poemimage

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

Tag: love

You Told Me You’d Be Home By Ten

Original

Neolithic

Watching you in the shadows rip your poems into pieces, tossing them like blossoms cascading into a bucket of glowing coals.

The shadows of your hands flutter perfectly against the wall, the shadow of your fingers tearing shapes into pieces, tossed up & falling down, the sun at two o’clock highlighting shadows like birds sliding down the wall.

Nobody imagined your face streaked or the palms of your hands covered in coal dust.

One torn fragment flies through smoke and sticks to your streaked face in the shadow of a cherry tree, the bucket heavy as an anchor, the last of your words going up in smoke.

I fell in love with the maps of distant time, unexplained distant time & the Neolithic, I fell in love with the Neolithic – your dark hair,

Dark as some mystery strain of ancient wheat shimmering in the coolness of twilight, pressing your toes and fingers into the clay floor, stretching your body from horizon to horizon

Balancing a voluminous golden disc upon your delicate, curving spine. I’ve learned the language of discs and cherry blossoms, your fingers and smoke. I bury my animal cry.

Your shadows are hunger.

The eye blinks once in the gloomy shadow of the soul’s laboratory. A shattered disc showers fragments. Clay – no, not clay – gold. Hollow doors open and close, concealing this world. You seize the universal remote. Your fingertips press TV channels bright as a sun. The Clay Channel. The Gold Channel.

You gave me an indelible precision I mistook for esoteric ambiguity. Shadows conceal and reveal. I gave you tools for repairing machinery. You asked where this machinery might be found.

In the Legion parking lot snakes fall from the sky. You sing them down into the branches, how you sang! They wound themselves down, sliding and wet, their hearts tinted with gold, zigzagging into liquid angles and spitting hieroglyphics, falling upon your shoulders like rain loosening your hair.

Cauldrons along your spine bubbled over spilling gold. I was drawn as if by a magnet to your magical hysteria on the night you promised you would never shatter again.

You raved about a coastline where we might find ourselves half-buried.

You ridiculed mannerism in cinema but never did you ridicule Suprematism. In the shadow of a tower you open a drawer filled with soft gloves and the sounds of night. You pull charcoal up to your elbow. The Suprematism of your eyes lined with kohl.

A movement crosses the palm of your hand dividing stone from water. Your breath fills your spine with heat, a motionless reflection shimmers, spreading to the edge of a stone radius.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Your blood has not forgotten this stone.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        I read Neolithic in full in February and it took me ten minutes to read with a fairly brisk delivery. I have edited it substantially (and spontaneously) for this posting. I hope I have conveyed the essence of the poem even knowing how much is missing…

 

Tilting at Windmills

Lyrics by Bob Dylan from I Want You & Don Quixote by Pablo Picasso

Happy Mirror Day

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Alternative ending:

10

Or:

911

You Send Me by Sam Cooke (& the Hamangian Cubists)

APabloPicasso-Girl-with-Mandolin-Fanny-Tellier-1910PabloPicasso-Girl-with-Mandolin-Fanny-Tellier-1910X FINALPabloPicasso-Girl-with-Mandolin-Fanny-Tellier-1910

Although cubistic, these artworks pre-date Cubism (and Sam Cooke) by roughly 7,000 years. Hamangia culture is a Late Neolithic archaeological culture of Dobruja (Romania and Bulgaria) between the Danube and the Black Sea and Muntenia in the south.

With Sam CookePabloPicasso-Girl-with-Mandolin-Fanny-Tellier-1910

Cubist image: Pablo Picasso, Girl with a Mandolin (Fanny Tellier), late Spring, 1910

red

You Send Me by Sam Cooke: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kNco-e2CXuo

mic check
 I do not claim credit or copyright for original source material in this post.
sitting he

If You Decide

a

We need to learn an almost extinct language I will study with you.

e

We need to live among the people whose language is almost lost I will join you and also learn traditional survival skills.

c

To leave me for the shaman I will drive a stake through his medicine box, realize my grave error instantly, and escape, although barely.

d

To beckon and summon, seducing me with whispers that reach into my blood, I will return.

b

I must stand trial for my crimes against love and magic, I will escape, again.

fadeout

If you decide to hypnotize me while I sleep I will seal my heart against your vibrations and embrace the crazed dream of modernity. Because I am a fool. Weary of surviving on roots. Even the root of you. Even the root of me.

