poemimage

Where text meets image. Where the visual intersects the literary.

Month: December, 2014

Vincent in the Sky Above Bologna, 1493

vincent and the star

A star hung in the sky just above

The brim of his straw hat.

He gazed upon a city.

I hope nobody mistakes me he thought

I hope nobody mistakes me, he thought.

He gazed upon a medieval woodcut

On Christmas Eve.

gazed uponvincent largevincent ways of seeingvincent behind hilltop

I used Google Earth

To track the movements of the past,

Finding where the sky began…

I had to do this

border

Before unplugging

For a few days…

border

To contemplate what I might awaken

Soon, &

2015,

So soon upon us…

border

& In this season of celebration,

starry sky

A star alighting upon Vincent,

Wishing you

  A Happy New Year.

woodcut

The woodcut, depicting Bologna, is by an unknown artist, 1493.

Self-portrait by Vincent Van Gogh, 1887.

Bologna street scene from Google Earth, 2014.

snow streak

I do not claim copyright of the original images.

I have recomposed original images to create a new non-commercial work

for purposes of parody or commentary

under fair use provisions

of the copyright law.

vincent overlooking Bologna

Solstice (with Van Gogh sunflowers)

and nighta globesolstice-with-sunflowersglobe 3overlay2a second globe

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crescent

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globe 3panel atwo or morechangetwo or morepanel aglobe 3

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crescentcrescentcrescent

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panel a

A Bolt of Black Cloth

9

I imagined a colour the density of funeral bunting,

new 10

A bolt of black cloth,

a singed songflaring

A sudden black waterfall quickly dropping six stories,

dales 17 new

Unrolled from a balcony,

dense nights

The beginning of a voyage,

fire lotq

Negotiating darkness.

flaring

My father shopped at Dales for paper bags full of groceries,

parkinglot

I waited in the car listening to the radio,

people who knowwaiting in the car 1

I tried to describe a song called Eve of Destruction,

q

He looked at me in the rear-view mirror,

r

Columns of black smoke rose above the Pacific Ocean,

spark 2a ring

Like poisonous vines,

the projector shining

Morse code blinking through the darkness,

waiting in the car 1

At night he came home as late as possible,

xxp

Then looking again into the rear-view mirror,

new 10

He repeated the name of the song,

‘Eve of Destruction.’

dales 17 new

I pictured a wooden bowl in my chest,

parkinglotthe projector shining

Smoothed and worn by water,

p

& Climbing the stairs into this language,

a ring

Gazed, longingly, into a rear-view mirror.

new 10dales 17 newxxr

Patty Hearst in Hibernia

ph action

On April 15, 1974,

Patty Hearst,

A 19 year old university art student and heiress,

ph with a blur

Kidnapped by revolutionaries,

ph this too

& Suffering from

Stockholm Syndrome,

ph her again

Appeared on camera,

ph duality

Robbing the Hibernia Bank, (Sunset District Branch, San Francisco),

Alongside her new comrades.

ph final glow

Pulled into this place,

Across time & coincidence,

Into this name

Pursuing

Consciousness &

Thirst,

ph hearing in hibernia

Into, possibly, a

Type of

Portal…

ph indelibly

In Rudolf Steiner’s slim volume ‘The Druids’

ph at sunset

He discusses The Mysteries of Ancient Ireland,

ph movement on stones

& the Mystery Centres of Hibernia:

ph psychedelic gravel

It sounds strange today that an older humanity experienced sweet after-effects of sleep in the limbs, the arms, right down into the finger-tips and the other parts of the body. But the research of the science of the sprit shows that it was so; and the genius of language has retained something of this, though in a crude and materialistic form. A sleeping-draught was once something spiritual, that is, sleep itself, and it was only later that it became an actual liquid draught in a material form…

ph actionph her again

In modern initiation we ascend from our ordinary ideas to spirit-sight, but in those days, while ordinary human beings passed from their dreamlike life into sleep, for which they cultivated a consciousness and experienced this after-taste, the mystery priests had the ability to feel their way consciously into sleep and so learned what this after-taste implied…

ph just like a woman

Her thirst for

draught of sleep,

&

A waking-dream of

Clouds or plants…

ph faceless carriageph actionph her again

 This was the consolation which the priests of the Mysteries could give their people in ancient days; they made them see that plants are not just beautiful but are permeated by the weaving of the spirit; that the clouds do not just sail through the air but that divine spiritual elemental beings are active in them, and so on. It was towards the spirit of nature that these initiates led the human beings who depended on them for guidance…

ph with a blurPatty Hearst yelling commands at bank customersPatty Hearst yelling commands at bank customers

Digitally collaged images include security camera footage,

An ancient navigational device,

A neolithic stone structure,

A stone carving,

(authors unknown).

ph with a blur

I do not claim copyright of the original images.

