GUZZI / foto A.Panciroli

Mark Strand 1923 Broadway Theatre Program

Programma del Mark Strand Theatre (1923)

Esisteva ( demolito nel 1987) a Broadway  un grande teatro  , poi music hall, poi cinema,Il The Mark Strand Theather...
Ovviamente non c'entra per nulla col poeta Mark Strand, però strana la coincidenza ...

Also known as Mark Strand, Warner, Warner Cinerama, RKO Cinerama, Penthouse, Orleans, RKO Warner Twin
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Strand Theatre
New York, NY
1579 Broadway
, New York, NY 10036 United States
(map)
Status: Closed/Demolished
Screens: Twin
Style: Adam

Function: Unknown
Seats: 2750
Chain: Unknown

Architect: Thomas W. Lamb
Firm: Unknown
Strand Theatre
Circa-1915 postcard view of the Strand's ornate auditorium
Photo courtesy of the public domain
The Strand Theatre was opened in 1914 for the Mitchel Mark Realty Company and was under the early direction of Samuel "Roxy" Rothapfel as the Mark Strand. It originally had a seating capacity of 2,989.

The Strand Theatre began its life with stage shows in addition to movies and also had one of the largest stages in the city in 1914. After stage shows were dropped in 1929, seating was reduced to 2,750. In the late-1930's stage shows (and vaudeville) were brought back.

After dropping stage shows on July 3, 1951, the Strand Theatre was renamed Warner Theatre, and opened with "Stangers on a Train". During 1952 to 1953, the theatre closed, was renovated and renamed Warner Cinerama. Cinerama films moved here from the Broadway Theatre, starting with "This Is Cinerama" in 1953.

In 1963, the auditorium was equipped with a 81 foot wide, 30 feet tall screen to show "Its a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World". World Premiere's of 70mm films included "Porgy and Bess"(June 24, 1959), "Exodus"(December 15, 1960), "The Greatest Story Ever Told"(February 15, 1965), "Grand Prix"(December 21, 1966 and "Camelot"(October 25, 1967).

On July 30, 1968, the theatre reopened as a triplex. The Warner Cinerama theatre with 1,000 seats occupied the main floor. The former balcony became the 1,200 seat Penthouse Theatre. A third theatre built in the old Stand's stagehouse was also opened, called the Cine Orleans, which had its own entrance on W. 47th Street. In the early-1980's the Cinerama and Penthouse were remodeled and renamed the RKO Warner Twin.

Unfortunately, on February 8th 1987, after a long and eventful life, one of the greatest movie palaces of New York City closed and was demolished.
                                     Contributed by Cinema Treasures, Warren, Orlando Lopes

MARK STRAND ' s Bibliography (In English)

Bibliography excerpt from The Poetry Foundation

 

Mark Strand a Parole Spalancate 2010
foto 36° Fotogramma - Marco Dragonetti

 

 

 

POETRY

• Sleeping with One Eye Open, Stone Wall Press, 1964.
• Reasons for Moving: Poems, Atheneum, 1968.
• Darker: Poems, Atheneum, 1970.
• The Story of Our Lives, Atheneum, 1973.
• The Sargeantville Notebook, Burning Deck, 1974.
• Elegy for My Father, Windhover, 1978.
• The Late Hour, Atheneum, 1978.
• Selected Poems, Atheneum, 1980.
• The Continuous Life, Knopf (New York), 1990.
• The Monument, Ecco Press, 1991.
• Reasons for Moving, Darker, and the Sargeantville Notebook, Knopf, 1992.
• Dark Harbor: A Poem, Knopf, 1993.
• Blizzard of One: Poems, Knopf, 1998.
• 89 Clouds (single poem), monotypes by Wendy Mark and introduction by Thomas Hoving, ACA Galleries (New York), 1999.
• Man and Camel, Knopf, 2005.
• New Selected Poems, Knopf, 2007.

Also author of New Poems, 1990, and Chicken, Shadow, Moon & More (poems with illustrations by the author), 2000.

CHILDREN'S BOOKS

• The Planet of Lost Things, illustrated by William Pene du Bois, C. N. Potter, 1982.
• The Night Book, illustrated by Pene du Bois, C. N. Potter, 1983.
• Rembrandt Takes a Walk, illustrated by Red Grooms, C. N. Potter, 1986.

