poemimage

The visual & the poetic.

Category: Ekphrastic art

December 19, 2014

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

8 Comments
December 15, 2014

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

A 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

10 Comments
December 4, 2014

Gestures Simply Slip Out and On by Heather Cadsby

2

Turtles are very old, have no teeth.

Not lost, never had. Not fearful

8

of first-person singular.

No turtle turmoil. A reptilian gaze

1224

is fixed on us as you

adjust the focus.

20

This is our assignment. A singular adventure

to create a life list for ourselves.

3

Something outside ourselves. Before

we do ourselves in. Copulation

2

requires an hour underwater.

Aye aye aye.

17

But the good part is a start.

So get your picture.

2220

We’ll call this one painted

and turn the page

3

as if that’s all we need

to know it all.

4

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

11 Comments
November 27, 2014

In Rome, do as the Romans do…

two figures

The tourist marvels at the intricate figures and stories on carved stone columns in Rome,

sporetwo figures

Imagining a stonemason/carver scooped up by the Roman Legions and brought as a slave with his family alongside for his ‘new’ life,

columnszo

He pictures the artisan/slave at work chiselling when a small stone chip flies up hitting his eye.

sculpture and no

He lives nearby and walks home to his hut, where his wife daubs at his eye with a cloth, removing the object.

sporecolumnszo

The tourist turns to go, and after walking a few seconds,

v

Sees a couple involved in some first aid type of situation.

trailing line

The man is wearing a camera around his neck,

slave 2

And the woman is wiping at his eye with a handkerchief.

aanew face

The tourist tells his traveling companion about this coincidence and she says ‘Maybe they’re not here.’

some sculpture

I’m remembering a trip to Italy in 2001 like it just happened.

d

I wasn’t originally involved in what turned out to be an Italian-Canadian art education initiative: a visual artist and a musician visiting schools in the north (near Bologna) and the south (Pozzuoli – on the coast south of Naples).

wing

It was soon after 9-1-1 and I think somebody got cold feet.

new facetwo figures

In spite of being stressed about the idea of flying I took the advice given, such as, Are you crazy? Pass up a paid trip to Italy?

sporesome sculpture

It was of course amazing.

two new

The synchronicity of this event has puzzled me ever since.

distant past

Archival ink drawing in my Moleskin sketchbook & details of Roman sculpture (Wikipedia)

some sculpture

25 Comments
November 22, 2014

November 22, 1963

I used excerpts from my mother’s journal(s) in some of the poetry. The Super 8 footage is from Kashmir & Europe in the 1960s courtesy T. Nanavati. I remember watching the family black and white television the night of the Kennedy assassination with my mother. The haunting never left me. The Beatles had not yet arrived. The war in Vietnam, ironically enough, was just about to kick in high gear. My father spent the weekend deer hunting. Years later, reading Robert Bly’s Iron John, this hit me like a sledgehammer. Although I view the event through a political prism I choose to deal with it in the context of mythic time.

tablet

Director: Steven McCabe
Director of Photography: Eric Gerard
Editor: Cliff Caines
Chanting: Sandra Phillips
Electronic/ambient music: DreamSTATE
Narration: Lynn Harrigan & Tanya Nanavati
Performers: Preethi Gopinath/Tanya Nanavati/Nicole Pillar/Paula Skimin
Poetry: Steven McCabe
Sound & online: Konrad Skręta

tablet

12 Comments
November 21, 2014

Starry, Starry Snow

starry, starry, snow

I saw Vincent walking down my street.

He said, ‘I’m cold.’

I said, ‘You’re not alone.’

