It could have been
poemimage
Where text meets image. Where the visual intersects the literary. Often posting 1st drafts and editing in (almost) real time.
Tag: realization
July 31, 2014
Too Late
I realized (too late)
We had left alchemy
Out of the equation
Configuring
Stars, pathways, and
Heartbeats.
I hastened to manipulate
The voluminous footnotes to my
Apology.
Rounding and pulling
Like working with clay.
Evaporating
Like working with love.
My apologies began
To glisten.
It is never too late
To listen.
April 13, 2013
Angel by Eileen Sheehan
He said, I am old and
everything has a bitter
taint and besides
I have only these oddments
to offer; things broken,
unfinished, unused and I’m not even
sure why it is that I’ve
kept them so long.
But she saw how his body
radiated light and he carried
not just a jumble of wheels,
coils, springs but the very
ones she’d been needing to
mend the faltering
mechanisms of her heart.
And his eyes were pure
as a child’s
and she knew
from that moment on
she was his
entirely
Eileen Sheehan is from Killarney, Ireland. Her collections are Song of the Midnight Fox and Down the Sunlit Hall (Doghouse Books). Angel was first published in THE SHOp: A Magazine of Poetry (ed John and Hilary Wakeman).
I found this love poem very moving, beautiful and rooted in reality. I was intrigued by deeply felt emotions relating to the word ‘Angel.’ The air and thought around the word Angel called for earth and water, both surface and interior, to flesh out the wishes and realizations being expressed and conceptualized. To create several of these images I remixed a photo of waves crashing onto a beach in California uploaded by user Tewy on Wikipedia Commons: http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5/deed.en
Fragments…traces… of a mathematical formula by Nikolaos Manolopulos appear ever so faintly, unknowable, perhaps in three images, from my first gestures integrating Wikipedia Commons material with my ink drawing.
March 21, 2013
Lough Ree by Colin Carberry
A trout flares at dusk,
silver scales
in the heron’s ears.
Colin Carberry is an Irish-Canadian poet and translator and the director of the Linares International Literary Festival (Mexico).
I am struck, reading this haiku, by the heron hearing silver scales. I imagine sunset splashing chaotically on thin, reflective surfaces and the heron’s acute sensors turning and tuning. I remember summers (it seems long ago) driving cross-country, through the night, listening to the radio. Car radios were manually operated. With your free hand you would find the spot where there was no static, bringing in the station clearly. Adjusting the dial frequently to receive the perfect reception. Ambient static would slowly creep back in and you would fine tune again listening carefully. Though, unlike the heron, your aim was enjoyment not survival. Surely our ancestors knew the life and sounds of water, within and without, like a heron. The poet, crafting this poem, brings us to the edge of our deepest memories.
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