poemimage

Where text meets image. Where the visual intersects the literary. Often posting 1st drafts and editing in (almost) real time.

Category: Digital collage

Ovid

I  gaze upon her at the walk-in clinic

only the two of us

she carries a brilliant white bowl made of clay

her name scratched into the white glaze

I said haven’t I met you before

she said a long time ago

in the library at Alexandria

I said why are you here

she said the people who started the fire

arrested me for reading Ovid

they sentenced me to life without honey

I said what is the bowl for she didn’t speak

I thought my conversation bothersome

& fell quiet

she said I read Ovid at the speed of light

I said like a honeybee

she said honeybees are slower than the speed of light

I snap my fingers like a jazz musician 

You got it!

Honeybees are slower than the speed of light!

She said it might be the title of a brilliant love poem

about snails

I said two snails conceptually in love

she said you have to become healthy

I said what’s wrong with me

she said consider velocity

consider clay pots breathing in a cave

unfurling billowing sail-skins of air

unfurling billowing sail-skins of sunshine

the Dead Sea Scrolls

rolled and telepathic

secretly rescued in the fire 

she winks one eye

I snap my fingers

she said Im not saying anything

a voice calls her number

two snails conceptually move about in the sunshine

wrapped in honey-coloured sail-skins billowing

unfurling honey-coloured sail-skins often

I am healthy often

the people who start the fire sentence her to honey found secretly on cliff-sides

I walk in circles upon the rounded peak of a vertical mound 

chosen because it has no shade trees

I am healthy often eating honey

the brilliant afternoon drenched in honey-coloured telepathic heat

swirling like butter from the ancient cows

a deer pushes his nose into the brilliant white pages 

I read Ovid listening to a brilliant buzzing sound.

This is the Scene

This is the scene

where I follow the animal

into the forest.

This could be a bird.

A Cubist experiments

with wind

and Morse Code.

O’ Dishcloth Colour of the Sun

A classic Piet Mondrian composition collaged incorporating a photograph of my sister’s heroic torn dishcloth.

A ceiling light reflected on the floor, beside the dishcloth, resembling the flame of an oil lamp.

A dyed cotton weave delivering flame to Mondrian’s composition.

Mondrian’s static & inorganic (yet dynamic) composition collaged with incongruity, warmth & organic emotion.

Energy (like Van Gogh’s sunflowers) frayed & twisted contrasting with Mondrian’s geometric formula.

‘I Know’

‘Do you need a ride home?’

‘Yes, I just arrived.’

‘Where will you be staying?’

‘Wherever they will have me and speak the truth.’

‘Have you heard of television?’

‘I have read The Little Box poems by Vasko Popa.’

‘Those are two different things.’

‘I know.’

Medieval Gamblers

Medieval Gamblers by Steven McCabe

I listened earlier to Bob Dylan singing ‘As I Went Out One Morning’ and put up a blog post about the revolutionary Tom Paine and the lyrics to the song (on Dylan’s 1968 John Wesley Harding album) and a photo of Bob receiving the 1963 Thomas Paine award (& how he went on a rant against the respectable liberal audience) & so it goes. In the end I decided to simply show this B&W art (Medieval Gamblers) created in Photoshop today via digital collage & possibly using elements of ink drawings. I could feel the atmosphere of the medieval inn, and textures like wood and burlap, and the mood of danger lurking. There seems to also be danger lurking here & now so it’s not so difficult to intuit. As for gambling I’ve never allowed others to gamble with me. At least I’ve tried & so it goes.

As I went out one morning
To breathe the air around Tom Paine’s
I spied the fairest damsel
That ever did walk in chains
I offer’d her my hand
She took me by the arm
I knew that very instant
She meant to do me harm

“Depart from me this moment”
I told her with my voice
Said she, “But I don’t wish to”
Said I, “But you have no choice”
“I beg you, sir,” she pleaded
From the corners of her mouth
“I will secretly accept you
And together we’ll fly south”

Just then Tom Paine, himself
Came running from across the field
Shouting at this lovely girl
And commanding her to yield
And as she was letting go her grip
Up Tom Paine did run,
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said to me
“I’m sorry for what she’s done”

– Bob Dylan, 1968

It could have been

Time Machine

I told them I was no expert but they signed the contract anyway.

The flight to the cave in the mountains was so long it included five meals.

When it came time to adjust the settings they told me I would be the operator.

They asked me over the intercom what I saw.

I said, ‘A cow.’

They said, A bull belonging to Genghis Khan?

A bull breathing fire?

A bull pulling a chariot across the sky?

I said, ‘A cow in a barn

watching Sonny and Cher sing The Beat Goes On.’

They said, ‘Adjust the settings.’

I did. They said, ‘Where are you?’

I said, ‘I see Rasputin.’

They said, ‘What is he doing?’

I said, ‘Building a time machine.’

In Neon Mystery, in Singularity, the Flowers Explode

Last night I walked home at eleven. Dark and cool. The streets and cafes were busy – lots of children.

Turning left, then right, I skirted the park. On my street I was startled by a sudden voice behind a large bush. A woman was photographing earwigs (feeding?) in the centres of daisies.

I’m taking care of two cats and one decided to make noise at 4:45 am to let me know she expected to be fed. I lay there trying to sleep and heard the phrase ‘in singularity the flowers explode.’ I thought it needed something so added ‘in neon mystery.’

here

*

the key to here

pulled on a string slowly away

*

I didn’t even notice

*

image originally from the book Ethiopian Magic Scrolls – manipulated in Photoshop

Like a Bird’s Crazy Beak in a Silly Cartoon

Shapes animated like a bird’s crazy beak in a silly cartoon

remind me of a seagull

blabbering at somebody, somebody who? maybe… Daffy Duck!

He comes to mind for a not complicated reason.

For some reason (in whatever year since 2014 it was) I made this GIF using the book cover.

The gold & ochre jungle leaves remind me of a B&W Humphrey Bogart movie.

In real life Humphrey Bogart was gold & ochre though some say more of a pleasing technicolour.

In real life the book is B&W & printed on cream-coloured paper.

I stand in line at the (big box) grocery store behind a guy with trees printed on his sky blue arm.

Something is in progress in the centre of the store

if the centre of the store is even there anymore.

The numbers on my receipt (dancing a Latin dance)

signify symmetry and imbalance

simultaneously, as if an omen, as if

smoke rising from an oil lamp, as if

in flight through my psyche still there

or following a jagged shoreline

to a river, thrashing in the centre of the store

if the centre of the store is even there anymore

if the river, voluminous as thunder & thrashing

hypnotized is even there anymore.

Linocut Print (of an apple) in ‘Nevermore Together’ by Steven McCabe