OTHER

• (Editor) The Contemporary American Poets, New American Library, 1968.
• (Editor) New Poetry of Mexico, Dutton, 1970.
• (Editor and translator) 18 Poems from the Quechua, Halty Ferguson, 1971.
• (Editor and translator) Rafael Alberti, The Owl's Insomnia, Atheneum, 1973.
• (Editor with Charles Simic) Another Republic: Seventeen European and South American Writers, Ecco, 1976.
• (Translator) Carlos Drummond de Andrade, Souvenir of the Ancient World, Antaeus Editions, 1976.
• The Monument (prose), Ecco, 1978.
• (Contributor) Claims for Poetry, edited by Donald Hall, University of Michigan Press, 1982.
• (Editor) The Art of the Real (art criticism), C. N. Potter, 1983.
• Mr. and Mrs. Baby and Other Stories (short stories), Knopf, 1985.
• (Editor with Thomas Colchie; translator with Elizabeth Bishop, Colchie, and Gregory Rabassa) Carlos Drummond de Andrade, Traveling in the Family, Random House, 1987.
• William Bailey (art criticism), Abrams, 1987.
• (Editor) The Best American Poetry, 1991, Macmillan, 1991.
• (Contributor) Within This Garden: Photographs by Ruth Thorne-Thomsen, Columbia College Chicago/Aperture Foundation, 1993.
• (Editor) Golden Ecco Anthology, Ecco Press, 1994.
• Hopper (art criticism), Ecco Press, 1994.
• (Editor with Eavan Boland) The Making of a Poem: A Norton Anthology of Poetic Forms, Norton (New York), 2000.
• The Weather of Words: Poetic Invention, Knopf, 2000.
• (Translator) Looking for Poetry: Poems by Carlos Drummond de Andrade and Rafael Alberti, with Songs from the Quechua, Knopf, 2002.
• (Editor) 100 Great Poems of the Twentieth Century, Norton (New York), 2005.

Έχω φάει ποίηση! Mangiare poesia, in lingua greca

                                        
                                     Έχω φάει ποίηση!
 
Μελάνι τρέχει από τις άκρες του στόματός μου. Δεν υπάρχει ευτυχία σαν τη δική μου. Έχω φάει ποίηση!


Inchiostro cola dagli angoli della mia bocca. Non c'è felicità come la mia. Mangio poesia!

 

89 CLOUDS, 89 NUVOLE ( ma qui ne abbiamo solo 24...) MARK STRAND

Foto originale by Gabriele Pancirolli : Le dita rosate dell' aurora)

1. Una nuvola non è mai uno specchio

2. Le parole sulle nuvole sono nuvole loro stesse

3. Se nevica in una nuvola, solo la nuvola lo sa

4. Per ogni nuvola c’è un’altra nuvola

5. Una nuvola sogna solo triangoli

6. Una nuvola è una stagione di bianco

7. Lo sfolgorio delle nuvole è falsità

8. Le nuvole sono state disossate

9. Al museo delle nuvole è esposta solo Biancaneve

10. Le nuvole sono frutta soffice

11. Lo scorrere delle nuvole è come pomeriggio dopo pomeriggio

12. Se un pappagallo si perde in una nuvola diviene  arcobaleno

13. Le nuvole sono innamorate degli orizzonti

14. Si parla in una nuvola come in un telefono

15. Un cielo senza nuvole è calvo e azzurro

16. Le nuvole del mare profumano di mare

17. Le nuvole sono nobili e inquiete

18. La nuvola che se n’era andata non sarebbe più tornata

19. Il dolore delle nuvole non riusciamo nemmeno a immaginarcelo

20. Le nuvole sono pensieri senza parole

21. Le nuvole sono schiave del vento

22. Una nuvola senza forma è sempre aperta

23. Le nuvole sono trascinate da uccelli invisibili

24. Se le nuvole avessero braccia, abbraccerebbero


New York: ACA Galleries, 1999. 1/20 Hardcover An as-new copy without printed dust jacket as issued, one of only 20 copies specially bound with an original signed monotype by Wendy Mark laid into a pocket at the back of the book, which is also signed by Strand and Mark. A lovely book with text by Mark Strand and reproductions of monotypes by Wendy Mark. by both Mark Strand and Wendy Mark. Text by Strand is complemented by reproductions of monotypes by Mark. (Item ID: 791) 

Pellicani della Namibia / Photo Anna Mannini

Orpheus Alone, Mark Strand reading

                 

              Orpheus Alone

 poetryfoundation.org/features/audioitem/

It was an adventure much could be made of: a walk

On the shores of the darkest known river,

Among the hooded, shoving crowds, by steaming rocks

And rows of ruined huts half buried in the muck;

