Aveu – Poetry

Aveu – Poetry

In “Aveu,” (French for “confession”), Hruby continues his passion for both history and death.

Another one of his loves and passions is for other artists and their works which he is touched by and finds magnificent. One of the first poets in the 21st century to do so, he has singled out various world visual artists and their works and, honored them by promoting their works through marriaging it with his powerful compositions, which is often also inspired by their works. Touched by what he sees and feels from any particular work, Hruby then goes into the writing studio and creates a composition from the work he is studying. Generally, this process can take up to a week. “Aveu” features the photographic work of Oleg Holovackiy.

In his own words ……

     “There is something about standing in an empty room that is centuries old. The old faded wallpaper that looks back at you from the walls. The pungent smell of the wooden floors beneath your feet. The old fireplace that is no longer in use. And at night, the dim lighting that barely illuminates the room. Its shadowy light reflecting off of a long-faded chandelier and, there is always the window.

     And to stand there alone in such a room, I cannot help but feel it. To sense so much that has taken place in it. To imagine the stories the walls could tell if they could talk. To tell of all that has happened within them.

     To hear the odd sound on the wooden floors of shoes that are no longer worn today. The aroma of a cigar. The smell of fresh baked bread. The sound of a rocking chair – wood-on-wood. The sound of ruffling from a woman’s style of dress that is no longer worn. The clanging sound of glasses made of crystal. Laugher in the room that came from people once-upon-a-time but who are now long gone. In this empty room, their presence still seems to live. The sound of a baby’s cry. Children running around and playing on the wooden floors.

     Heated words thrown across the room between man and woman. The passion of lovers felt. The sadness of death.

     And the window …. to look out as they once did. Standing in their very footsteps and gazing out where perhaps not much has changed at all except the style of clothes worn by those walking by down below. Or ,to gaze out such a window and nothing is any longer as they once saw it. The same sunlight however, still pierces through its panes every morning … that has never changed. Sounds of horses, carriages, and hawkers long gone too.

     All of it gone now except the room that you stand in. It remains with the spirits of what once was, … and what will never be again.”

George Hruby

 

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