the war veterans of Caesar’s army in Northern
Italia !
But later after the fall of Rome , it became a battleground
for the Holy Roman Empire and the Pope ;
But the independent nature of its people refused foreign
yolk !
They preferred commune rule led by a powerful leader –
called the Signore ,
Just like the city-states of ancient Greece, in those days of
yore !
But unlike Greece , Florence saw no Democracy ,
Since the Medici family finally usurped power in this
city of Northern Italy !
Unlike Venice , Florence is landlocked and not a port
city ;
Relying on banking and trade to prosper economically .
Their gold coin florin became the standard coinage
throughout Europe ;
While through the export of its quality textile and woolen
goods, great wealth got secured !
But to become patrons of art and letters mere wealth is
not enough ,
One must have a refined taste to become a true lover of
letters and art !
And here the Medici carved out a niche for themselves
under the Florentine sun !
Writers like Francesco Petrarca , Dante, and Boccaccio ;
And artists such as Giotto , Lippi, Dontello, Leonardo ,
and Michelangelo , were all born Florentines !
Even classical Athens couldn’t boast of such a vast
galaxy ,
Of artistic talents within such a limited time frame of
History !
These artists embellished their city with their literary
works, sculptures, architectures and paintings ;
Made Florence to reawaken, dazzle, and shine ;
Carving out a proud moment in history for the
Florentines !

CONTRIBUTION OF MEDICI FAMILY OF
FLORENCE :
Giovanni de Medici (1360-1429) :
This Medici family became the Godfather for the Italian
Renaissance ,
And I feel obliged to narrate their story tracing their
historical source !
In those early days Art was considered a lowly craft ,
There were no art galleries, and one couldn’t make a
living out of Art !
Without patronage the artist and his art couldn’t survive ,
So I speak of the Medics, who had originated from the
Tuscan countryside !
Gaining power through wealth and political astuteness,
And not through military force for dominance !
The founder of family’s fortunes was Giovanni de
Medici ,
An educated man with a simple life style , who
traveled on a donkey !
A humble man who had never aroused any enmity .
He established the Medici Bank with innovations
in ledger accounting system ;
And became a pioneers in tracking credits and debits
through a double entry system !
He opened branches of the Bank in Rome and Northern
Italy ,
Facilitated bills of exchange and credit bills, to multiply
his money !
After the return of the Papacy from Avignon to Rome ,
The Medici Bank was made the official bankers of the
Pope ;
And Giovanni became the wealthiest man in Italy , if
not in entire Europe !
In 1421 Giovanni was made the Chief Executive of his
city ,
And he commissioned its leading architect Brunelleschi , -
to glorify Florence city .
The challenging task for Brunelleschi was to build the dome
of the Cathedral of his city .
This was the first octagonal dome in history , a breakaway
from the earlier Gothic structures ,
And even surpassing the Roman Pantheon as a marvel of
Florentine architecture !
It took sixteen long years to complete this huge dome ,
And stands today as an icon of Renaissance Europe !
Giovanni had taught his son Cosimo to follow a simple
life style ,
To patronize art and letters, and to his people be kind !

COSIMO De MEDICI (1389-1464) :
After Giovanni’s death , Cosimo the Elder built upon
his father’s inherited wealth ;
Absorbed most of the 39 Florentine Banks, operating its
branches in London and Bruges as well !
The greatest rival of the Medici fortunes were the Albizzi ,
They plotted against Cosimo and the Medics ;
And in 1433, exiled Cosimo and his family out of jealousy !
But after a year the Medics were recalled back as heroes ,
Since the Florentine coffers without the Medici Bank , -
had become almost zero !
But both peace and prosperity are needed for flourishing
of art and culture ,
So Cosimo engineered the Peace of Lodi (1454) with Milan
and Venice , -
To prevent future wars and misadventure !
Scholars were made to collect precious manuscripts from
the East, and the churches and vaults of Europe ;
And an ensured period of stability , contributed to Early
Renaissance’s growth !
Sculptor Donatello’s bronze **** David stood up as an
unique art form ,
And with paintings of Fra Angelico, and Filippo Lippi , -
the style of art itself began to reform !
Architect Michalozzo built the famous Medici Palace ,
And Cosimo opened the Medici Library for the spread of
classical knowledge !
After the fall of Constantinople in 1453 , the Greek scholars
with their classical manuscripts fled to Italy .
They flocked to Florence where Cosimo established a
Platonic Academy !
Renowned Humanist Marsilio Ficino became its President ,
And complete works of Plato got translated from Greek
to Latin !
Thus the growth of Early Renaissance owed much to
Cosimo’s patronage ,
And the Florentines inscribed “Pater Patriae” on his tomb , –
(‘Father of His Country’) after his death !