Then to the great court with its marble yard

Whose emptiness gave him the creeps, and to sit there

In the sunken silence of the place and speak

Of what he had lost, what he still possessed of his loss,

And, then, pulling out all the stops, describing her eyes,

Her forehead where the golden light of evening spread,

The curve of her neck, the slope of her shoulders, everything

Down to her thighs and calves, letting the words come,

As if lifted from sleep, to drift upstream,

Against the water's will, where all the condemned

And pointless labor, stunned by his voice's cadence,

Would come to a halt, and even the crazed, disheveled

Furies, for the first time, would weep, and the soot-filled

Air would clear just enough for her, the lost bride,

To step through the image of herself and be seen in the light.

As everyone knows, this was the first great poem,

Which was followed by days of sitting around

In the houses of friends, with his head back, his eyes

Closed, trying to will her return, but finding

Only himself, again and again, trapped

In the chill of his loss, and, finally,

Without a word, taking off to wander the hills

Outside of town, where he stayed until he had shaken

The image of love and put in its place the world

As he wished it would be, urging its shape and measure

Into speech of such newness that the world was swayed,

And trees suddenly appeared in the bare place

Where he spoke and lifted their limbs and swept

The tender grass with the gowns of their shade,

And stones, weightless for once, came and set themselves there,

And small animals lay in the miraculous fields of grain

And aisles of corn, and slept. The voice of light

Had come forth from the body of fire, and each thing

Rose from its depths and shone as it never had.

And that was the second great poem,

Which no one recalls anymore. The third and greatest

Came into the world as the world, out of the unsayable,

Invisible source of all longing to be; it came

As things come that will perish, to be seen or heard

Awhile, like the coating of frost or the movement

Of wind, and then no more; it came in the middle of sleep

Like a door to the infinite, and, circled by flame,

Came again at the moment of waking, and, sometimes,

Remote and small, it came as a vision with trees

By a weaving stream, brushing the bank

With their violet shade, with somebody’s limbs

Scattered among the matted, mildewed leaves nearby,

With his severed head rolling under the waves,

Breaking the shifting columns of light into a swirl

Of slivers and flecks; it came in a language

Untouched by pity, in lines, lavish and dark,

Where death is reborn and sent into the world as a gift,

So the future, with no voice of its own, nor hope

Of ever becoming more than it will be, might mourn.

Mark Strand: Five Poems on the BOSTON REVIEW

Clear In the September Light

A man stands under a tree, looking at a small house not far away. He flaps his arms as if he were a bird, maybe signaling someone we cannot see. He could be yelling, but since we hear nothing, he probably is not. Now the wind sends a shiver through the tree, and flattens the grass. The man falls to his knees and pounds the ground with his fists. A dog comes and sits beside him, and the man stands, once again flapping his arms. What he does has nothing to do with me. His desperation is not my desperation. I do not stand under trees and look at small houses. I have no dog.

Chiaro nella luce di settembre


Un uomo fermo sotto un albero guarda una piccola casa non lungi. Sbatte le braccia come se fosse un uccello, forse fa dei segnali a qualcuno che non possiamo vedere.  Forse urla, ma dato che non sentiamo nulla, probabilmente non urla. Ora il vento manda un brivido attraverso l' albero, e appiattisce l'erba. L' uomo si inginocchia e colpisce la terra con i pugni. Arriva un cane che gli si accuccia accanto, e l' uomo sbatte di nuovo le braccia. Quel che egli fa non ha nulla a che fare con me. La sua disperazione non è la mia disperazione. Io non sto sotto gli alberi e non guardo piccole case. Io non ho nessun cane.

Traduzione A. Pancirolli






                                              F I V E P O E M S of Mark Strand

Commentary by Nicholas Christopher

The most alluring qualities in Strand’s early lyrics—clean lines, taut narratives, and carefully framed mise-en-scènes—also marks his most recent poems, which, with a deepened pathos and heightened polish, work over a good deal more of life lived, sights seen, women loved, children grown, friends dead or dying, and the author’s own mortality... 

...Strand absorbed the music of many illustrious precursors—Elizabeth Bishop, Wallace Stevens, Giacomo Leopardi, Fernando Pessoa, Rafael Alberti (of whom he is our foremost English translator)—in shaping his own voice. He is also among the first and most important North American poets whose crucial influences were as much Latin American as European. Canadian by birth, widely traveled, Strand is, by training and instinct, among the most international of American poets.                                                    




from THE BOSTON REVIEW