I have created a new composition

for non-commercial purposes

of parody or commentary.

Patty Hearst yelling commands at bank customersPatty Hearst yelling commands at bank customersph sombre

Nothing Is Real… Strawberry Fields Forever

as a boy

John Lennon & the gates of

Strawberry Field

Where he played

As a young boy…

gate

(and still)

Nothing is real…

Strawberry Fields Forever.

gate

Every year at this time

The hole

Where the spark of you

Was,

…it must be high or low,

Appearing

Like a cosmic holograph,

Zooming into view,

A thumbprint,

Touching &

Sailing into the sound

Of all that is

Going down.

Rockabilly blues overlap into

A new dimension

&

You, again, deliver us into…

gate

(and still)

Nothing is real…

Strawberry Fields Forever.

gate

Steering through,

Beyond,

 Ornately fashioned

Gates of Perception…

Ah, Irish John of England,

Blake, Luddites and

Nell Gwyn,

Entering that space

Within your self,

Where

In your absence

 You can always be.

Let me take you

down…

Cause I’m going to…

gate

(and still)

Nothing is real…

Strawberry Fields Forever.

o

Lyrics to Strawberry Fields Forever: http://letras.com/the-beatles/186/

Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles video: http://vimeo.com/75657441

gate

I had a friend in high school who would wear all black clothing, as well as sunglasses, walk beneath a black umbrella no matter the weather, and hitchhike at night. He laughed that he wanted to make people wonder whether they had actually seen somebody or not. We thumbed a ride a couple miles to a diner past the edge of town, with small jukeboxes on the counter, spending all our spare change playing Strawberry Fields Forever. He was, of course, in black, the small town atmosphere verging on confrontational, and the music, even though coming from tiny speakers, aiming rays of otherworldly colours and sensations into one’s mind. This song has never ceased to touch my sense of what might be mystical. I know I am not alone in missing John Lennon terribly.

as a boy

Snowing Lightly & I am Looking for Pyramids in the Street

1510993_709801922467510_5496473610890615213_n

Clearly the street sign is warning me about pyramids ahead.

spiritual

Maybe around the corner. By the school or the park.

magic world?

My neighbours say no. This is about speed bumps.

neighbours 2?

It’s simply a way of saying go slow. Drive slowly.

hands?

My neighbours tend to minimize everything.

her with stars?

I think this time they are wrong.

blue night?

They say I have no idea what they saw driving up here tonight.

mystical?

That I have no idea what they have been through.

ice pyramids?

That in the short time I have left I need to be more open to the experiences of others.

old photo?

I said ‘What?’

 street

In the public domain photos of Wikipedia Commons I found a link to images of cultural expression in Finland following World War 2:

http://pomus.net/kehityslinjat/1945-1959

1510993_709801922467510_5496473610890615213_n

Gestures Simply Slip Out and On by Heather Cadsby

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Turtles are very old, have no teeth.

Not lost, never had. Not fearful

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of first-person singular.

No turtle turmoil. A reptilian gaze

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is fixed on us as you

adjust the focus.

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This is our assignment. A singular adventure

to create a life list for ourselves.

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Something outside ourselves. Before

we do ourselves in. Copulation

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requires an hour underwater.

Aye aye aye.

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But the good part is a start.

So get your picture.

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We’ll call this one painted

and turn the page

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as if that’s all we need

to know it all.

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Heather Cadsby is the author of four books of poetry. The most recent book, Could be, was published by Brick Books in 2009. Her poems have appeared in such journals as The Antigonish Review, The New Quarterly, PRISM international and The Best Canadian Poetry in English (2008).

22

William of The Nile

montage a

The Pharaoh taught William

How to manipulate

Vibrational fields.

montage e

& William Blake taught The Pharaoh

How to bake with plums,

& How to shake free from ever-unchanging

 Sacred taboos.

montage b

The skin of the plum

A portal,

As deep and dark as royal magic.

montage f

(I do not own the copyright to the original images/ William Blake artwork/ the art of ancient Egypt, nor do I claim such. I have created a new digital work for purposes of parody or commentary under fair use provisions.)

montage a