Cumulative power of tiny specks....

Landscape at Saint-Charles, near Gisors, Sunset  by Camille Pissarro

We always doubt the power of the small, the contained. We doubt our single, individual lives, wonder if we can matter at all.

The power of a bit of dust lies in juxtaposition with other unnoticed specks. It's in the whole where a speck has its best effect. One star in a sky of stars. One life in a history of lives.

  This is my favorite picture from the current Clark Art Institute exhibition. It's called Landscape at Saint-Charles, near Gisors, Sunset  by Camille Pissarro, 1830-1903. The application of color is in spots and specks. The effect is cumulative and it almost glows on the canvas.  

Specks, little dots or points of paint are featured in a technique called pointillism pioneered by Charles Seurat. In this picture the museum notes, Pissarro was experimenting with that technique.  We could experiment too, try to see ourselves in the context of our country, our continent, our planet, our solar system, universe, multiverse.  As we zoom out, our speck-ness seems more and more natural, comfortable. We are in places as it were. Right here. Right now.

Philosophy from my past - a 1982 journal entry

I found an old journal of mine in the basement - a book in pen on paper. Some entries I think I will post. :)

This is the very first, from January 4, 1982 -- long before blogs, before cell phones, before I had email, or even a computer.   I was fighting sadness:

     There are no whys.

     There are only nows,
     spanning eternity end to end,
     like points in a line, infinite,
     yet each in strident isolation.

     I am sick of whys.
     Whys stink of pain.
     Give me distraction: the eternal present.
     The kingdom of contentment is "NOW."

     Life needs no reason.
     Life is reason enough.
                   
                           -- Mad Mar (Mistryel) Walker

Two from The Clark, Degas

The Clark had a free admission day on Easter. I took photos of my favorites. I'll start with two juxtaposed works, Little Dancer, Aged Fourteen, and Portrait of a Man both by Edgar Degas.

Peace for the New Year: Hope over Fear.

Well it's 2018. How did that happen.... And the world needs peace more than ever. And it seems less likely then ever.  We can try to put hope over fear, and move forward, one small step at a time. It's all we can do - one moment at a time....  We can mind our own yard at least. See what near-at-hand  nature might need, what cheer we can bring the people around us. Maybe we cannot change the whole world. But we can change our own world. Make it so.

Curious encounters with nature

This is an old smudgy pencil sketch of mine. Not sure an actual horse would react as calmly to the half-man half-butterfly thingie in its meadow - which probably, being self-aware of its halves is having doubts of its own. Once the wings were moving I think there would be a hasty, slightly hysterical horse retreat....




I'm kind of low energy these days as you can see by this kind of sad poem.

Doldrums

A tickle really, a night breeze passes, barely touching
In darkness I orbit the neighborhood's circle,
pass the same facades repeatedly.
Anchored by the hum of the highway,
maybe a celestial dipper or two rising
or a flock of little porch lights 
where a few someones live, 
I appreciate their seeming elemental persistence.
Even now I point a bobbling flashlight to ward away shadows, 
though I have nothing to say to shadows these days.
No one minds my silence.

I originally put his up at https://april30poems.blogspot.com/2016/08/unusual-encounters-with-nature.html?showComment=1472256583013#c7537839509355428630 and added it here also...

A certain lack of something

Sometimes I feel like this guy.

Weathered,
patched with odd bits,
a jumbled collection
re-assembled without instructions,
left outside everything to rust away.

I carry on though. Not so sure. Positive but aware of reality. Carrying memories. And a tiny spark of hope.

Hug them close whoever they are....

This is oil pastel on card stock. It's rather old. It's also cut out and ready to collage into something else. I do like it all by itself as well.

Had a scare today. Something about a large pickup blocking the view of a crosswalk. Not using that location again, neither for walking or driving.....  Things could have gone differently. Tragically. So glad the outcome was the status quo. 

The Angry Surprise.....

Didn't make this ink drawing for BREXIT but my oh my, we have seen some similar expressions in the news on Brits expressing their dismay!!!!

Tail of two cats.....