He said, ‘Finally.’

starry starry snow & vincent
Phone camera: Toronto street

NASA space image

 Vincent Van Gogh: ‘Self-Portrait with Straw Hat’

Paris: Summer, 1887

Oil on Canvas

The Detroit Institue of Arts

vincent 3

12 Comments
November 14, 2014

Double Vision

frame ho chi minh

The left hand and the right hand begin working,

peanuts

Working to create double vision,

new fire h

 Perceptualizing the miracle, painting the town red.

einstein einstein

Shrouded within a shimmering portal, same as before,

frame john lennon

& Beneath the reflection a mirrored dream of innocence.

frame sample

In the innocence of mirrored images a mechanism round as a marble

frame hedy lamarr

Rises and falls. Shattering above twin, holy worlds. Same as before.

strawberries final

Within this terrible possibility perhaps lies the intrigue,

simone b

An intrigue beyond failure,

frame configuration black windows

Beyond the post-modern landscape any failure is a reassurance.

frame frames

The reassurance of a terrible possibility.

frame A Babel by Peter Brueghel the Elder

Mystery centres wrestle with the impending implosion,

frame technicians

Endeavoring round the clock using the latest technology,

frame latest technology

Such as sound in the centre of trees,

frame configuration white windows

Processing data, round as a marble,

frame ancient mirror

Rising like a feather in the breeze,

frame keystone cops

Until night with the force of an atomic blast

frame keystone B

 Arrives, inspiring the melancholy of the absurd, forever.

frame brueghel upsidd down

The images above were taken from the internet. I do not own the copyright and have recomposed them for purposes of non-commercial parody or commentary under fair use provisions. The personalities are Ho Chi Minh, Einstein’s brain, young John Lennon, actress and inventor Hedy Lamarr, author Simon de Beauvoir, and Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s 16th Century painting Tower of Babel. Film stills are from The Keystone Cops. The mirror is Egyptian, from the 18th Century, held by the Brooklyn Museum. The computer scientist ‘unknown.’

8 Comments
November 5, 2014

, Autumn Morning

morning-1

poema 7

Poema 20

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

Write, for example, “The night is starry

and the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.”

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.

I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.

How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.

And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.

The night is starry and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.

My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight tries to find her as though to bring her closer.

My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her.

My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another’s. She will be another’s. As she was before my kisses.

Her voice, her bright body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that’s certain, but maybe I love her.

Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms

my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer

and these the last verses that I write for her.

Pablo Neruda

poema 7

morning-1

16 Comments
October 24, 2014

An ideology that took root

31. An ideology that took root

A film about Fascism,

In a garden with shadowy eagles,

Reflecting on the ancient definition of Flowers.

2. An ideology that took root 6. An ideology that took root

A shadowy figure

Behind a windowbox of plants or flowers,

Reminding me of the mysterious, ornate windows I’d seen

Walking about Rome.

16. An ideology that took root

And the Political-noir

Of an ideology that took root,

Thrown in sharp relief by flickering street lamps,

Mussolini’s definition of Fascism,

The Imperial Eagle of Ancient Rome,

& Flowers at a memorial.

10. An ideology that took root

My uncle

 Convalescing,

When he was young & wounded,

Laughing on the telephone about

A flower pot tossed

From an upper story,

Barely missing.

21. An ideology that took root23. An ideology that took root
And concerning the decision I made,

I would have told my son to do the same.

28. An ideology that took root30. An ideology that took root copy16. An ideology that took root

11 Comments
October 22, 2014

Rays of an Ancient Light Driving You Home

birdlandia

Did you possibly imagine (you couldn’t have)

t

On that youthful, sun-dappled afternoon,

p

The rays of an ancient light caressing your skin & inspiration, when you were

oo

A skipping stone striking at the perfect angles & gaining your balance,

o

Amusedly & perfectly crossing a warm stream at the edge of town,

spanish

The water fresh and the fences down,

ochre

Driving home after closing time…

h

The years marking your skin in ways the Great Depression & the

c

Enemy marked your psyche, past an abandoned brewery,

ff

Seeing the quiet streets coming up fast like a flood, silent as a submarine,

cc

Balancing on wet stones, laughing as you splashed & driving home

s

After closing time, to a lonely house, impervious to depth charges,

ee

Past the dislodged bricks of the abandoned brewery,

mm

Imagining that sun-splashed afternoon & shallow, sparkling water,

truly

Your children crossing streams within darkened rooms,

g

Finding their balance, in ways the enemy

faintly

Marked your psyche & warm afternoons caressed your inspiration,

a

An ancient star illuminating quiet streets, starlight splashing,

x

Streaming into and beyond abandoned spaces,

oo

Rays of an ancient light driving you home.

slbirdlandia

18 Comments