poemimage

The visual & the poetic.

Category: Original art + digital art

Lost by Chris Pannell

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Every street was Italian

the inks on my map blotched and ran

the motorways rose and fell like roller coasters

singing choruses from I Pagliacci.

German and English signs

had been broken and tossed aside.

Gargoyles on buildings dressed in suits

money managers amok

commandeered red double-deck buses from

their streetcar tracks.

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I was driving a taxi full of hit-men

who were expecting me to get them quickly to

their destination

and to avoid the carabinieri.

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Chris Pannell’s latest poetry book is A Nervous City (Wolsak and Wynn, 2013). This title recently won the Kerry Schooley Book Award from the Hamilton Arts Council. In 2010, his book Drive won the Acorn-Plantos People’s Poetry Prize and the Arts Hamilton Poetry Book of the Year.

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From 1993 to 2005 he ran the new writing workshop and published two anthologies of work by that group.

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He has a book of poetry forthcoming in 2016 called How We Came to Pass. He is a former board member of the gritLIT Writers Festival and a former DARTS bus driver. He hosts and helps organize the monthly Hamilton reading series Lit Live.

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A Golden Compass by Hafiz

circular contrasta

Forget every idea of right and wrong
any classroom ever taught you

thoughtcavernous

Because
an empty heart, a tormented mind,
Unkindness, jealousy and fear are always the testimony
you have been completely fooled!

mountedbecause 2a face

Turn your back on those
who would imprison your wondrous spirit
with deceit and lies.

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Come, join the honest company
of the King’s beggars –
those gamblers, scoundrels and divine clowns
and those astonishing fair courtesans
who need Divine Love every night.

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Come, join the courageous
who have no choice
but to bet their entire world
that indeed,
indeed, God is Real.

discsa windowin contemplation

I will lead you into the circle
of the Beloved’s cunning thieves,
those playful royal rogues–
the ones you can trust for true guidance–
who can aid you
In this blessed calamity of life.

blue montagetwin sketcha face

Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

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Yes

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I did a drawing

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And decided to call it

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‘Yes’

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Because there are so many reasons

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To say

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‘No.’

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After an extended break I find myself slowly catching up with the many interesting posts I missed. A short while longer to finish some things (I haven’t really been taking an actual…holiday) and POEMIMAGE will be active again. It will be my pleasure to introduce you to many interesting poets and writers whose work I will be addressing visually.  As well I’ll relate some of my own ideas and writing. I need to complete my end of the ‘Blog Hop’ bargain after Richard Guest generously shared my page with his readers. Thank you for gracing this page with your presence.

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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

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Before unplugging

For a few days…

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To contemplate what I might awaken

Soon, &

2015,

So soon upon us…

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& 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

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,

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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.

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

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

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The man is wearing a camera around his neck,

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

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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.

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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).

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

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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?

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It was of course amazing.

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The synchronicity of this event has puzzled me ever since.

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

some sculpture

, Autumn Morning

morning-1

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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

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http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yanU4dFC7lU

morning-1

Every Day A Bucket Goes Through the World and We Were By the Pool

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I wondered about all the ways a bucket

Could go through the world:

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Metaphorically, Emotionally, Politically, Sexually.

Physically.

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And I wondered about the actions of the process:

Drilling, Lulling, Hypnotizing.

Seducing, Elucidating, Revealing.

Reversing. 

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To what outcome I asked myself:

In what shape of hole or chasm

Does the bottom fall out?

some kind og

Is negative space the new positive?

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Does the bucket absorb the shape of the earth

And lose itself,

 Once or forever?

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I asked myself these questions and meditated upon the possible answers.

No I didn’t.

one day

We were at a pool and the girl I liked was on a towel next to me,

And when I said I loved the Bob Marley song

Coming over the loudspeakers

She said she hated it.

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I Have Learned So Much by Hafiz

new

I

Have

Learned

So much from God

That I can no longer

Call

Myself

circular detailgreen night

A Christian, a Hindu, a Muslim,

a Buddhist, a Jew.

invited

The Truth has shared so much of Itself

With me

spoken

That I can no longer call myself

A man, a woman, an angel,

Or even a pure

Soul.

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Love has

Befriended Hafiz so completely

It has turned to ash

And freed

Me

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Of every concept and image

my mind has ever known.

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From: ‘The Gift’  

Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

thouest thou only

I did the ink drawing in my Moleskin sketchbook within the last few days

using a Micron drawing pen with archival ink.

And the digital manipulations of the image within the last 24 hours or so

using Photoshop 5.

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*

*

*

Today

today a

Today you forget again

You stay with forgetting

(again)

Today you forget again

You stay with forgetting

(again)

You taste forgetting

today e

Again

You taste

Forgetting

today b

You taste forgetting

(again)

You stay with forgetting

(again)

today c

You forget forgetting

You taste forgetting

(again)

(again)

today d

You taste forgetting

You forget forgetting

today e

You taste forgetting

(again)

today a

Today

today b

you

today c

forget

today d

(again)

today e

1981 (The Phantom of Liberation)

phantom of

In 1981

The Phantom of Liberation

Paid me a visit

81 heads

Commanding

A sketch

twin egg

I obliged

Thinking that was all

That was all

There was to it

burn blur copy

Hello and goodbye

To the Phantom of Liberation

centre eye

But the Phantom

Must have said

Eat my body

blue monuments

I complied

Thinking that was all

That was all

There was to it

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Hello and goodbye

To the Phantom of Liberation

dream section

They found a foreign body

In my heart

And said it’s spread

To your brain

And your wings

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I said I don’t have

Any wings

face of the phantom

They said I was covered with wings

Beating ferociously

Refusing to stop

And bothering the neighbours

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I asked if I should move

To a cemetery

something

They wanted to know

If I was trying to escape

Liberation

Or the conditions that require

Liberation

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I listened to their question

Thinking that was all

That was all

There was to it.

the conditions