LORENZO THE MAGNIFICENT (1449-1492) :
Cosimo’s son Piero the Gouty died within five years ,
Never achieved anything spectacular worthy of tears !
The Medici Bank had loaned large sums of money to
King Edward IV of England and Charles the Bold of
Burgandy,
Failed to recover getting into bad debts and insolvency !
So when Cosimo’s grandson Lorenzo succeeded at
the age of twenty one ,
He focused on other areas of creativity, and the period
of High Renaissance begun !
Lorenzo , a genuine lover of arts, also wrote poetry in the
dialect of his native Tuscany ;
Following the footsteps of Tuscan born poets Donzella ,
Davanzati , and Dante the author of ‘Divine Comedy’ !
On 26th April 1478 , the Pazzi family in connivance with
the Archbishop of Pisa and backing of Pope Sixtus IV ,
Tried to assassinate the Medics during the High Mass, -
in the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore !
Younger brother Giuliano was fatally stabbed , but they
failed to **** Lorenzo .
All the conspirators were hanged including Pisa’s
Archbishop !
Ecclesiastic censure was issued against Florence ,
And Lorenzo was excommunicated by the Pope !
But Lorenzo worked out a treaty of peace with the King
of Naples ,
And became the undisputed ruler of the Republic of
Florence !
Unfortunately , Lorenzo died young at the age of forty-
three ,
At the dawn of the great Age of Exploration and
adventures by sea !
During his rule Renaissance reached its Golden Age ,
And literature, art, and architecture blossomed with
Lorenzo’s patronage !
It earned him the title of ‘Magnifico’, now know to
us as Lorenzo the Magnificent !
Leonardo da Vinci , Michelangelo , Raphel , Giovanni
Bellini ,Titan, Veronese, Correggio , Tintoretto ;
All became superstars of the Renaissance era ;
Their works are cherished, valued and treasured to
this day of our Modern era !
In the year 1492 with Lorenzo’s death , Italy entered
a period of turmoil and instability,
And the Renaissance saw a period of decline in Italy !
But the flames of the Renaissance spread to other
parts of Northern Europe ,
And in the 16th century reached England’s shores !
The Medici Family had also provided three Popes to
Italy, and three Queens to France ;
Besides patronizing the growth of the famous Italian
Renaissance !
Now dear readers, to do justice to Renaissance art ,
architecture, and literature briefly ,
I propose to narrate its story in Part Three !
-- By Raj Nandy of New Delhi .
*ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR
For those who have missed out on my Part One, would surely benefit by going through the same! This is a part of my researched work,put across in simple verse. Thanks & best wishes, -Raj
Taylor St Onge Jan 2016
This is ancient land, this is
       hallowed ground, this is
21 kilometers worth of tunnels.  

Blood stops flowing after death
                                                          becaus­e the heart is no longer beating;
no longer forcing blood to gush through veins and arteries and vessels.  
It gets lazy, becomes stagnant.  
Slowly slides down to the
                                               lowest point on the body; creates a
                                          reddish purple discoloration on the skin
similar to a bruise, but not quite the same thing.  

          This is what I imagine the fifth level of the catacombs to look like:
                                           a reddish purple discoloration
                                          spread across my mother’s back.  

This is what I see when I close my eyes and rub them a bit too hard for a bit too long.  This is what I see when I look into a hole in the stone walls that is big enough to fit an infant.  This is what I see in the reflection of the Trevi Fountain.  This is what I see when I try to remember the shape of my mother’s sleeping body as it curled in on itself on top of a flat hospital mattress.  

