The Sensual World of The Unseen By Photographer Duane Michaels

Wallace Stevens – Somnambulisma

On an old shore, the vulgar ocean rolls

Noiselessly, noiselessly, resembling a thin bird,

That thinks of settling, yet never settles, on a nest.

The wings keep spreading and yet are never wings.

The claws keep scratching on the shale, the shallow shale,

The sounding shallow, until by water washed away.

Every picture tells a story: Into the unknowable

The generations of the bird are all

By water washed away. They follow after.

The follow, follow, follow, in water washed away.

Without this bird that never settles, without

Every Picture Tells A Story: The somnambulent sea, Napier

Its generations that follow in their universe,

The ocean, falling and falling on the hollow shore,

Would be a geography of the dead: not of that land

Tracey Emin. About Neon Art and Loneliness

To which they may have gone, but of the place in which

They lived, in which they lacked a pervasive being,

In which no scholar, separately dwelling,

Poured forth the fine fins, the gawky beaks, the personalia,

Which, as a man feeling everything, were his.

 Wallace Stevens, 1943

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