Just can't seem to be content without a cat. Right now I have two for the first time in years. Both are antique - one 15 years old, and one 16 years old. Both are fairly spry considering.

I'm waiting until they know each other better & hoping for a photo of them together which is not possible as yet. So instead here is a stylized pencil kitty I recently tweeted:

Can't get there from here....

This is what the future looks like to me. Too early to say if that is good or bad.

Poem A Week 3 - Waking up fast

Waking up fast

I don't remember how I got there
or why I was flying a plane over a road
a big plane, an airliner kind of plane
.
and I was just noticing how low to the ground we were
Noticing the telephone polls below, cars busy on the road,
treetops brushing the plane's belly, a hillside in the distance.
.
I was thinking why is the plane flying so low,
moving so blindingly fast, and why am I the pilot?
And someone was screaming at me
.
Pull up Mar Pull up now!!! as the ground got closer.
I woke up right then shaking. Not sure why I was flying
or where I was going, or who left me in charge, or
.
if I had changed course or crashed in the ether of the dream.
But it was time to get up time to get up out of bed
and into the new day. So I did.

Poem A Week No. 2 - Unexpected Attic Access

Unexpected Attic Access

"I need to get into the attic"
the AC tech said matter of factly
.
"Not sure you can get there from here"
I said. As he darted out to his truck
.
I opened the hall closet
empty but for its pile of boxes,
.
Pushed up on the hat shelf,
found it folded back easily.
.
Pushed up on the cloths pole,
found that popped right out of its caps.
.
as I slide box after box out and into the hall
here comes Mr tech with his folding ladder
.
He props, climbs, pushes up the lid
and disappears. "Nice Space up here" he says
.
from out of sight, and a sudden light
shines through the square opening.
.
I have to see, I climb up the ladder, look around
suddenly I;m sitting on the edge of the unfamiliar
.
it's totally clean and empty, but for fiberglass bats
I make mental notes, location of the light switch
.
Kinda odd how you can live for years unaware
under this unknown, unimagined spaciousness...
.

Poem A Week No 1 - At your funeral mass

At your funeral mass
Poem for Peter S. & for Elaine, Sharon, Dan & Nate

.
I am not listening to the priest
not looking towards the altar.
Not saying the words.
I stand up, sit down
when told, but no
song no words come forth at all,
no call and response.
I listen to the resonant soprano singing,
the echo of it in the empty space above.
I look sidelong, avoid the casket in the center isle
hidden under a white cloth and a symbol
that means nothing to me now.
I try to look right through the
vivid stained glass scenes.
I notice the intense blue
red, green, not the figures
or the stories they portray.
I wish instead I could see the sky
or a river, the sea or a mountain
a tree bright in the daylight
beyond those windows.
Or you on the lake in your sail boat
with your boys, family, friends
and your ready nonchalant smile.

This poem is for the exhusband of a good friend who's unexpected death caused a lot of stock taking. First of the group to fall as they say. It's not that we were particularly close - it's that he is my age I guess and I remember him from his hey day. The photo is from someone else's facebook post. I hope they don't mind. 

April 2016 Poem A Day #30

The prompt was write a dead end poem. I hate that.

No absolutely not

No endings, dead or otherwise
are permitted in this poem
this is a living cascade
it will not stop this day
or any day to come
this life will
go on with or without me
with or without another poem
the little one celled things
will stretch and divide
and the little wavy armed things
will reach out and grab a meal
somewhere in the miniature
a future of spinning orbs
until a black hole grabs
it all, and then who knows
what happens in there?

ReplyDelete

April 2016 Poem A Day #29 Grief Hazard

Grief Hazard

Boxes neatly packed
stacked in closets
under tables
stowed in odd spots
boxes unlabeled but for
a single word: Mom.
.
I packed them last year
numb not knowing
what to do
I packed for days, hid
this and that away
carefully wrapped,
and now
.
I wonder
what memories hide
in each, if I look....

maybe not right now.