The color of death is not black, is not white.  The
color of death is the color of blood: the way it looks
through the skin after having
                                                       hours and
                                                                ­            days and
                                 weeks to
slowly slink down into the
lowest bend of the body.  

This is the reddish umbra of the earth that the
                                                                             eclipsed moon hides behind.  
This is my body given for you.  
Take and eat.  
                                                  Do this is the remembrance of
                                                                ­                                                me.
part of my Rome chapbook.
Mateuš Conrad Jan 2016
i prefer the company of animals to human company
as the eight years passed before i embarked on a quench
of seeing my thought coded in phonetic symbols,
because i can enjoy the company
of animals, whether petted or wild
reduced to only speaking certain onomatopoeias
that i pluck from the depth of galloping
horses in gallop re-imagined
with the tides' waves...
and have the bounty of my incision of choices
to be ably riddled by sorrow
sowed by the end of a poet's output:
to weep at the beauty of certain songs...
indeed here i laid my armour with naked breast;
it does endear this stone heart of mine
to remain its size when the changes came,
to remain its size upon crossing the threshold
of that well accounted for the first step
on the styx of psychosis that lasted year upon year,
and in me such mistrust of fellow man grew,
that i simply burnt all bridges i could have
walked across, and only in writing looked back,
wept until no former reality of images' recurrence
was extinguished like even the wettest nibble of coal
taken on the gallows of two flint stones struck
for a spark of glitter and promethean ingenuity
with chinese kaleidoscopes of coloured alveoli;
that each tree except the pine branches out
with the first image, the y of the tetragrammaton:
upon the bypass bridge over a highway
where machines echo to former hoof and hot snout
sneeze, looking south at london fiery in the lost
silver sheen of the moon that now only cradles
the inward looking things which allow the lunar
light to provide man's sight the opiates
of balanced mercury kept for the libra of what
maxim serves better purpose now
than it did with the counter-reformation:
i too, among the renaissance painters,
the willing pauper of attire, with such depths of
origins that might make emerald jealous have lived
to be as unchanging as the comet's oval orbit,
to live day upon day akin to a fox's fur never shed
or in chameleon rainbows quick to change
for the last sprout of quickened rain into the
airy earth breathed with geological history of layering;
i too took to their concerns,
play the role in pauper's attire, for only
in work are there riches of what would drive some men mad;
only in work, in this continuum too complex
to specify - let this never rise about to clothe you
as identifiably having pope sixtus iv being your patron.
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
but of course, the three families of a continent,
and many aunts and uncles and distant relations,
as if to say: but in the flood of swarm
whether by twirling zephyrs or foaming seas,
whether certain inaudible sounds of the seen things,
hinging with a creak or a squeak as a condensed
copper, whether it was man who's history
was bound by a envious hunger for the alchemical
crown, from rotting in oxidation iron,
to mandible copper, then through to the metalloid
age of silicon - to the stiff-winged birds of aluminium
and elsewhere still the blood metal desires:
the blood metal of ******, piracy, ransom,
or necessary imitation and all kinds of fraud -
if to mesmerise the human eye and turn the human
heart into a magpie's, if not kept in check by the
voluntary beggars of appearance, as those great buddhas
of the renaissance, under borgias or a sixtus or a julius;
'he who desires to possess the earth,
       let claim by only sitting in silence.'

                                                      ­(adam mickiewicz)
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2017
pray to god, you don't have the ambition of being an artist, under the wing or the roof, of a father who's a professional in either carpentry, roofing or any other industrial trade: your supposed "work" will be greatly unappreciated, or even ridiculed, esp. in an age when en masse piracy of artistic expression is not scolded, whipped, invited to a sojourn in an iron maiden, or straight off the word go: pay you ******* pleb, you ******* philistine - take to admiring a brick wall, than a ******* rembrandt instead; now choke on those giggles.

