PERFORMANCES from the late 1950s to the present
Hortvs Winariencis Mayrav, 2008
Benedictio Aqvae, 2008
Telepathic Body, 1997
Night Body / 2001
Golden Horse / Bohemiae Rosa / 1999
White Rock / 1996
Miloš Šejn | Českých Bratří 312 | CZ-50601 Jičín | T +420 723 701 658 | milos [at-sign] sejn.cz
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Golden Horse / Bohemiae Rosa / 1999
Golden Horse / poem by Miloš Šejn for 1999 Czech Karst Project.
One part from DVD Bohemiae Rosa 10 Years - Frank van de Ven and Milos Sejn performing.
To open ourselves to the deep look of stones, rocks, gorges and the eyes of rifts which call out our memories, having the shape of horses running through the gold in the azure of the grasses of night. To look through multiple eyes of the threads of roots, we the worms of the earthen skies.
The white is on the surface dragging or glowing in the entrails, in the arms and joints the capillarity of salts, when the rain wets the sun to kiss my mandibles?
To be a breeze does not mean to rut.
Our claws know how to mould sounds and they murmur deeply through the sparkling of the star dust of an endless weight and lightness.
The sap of mornings and the smell of that and now.
The stones may come for us and they may like us and they will make their nests in our sap or the night will flood us and we will run, resembling the silver mane deep into the light.
The sensors, we will hoist to our shells and the moves will penetrate us with the first sniff.
The sags of bridges, what will it be then in the crusts of scintillating rainbows?
Through bending we silently glow in the velvet black of the earthly clouds which draw the streams down there for the people.
It is possible to offer yourself as a pool
Through the skeleton of the nerves in the leafs.
Not to ask any questions, but to tread in the footprints,
we the valleys.
One part from DVD Bohemiae Rosa 10 Years - Frank van de Ven and Milos Sejn performing.
To open ourselves to the deep look of stones, rocks, gorges and the eyes of rifts which call out our memories, having the shape of horses running through the gold in the azure of the grasses of night. To look through multiple eyes of the threads of roots, we the worms of the earthen skies.
The white is on the surface dragging or glowing in the entrails, in the arms and joints the capillarity of salts, when the rain wets the sun to kiss my mandibles?
To be a breeze does not mean to rut.
Our claws know how to mould sounds and they murmur deeply through the sparkling of the star dust of an endless weight and lightness.
The sap of mornings and the smell of that and now.
The stones may come for us and they may like us and they will make their nests in our sap or the night will flood us and we will run, resembling the silver mane deep into the light.
The sensors, we will hoist to our shells and the moves will penetrate us with the first sniff.
The sags of bridges, what will it be then in the crusts of scintillating rainbows?
Through bending we silently glow in the velvet black of the earthly clouds which draw the streams down there for the people.
It is possible to offer yourself as a pool
Through the skeleton of the nerves in the leafs.
Not to ask any questions, but to tread in the footprints,
we the valleys.
