Residue

By Carlos Drummond de Andrade

From everything a little remained.
From my fear. From your disgust.
From stifled cries. From the rose
a little remained.

A little remained of light
caught inside the hat.
In the eyes of the pimp
a little remained of tenderness,
very little.

A little remained of the dust
that covered your white shoes.
Of your clothes a little remained,
a few velvet rags, very
very few.

From everything a little remained.
From the bombed-out bridge,
from the two blades of grass,
from the empty pack
of cigarettes a little remained.

So from everything a little remains.
A little remains of your chin
in the chin of your daughter.

A little remained of your
blunt silence, a little
in the angry wall,
in the mute rising leaves.

A little remained from everything
in porcelain saucers,
in the broken dragon, in the white flowers,
in the creases of your brow,
in the portrait.

Since from everything a little remains,
why won’t a little
of me remain? In the train
travelling north, in the ship,
in newspaper ads,
why not a little of me in London,
a little of me somewhere?
In a consonant?
In a well?

A little remains dangling
in the mouths of rivers,
just a little, and the fish
don’t avoid it, which is very unusual.

From everything a little remains.
Not much: this absurd drop
dripping from the faucet,
half salt and half alcohol,
this frog leg jumping,
this watch crystal
broken into a thousand wishes,
this swan’s neck,
this childhood secret…
From everything a little remained:
from me; from you; from Abelard.
Hair on my sleeve,
from everything a little remained;
wind in my ears,
burbing, rumbling
from an upset stomach,
and small artifacts:
bell jar, honeycomb, revolver
cartridge, aspirin tablet.

From everything a little remained.

And from everything a little remains.
Oh, open the bottles of lotion
and smoother
the cruel, unbearable odor of memory.

Still, horribly, from everything a little remains,
under the rhythmic waves
under the clouds and the wind
under the bridges and under the tunnels
under the flames and under the sarcasm
under the phlegm and under the vomit
under the cry from the dungeon, the guy they forgot
under the spectacle and under the scarlet death
under the libraries, asylums, victorious churches
under yourself and under your feet already hard
under the ties of family, the ties of class,
from everything a little always remains.
Sometimes a button. Sometimes a rat.

luigi_ghirri_lido_di_spina_1973

Lido Di Spina. Luigi Ghirri. 1973.

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Life’s a Beach

Martin Parr has been photographing beach life over many decades, documenting all aspects of this tradition including close ups of sun bathers, swimming dips and picnics in the UK as well as in countries as far apart as China, Argentina and Thailand. This [collection] demonstrates Parr’s engagement with a cherished subject matter, where all absurdities and quirky National behaviours seamlessly fuse together. Text from Magnum Photos
MartinParrLifesABeachmartin-parr-couple-showering-copacabana-beach-2007Martin Parr RioMartin Parr Lifes a BeachITALY. Riva del Garda. 1999. Contact email: New York : photography@magnumphotos.com Paris : magnum@magnumphotos.fr London : magnum@magnumphotos.co.uk Tokyo : tokyo@magnumphotos.co.jp Contact phones: New York : +1 212 929 6000 Paris: + 33 1 53 42 50 00 London: + 44 20 7490 1771 Tokyo: + 81 3 3219 0771 Image URL: http://www.magnumphotos.com/Archive/C.aspx?VP3=ViewBox_VPage&IID=2S5RYD12ILER&CT=Image&IT=ZoomImage01_VForm

ITALY. Lake Garda. 1999.

JAPAN. Miyazaki. Miyazaki Ocean Dome. 1996.


Targets in Tijuana

Chris Bradley is a sculptor known for his assemblage sculptures in which he replicates things using other things. In this case, a palm tree is made out of cast bronze, paint, wood, aluminum, beer can, aqua resin, broom handle, pencil, tripod.

Targets in Tijuana. Chris Bradley. 2010/11

Targets in Tijuana. Chris Bradley. 2010/11


Maracas

Maracas. Peter Doig. 2004.

Maracas. Peter Doig. 2004.


Beach Scene

Leon Levinstein

Beach Scene: Woman in Bikini Cuddling Baby, Coney Island, New York. Leon Levinstein. 1960s.


Looking Out

The Lonely One. Edvard Munch. 1896

Young Woman at the Beach: The Lonely One. Edvard Munch. 1896


Blue House on the Shore

Blue House on the Shore. Paul Nash. 1930-1.

Blue House on the Shore. Paul Nash. 1930-1.