Tempo, harmonies,
                   a certain colour
      of the soul, mornings
by the sea
         and the art of
                 sound engineering.

           In the control room,
an ocean of lights,
thousands of notes rise
from the dead page
                 of the score;
                     unusual combinations
hit straight to the heart,
heartbeat, a beat, heartbeat,
               beat of the heart –
they crash against salty rocks,
     marine soundboards;
                      kiss the wind,
                fall into the embrace, 

gravitational field of two planets.

Venus, Jupiter
        Jupiter’s rocky moon,
              erupting lava,
                    volcanic lakes,
            exploding soundscapes
silent symphonies
voyage back to the Earth,

      dust of astral red, gold
              green lands
                    on the mixing
                        desk of
                    the engineer.

The rebirth of sound. 

Featured image: Studio 2 Control Room, Abbey Road Studios, 8 April 2018


Map of love / Mapa ljubavi / Carte d’amour

“Where is my end, your beginning, our coordinates on the map of love?”

Time in the falling
                       dawns on
the map’s margins
swallows the seashores
of our past.
Each day 

unfolds in a familiar
reopens, re-enters
       the seafront, landscape we’ve
I gather your emotional 

               seashells, fragile
shields of protection,
    I hold them, don’t feel the pain
in my hands –
            razor sharp ends, 

shell-daggers in the heart.
My traces in the
 circles, yours,

meandering lines of exit –
the ambivalence of
                      the emotion
         we call love.

The distance between us
  is not measured
           in miles or kilometres,
              instead it is written 

  in the presence (or absence)
           of feeling,
           line of your longitude,

                      line of my latitude,

 on this map of love. 


“Gdje je moj kraj, tvoj početak, naše koordinate na mapi ljubavi?”

Vrijeme u padanju
na rubovima mape
guta obale
naše prošlosti.
Svaki dan

otvara se u poznatom
rastvara, razdvaja
      morsku obalu, pejzaž kojeg smo
Skupljam tvoje 

školjke-emocije, krhke
zaštitne oklope,
        držim ih, ne osjećam bol
u šakama –
završetci oštri poput britvice,

školjke-ubodi u srcu.
Moji tragovi u
krugovi, tvoji

tragovi, krivudave crte izlaza –
     kojeg nazivamo ljubav.

Udaljenost među nama
   ne mjeri se
       miljama, kilometrima,
           ona je sažeta u 

prisutnosti (ili odsutnosti)
             u liniji tvoje duljine

                   u liniji moje širine,

na ovoj mapi ljubavi.


“Où est ma fin, ton début, nos coordonnées sur la carte d’amour?”

Le temps en chute
des aubes
sur les marges de la carte
avale les rivages
de notre passé.
Chaque jour

se déploie dans un endroit
rouvre, pénètre le front maritime,
paysage que nous avons
Je rassemble 

tes coquillages-émotions,
           boucliers fragiles,
je les tiens, pointes de rasoir,
              je ne ressens aucune douleur
dans mes mains – 

dans mon cœur.
Mes traces dans
le sable,
cercles parfaits,

tes traces, lignes de sortie
en méandre –
l’ambivalence de l’émotion
que nous
           appelons l’amour.

La distance entre nous
n’est pas mesurée
           en miles ou en kilomètres,
elle s’inscrit dans

la présence (ou l’absence)
ligne de ta longitude,

ligne de ma latitude,
nos coordonnées

sur cette carte de l’amour.

©Jasmina Bolfek-Radovani Mina Ray 2018

Featured image: Saul Leiter


Chained, R.

As deep down as possible. He buried his emotions diving into it as deeply as. Into the deep sea. Taking every new day, every new night in. Clouds. The passage of time. Breathing in, breathing out. Diving in again, making his feelings for her his own, burying them deep down below the earth’s darkest layers this time. Below the sea. Remain strong. He must remain strong. Untouchable. Wounds, deep. Scars, invisible. ‘It’s alright. If I don’t think about her, my feelings will go away. She will become a faded memory’. A lie, he tries to convince himself of. But, he knows, dreams of it. Sweats. In repetition. Every day, she is transformed a little more into a lingering ghost in his subconscious. A spectre. Moving below his level of consciousness, she has transmuted into an unattainable ideal. A symbol of the feminine archetype for him. Not knowing this, he walks around without seeing, trapped in the veils of his own blindness. His heart, chained to her. He can’t shake it, shake her off. So, he pushes it further down. Deeper. Deep down as possible. To the earth’s core.

photo: Ryan Muirhead.


Mona’s maritime diary: 14

3/11/2016. 17:05 hrs. Light cloud, 7 degrees Celsius, Southeasterly wind (6 miles per hour)

Twilight. Light reflections on water surface. Million stars, spark of life. Rebellious glitters. Pearls. I am standing on the edge of the shore, almost touching the waters. Reaching towards darkness. Waiting for me. The waves beat their drums in a rhythmic chanting… Calling back the forgotten, lost sounds of the sea. Darker seashells. Our walks on the golden sand beach last summer, hand in hand; traces of feeling washed out by the tide.


Mona’s maritime diary: 8

26/10/2016, 17:22 hrs. Light cloud, 15 degrees Celsius, light Southeasterly breeze (8 miles per hour)

The river is quiet, silent at dusk. It’s surface, silky. A few whispering waves here and there… The more I watch it, the more I see it changing… A lonesome man is walking on the beach. Looking for something. Some familiar object? Shells he will take home to his wife and kids? You asked me once ‘Where is home for you?’. My home is in me, inside me, I am home anywhere I go. This river, the skies, the smell of the ocean, the sound of seagulls…


Mona’s maritime diary: 4

20/10/2016, 16:57 hrs. Sunny intervals, 15 degrees Celsius, Northern light breeze (9 miles per hour)

Time by the river goes by slowly. I wait for the vessel to dock, record the current weather conditions, the wind force, the probable ship’s velocity. Like a captain would. I imagine a ship’s cargo containing human tears, love strings of meaning… Again, I am reminded of my long-distance attachment to you.

Across the ocean I stand, I wait. I wait for a sea-pearl-song.


Mona’s maritime diary: 3

19/10/2016, 15:37 hrs. Sunny intervals, 14 degrees Celsius, Northeasterly breeze (12 miles per hour)

The calm hour at the shore. Sounds of kids playing on skateboards after school reverberate, form small waves on the surface of the river. The tide is high. No separation between the skies and the water; they’ve merged into a grey mass unfolding in front of me. You. Me. The separation line between us. That minimal, significant difference.


Copyright Mina Ray 2016