March: On the Cusp

The Lighthouse at Two Lights. By Edward Hopper. 1929

Tis a strange month, March. Both Winter and Spring, cold and temperate, it transitions us from Death to Life, fallow to green. Depending upon the region, depending upon one’s position on this earth, by design or chance, this month will bring us all great changes.

For Spinozablue, March brings us poetry by Virginie Colline, and fiction by Donal Mahoney. For this editor, March takes me closer to the lighthouse, and another rereading of the masterful, brilliant goddess of prose, Virginia Woolf. She brought us closer to lighthouses — metaphorical, fictional and in real time — because she brought us closer to the mind in search of.…

Virginie Colline: Streetlight Tanka

Streetlight Tanka

Lámpagyujtogató by Sándor Bortnyik


Pulse of lights
he hops into a taxi
to wherever she won’t be      
too tall an order
the city whispers

Giant daisies                      
yellow glow
the streetlamps dance
before his very eyes
he kisses them goodnight  


Copyright© 2013, by Virginie Colline. All Rights Reserved.


Virginie Colline is a French translator living in Paris. You can read her latest poems in Egg, Seltzer, Yes, Poetry, BRICKrhetoric, Overpass Books, Winamop and Mad Swirl, among others.


The Mind as Haiku

For November, Spinozablue welcomes the poetry of Virginie Colline, Joshua Bocher, Greg Mackie and Kyle Hemmings.


Making poetry, making art, comes naturally to humans. For all we know, we’ve been doing this since the dawn of time. It probably brought immense pleasure to the first Neanderthal and his or her tribe when they made speech rhythmic, flow, condense the life around them into a proto-song. I can imagine them delighting in the sounds of brand new lyrics, forcing them to dance, and then delighting in these new movements they had never encountered in themselves or others before.
Laughing. Grunting with joy.…

Virginie Colline: Melancholy Haiku

Café by Léonard Tsuguharu Foujita


threadbare afternoon
the kerosene lamp hisses
like a rattlesnake

love simulacra
he can see the door through her
and the night ahead

they call her Sorrow
the woman in bombazine
by the blind window





— by Virginie Colline


Copyright ©2012, by Virginie Colline. All Rights Reserved.


Virginie Colline is a French trans­la­tor liv­ing in Paris. You can read her latest poems in The Orris, Bakwa Magazine, Blue Skies Poetry, Four and Twenty and Misfits’ Miscellany.


Form is Emptiness. Emptiness is Form

Spinozablue welcomes the poetry of Virginie Colline, Hilary Sideris, Changming Yuan, Kenneth Pobo, Joan McNerney, and the fiction of Shanna Perplies.

*     *     *     *     *

A tip of the hat goes to nnyhav for the link to Tim Parks’ excellent article in the New York Review of Books, The Chattering Mind. While most of the article is about modern literature, there is a section on the Buddhist quest to still the mind which I found brilliantly concise and relevant to past and future discussions here. The entire article being relevant, of course . . . .

Sitting for ten days on a cushion, eyes closed, cross-legged, seeking to empty your mind of words, it’s all too evident how obsessively the mind seeks to construct self-narrative, how ready it is to take interest in its own pain, to congratulate itself on the fertility of its reflection.

Virginie Colline: Haiku la Nuit

Night Haiku

Full Moon at Magome by Hasui Kawase


black row of dumpsters

an errant dog laps the moon
in a cold puddle

he points at the sky
a hint of eternity
in this diamond night
time evaporates
behind the doors of shadow
moonlit Tsumago


— by Virginie Colline


Copyright © by Virginie Colline. All Rights Reserved.


Virginie Colline is a French translator living in Paris. She has recently been published in Fri Haiku, Literary Juice, Indian Review and Prick of the Spindle.


Recent Additions & Musings . . .

Spinozablue welcomes the fine Haiku of Virginie Colline, and the poetic works of Dan Corjescu and Neil Ellmann.


The Cemetery of Humility

As long as we are alive, nothing is complete. We define this or that aspect of art, music, religion, life itself, and we kill it. In some way, small to great. Yes, poetry can lift art; art poetry. But neither can define or limit or stifle the other. There is always more. Much more. And the best critics know this. The most attentive, aware, tuned-in admirers of all the arts know this.

Nothing is written in stone, literally and metaphorically.…

From Paris, With Haiku

Silver Lining Haiku


Le Corde Sensible, by Rene Magritte. 1960


a cloud for breakfast
in my hand a pearl of dew
against the sultry day



 — by Virginie Colline


Copyright© 2012, Virginie Colline. All Rights Reserved.


Virginie Colline is a French translator living in Paris. Her poems have appeared in The Scrambler, The Asahi Haikuist Network, EgoPHobia, Mouse Tales Press, The Electronic Monsoon Magazine, Notes from the Gean, Frostwriting and StepAway Magazine, among others.



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