what could be worse than a transition from
the i.r.a. to islamic state terrorism?
i really feel, nay, i really pity the english,
for being such, absolute contemptible *****
to have managed to transition from
one type of terrorism to another,
oh so quickly, and stealthily -
   personally i prefer to drop a skiving
venomous tongue into the affairs of today
& tomorrow than a bomb -
at least it has the decency & potential
to cushion the more serious blows...
      well i know that some people are bad
at counting, or the basic arithmetic,
   but the continual ignorance of diacritical
"arithmetic" makes the ****** greeks look
overladden peacocks donning jewels...
come on! it's basic arithmetic,
  if you can't do the heimlich on the umlaut
on ö into a grapheme œ - or the same
with the æ in the case of ä...
   just count, count for ****'s sake!
     pattern become paa qui -
        and *** becomes poot -
        i admit that other diacritical marks
do not have this simple interpretation -
you know what, forget it,
don't learn linguistics -
    just learn the diacritical idiosyncrasies...
i mean: how can a language remain lost
within a people, who sometimes manage
to utter the words: how do you say that?
   or: i'm not even going to pronounce that...
fine! give me a woodpecker's worth
of an onomatopoeia, or just the dumber:
                     coo coo qi chew!
i can't believe i'm saying this as an acquirer
of a language, that no native has or had
managed to spot...
          and only english, with its lack of
diacritical indicators has managed to fathom
the perfect zoo of accents,
               they even crafted the zoo of accents
into a pseudo indian caste system...
  oh **** me, it's there, just spend a day on
a construction site...

so what will it be? a scolding tongue,
         a damning tongue, or the next bomb?
my offer: take it or leave it,
         or pick up the next body parts...
i've simply had enough of this ignorance,
if the greeks are applying diacritical marks,
so should you! mind you: clear syllable incisions
in words, would do miracles to the phenomenon
of dyslexia, given that i find dyslexia
being an exclusive anglophone phenomenon...
and what do you do phenomenons?
  you turn them into kantian noumenons,
or boxes, or the *per se
or: res per se,
  my... that ticks off both the revision of
pre-existentialism: phenomenology -
  and combats the cartesian model of
  the res cogitans...
**** it, i'll be the first to announce it:
res per se has just replaced the cartesian
        res cogitans...
   oh yeah: here's to thinking being replaced
by a slingshot, with being, being a strain,
       a cushioning pre-release boiling point;
hence the combination of res per se
  and res vanus - i'm empty up to a point,
then, out of nowhere, something akin to this,
happens.
      
- and yes, i don't like my parents,
   i stopped calling my father by his initial,
and instead started calling him sixtus IV -
patron saint of the sistine chapel -
yep, i don't like with my parents -
i live with my patrons -
     we disagree on a lot of things:
primarily my drinking habits, and my
drunken sudoku carousels -
           but when we don't disagree i make
the dinner...
             and when we do i simply jest at:
i'm done with this catholic mea culpa
*******... done, no post-scriptum to add;

- and yes, that just goes to show
why all of current art reaching the masses
is absolute drivel...
   a bit like eating a mouthful of cinnamon
followed by a dollop of humus
         then snorting a line of pepper.
mottor: „fountains are drying by habitude” – Sixtus Aquarius

in the common acception
in the heart of small capacity of aunt Haby
there are still surviving reserves

and I quote:  
“what poetry mister Gee?
dreams and illusions which go off on one
to humbug us for good”  

aunt Haby sticks her hand
illustratively in the ground and says man
I know for a fact:
what’s in my hand
is no ‘green planes on the wall’!  

Yet
the thing is
that there is no way of knowing
how much poetry is there in the ground
at World's End  

so the Poeth-dog is coming it sniffs
her demonstrative hand
and then the beast raises its foot
  
some ms Habies are even stroking him
on this matter
arguing that it’s ordinary but they know better

for most often is driven away
from heaven
and everything is reduced to a few solemn
and sexymenthal cry-barkings
  
this is where I come in
friendly like a racing horse
a flyer swimmin’ on the ground
and aunt Haby jumps on me
she just found out I’m transporting poems
internally and internationally
and reality is that o-kaaay
what can I say?
  
aunt Haby is sad
her hand hurts like hell
I walk airborne underground like the gadfly
I save her urgently to the worlds end
right there where the land is resurrecting us
after the glaciations
  
where the entire world is wrenching in tears
of laughter
- From Zoon Poetikon

— The End —