April 2016 Poem A Day #28 Let the memos begin

Let the memos begin:

trivial outcomes * noticeable chaos * important resolutions

riotous beginnings * interesting research * calm procedures

mournful happenstance * breathable equilibrium * celebratory fireworks

calamitous collapse * undetermined consequences * fortunate coordination

ambitious manipulation * opportunistic flaw * low energy

virtuous approach * flexible consideration * spiteful divergence

love *  hate
indifference 

April 2016 Poem A Day # 27 Relief Sculpture

Relief Sculpture

Remove a little here
scoop out some more
deep enough to accentuate,
to undercut, the line of something or other.
Smooth the center, or rough it wildly up.
Remove more, take off the edge itself
so the world curves into concavity.
Take away the center.
See clear through
to the other side.

April 2016 Poem A Day #26 Law of Emotivity

The Great Law of Emotivity

Everyone knows
love and anti-love
cannot coexist
in the same space
as they readily ironically
annihilate each other.

April 2016 Poem A Day #25 - Planting

Planting
the spring exercise

  Position the shovel.
  Place your full weight
  on the shovel by standing
  on its top rim so the shovel
  sinks into the earth.
  Rock the shovel back and
  forth to loosen the earth.
  Leverage it down
  and swing up
  this small load of earth
  out of a brand new hole.
  Empty the shovel to the side
  Do over. Do over. Do over. Do over.
  Remove the container and wrappings
  from the plant and set it in the hole.
  With a trowel ease the dirt around the plant.
  Gently tamp with a thumb or a toe.
  Keep filling in with rich loose earth.
  Water liberally.

April 2016 Poem A Day #24 Lost // Not Lost

Lost // Not Lost

The scale
like history
repeats itself
damn it.

April 2016 Poem a Day #23 Sole Entanglements

For this prompt (to write a poem about footware) I am posting a poem I wrote many (MANY) years ago - because it is my definitive footware poem.

Sole Entanglements

Old shoelaces unravel
unruly as love
as likely to trip you.
Untied, each lace dances
frayed and flaccid
reluctant to knot again.
.
Velcro closures lock
and cling too willing to grip
but Velcro can't let go
There's rip and uproar
when suddenly undone.
.
Old loafers are the best.
So easy to slip
in or out of at a
moment's whim, they
shelter your pennies
never ask for socks.

April 2016 Poem A Day #22 Conditions for Constancy

Am getting silly here. The prompt was use the word star____


Conditions for Constancy

Human beings
require a certain stability. Therefore
it would be best if the constellations
held steady on, not wobbling about
or shooting off into another paradigm
skipping into another multiverse
or tripping oversubtle event horizons
lurking at every bend of light waving,
or every twist of history's winking
or twinkling. Yes, to  remain
would be best so always
use starch when laundering
an inhabited universe.

April 2016 Poem A Day #21 Not going anywhere

The prompt today was to write a poem to another poem.  So, growing up there was a picture in hall of a little boy sitting under a tree on a hilltop, fishing pole near, schoolhouse in the far distance. Under the picture was a poem expressing a wish not to be bothered doing so much but to rest a thousand years. I read it over and over, through many years. I thought of it whenever I was stressed. But all in all it was a bad direction to take!

Not going anywhere
.

He wished to be
a little rock
not off to work
not deep in hock
.
He wished to sit so very still
in wind and sun
on crest of hill
beneath a tree
without a thrill
.
I think he rested
far too long
his influence on me
far too strong
.
I dreamed and dreamed
without a peep
I sat too long
whilst thinking deep
.
I spent my life
all half asleep.

April 2016 Poem A Day #20 - How I learned to say no

Prompt is write a poem about something not said

HOW I LEARNED TO SAY NO
.

Will you do x
Will you do Y
Will you do z
She never said yes
but never said no
and did all three....

April 2016 Poem A Day #19 Heaven and Hell explained

Heaven and Hell explained

Considering the sea, it may be, life and time
must brew themselves in boiling brine
near some star 'splosion or volcanic vent
Melt the immobile start the drip
set off the ticking universe
for a hot, rotational trip.
But for timeless or eternal
an absolute zero temperature is best.
As any motion
would be a timeline,
cancel out eternal rest.