Three words.

Russian. Fantastik. Cinema.

In August at the Pacific Film Archive theater in Berkeley, some of my favorite things in the world will collide. I can barely contain myself about Stalker and Solaris. I own Solaris on DVD, but I cannot wait to see it on the big screen.

Long ago, my sweetheart wrote a series of poetry after director Andrei Tarkovsky's Ivan's Childhood and Solaris; the latter series he called Tide and Mermera. I still think it is some of his most beautiful poetry. Spoken, it is like little pearls in your mouth.

Begin with a telescoping, a
house from memory.
Long drive through color.

...

Paper flickers.
A sound of leaves,
a bowl full of rain.
The pomegranates have no taste.
It was a house built from memory. A house full
of rain. His blue leather
glistens, drenched.

...

There were gaps in the text.
They kept their secrets.
As an ear and a dwarf, but
a hole in the arm, exposed.

Sublime.

Speaking of evocative writing, I am now fully engrossed in Massimo Carlotto's novel Death's Dark Abyss. I've been hooked on his work since devouring The Goodbye Kiss and all of its casual brutality and unapologetic injustice. Carlotto is Italian noir at its finest.

NP: Art Brut, 'Emily Kane'