fadeout

If you decide I must seal my heart against the sounds you once made I will throw the window open a final time, upon your murmur coursing & drenched in starlight, intersected by a highway carrying the disappeared.

fadeout

If you decide to remain quiet I will train my ear to hear the sunlight falling.

fadeout

If you decide it is my duty to dig out the wooden stake I will return in the dead of night speaking an extinct language.

fadeout

Photo credit: Renee Perle, a Romanian Jewish girl who moved to Paris, is famous as the first muse of the famous French photographer Jacques Henri Lartigue (1894-1986), who is considered one of the leading photographers of the 20th century.

http://www.romanianculture.org/personalities/Renee_Perle.htm

shadowssoftly 3violet detail 1

Elevator

a

I read a quote by art critic Robert Hughes comparing painters: There is more death in a Gustave Courbet portrait of a trout than Rubens could get in a whole Crucifixion…

detail d

Then I heard a song by an artist we saw in concert. Who spun magic, jewelled webs we fell into after chasing each other through twilight circumstance. Twilight and traffic.

detail d fade

 The labyrinth ruled by Janus one level below.

bb

The shadows jousting on the street didn’t remind me of your fingertips, or your January dancing, or your honeyed cake.

detail b

I didn’t make that joke in the elevator.

aa

Carried, like some tragic Pieta, into the stream. The playing of a wooden flute sounding in the reeds. My hands flat against your skin. The temperature slipping.

dfaded

Forbidden music within your temple as quiet and still as polished stones. Awash in the fragrance of whispered moments. As shiny as a silver bracelet, a tunnel, a hook.

detail d

I’m not even sure I heard anything.

detail c

Did such music ever exist.

c

I’ve never wondered how my fine shoes, sewn of ancient parchment & soft as a silk purse, got so wet.

detail a

Nor have I contemplated Gustave Courbet’s

detail d

Trout.

detail d fade

Or the absence of all that is not

detail d faded twice

Trout.

detail fade

While gazing into the eye of the fish,

future detail four

A future sun.

future detail threejanus fish

Credits for original images: The Trout by Gustave Courbet, 1873. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, 1958, based on the play by Tennessee Williams starring Paul Newman and Elizabeth Taylor. Skyscraper and Tunnels by Italian Futurist painter Fortunato Depero, 1930. Pieta by Michelangelo.

a

I do not own the original images or claim copyright. I have created new images for non-commercial purposes of commentary under Fair Use provisions of copyright law.

aa

 

 

Autumn, late

and helmet
I remember when she said,

I’m sorry to interrupt your relationship

With Bob Dylan.

this now

 

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

I Know The Way You Can Get by Hafiz

coffee face on lid

I know the way you can get

When you have not had a drink of Love:

Evidence Bcoffee stain 1

Your face hardens,

Your sweet muscles cramp.

Children become concerned

About a strange look that appears in your eyes

Which even begins to worry your own mirror

And nose.

origcoffee stain 3

Squirrels and birds sense your sadness

And call an important conference in a tall tree.

They decide which secret code to chant

To help your mind and soul.

touch of bluecoffee stain fragment againcoffee overlaid on black and white

Even angels fear that brand of madness

That arrays itself against the world

And throws sharp stones and spears into

The innocent

And into one’s self.

duotone deluxetwo types of ecstacy

O I know the way you can get

If you have not been drinking Love:

coffee face on lidlids lids lids

You might rip apart

Every sentence your friends and teachers say,

Looking for hidden clauses.

coffee mountain

You might weigh every word on a scale

Like a dead fish.

coffeeism

You might pull out a ruler to measure

From every angle in your darkness

The beautiful dimensions of a heart you once

Trusted.

2 coffee

I know the way you can get

If you have not had a drink from Love’s

Hands.

3 coffee

That is why all the Great Ones speak of

The vital need

To keep remembering God,

So you will come to know and see Him

As being so Playful

And Wanting,

Just Wanting to help.

blimp and lid in the desertmorphed

That is why Hafiz says:

Bring your cup near me.

For all I care about

Is quenching your thirst for freedom!

cinematic shadowthe tomorrow

All a Sane man can ever care about

Is giving Love!

origcoffee face on lid

From: I Heard God Laughing – Renderings of Hafiz

Translated by Daniel Ladinsky