Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ekphrasis, kitchen, love poem, Rattle, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer on August 31, 2017| Leave a Comment »
I love the practice of Ekphrasis–the art of writing poems for other works of art. One of my favorite poetry journals, Rattle, has a monthly Ekphrastic Challenge, in which they invite poets to write poems for a piece of art, which the editors select. This month, one of my poems was selected by the editor, Tim Green. You can find the poem and the artwork by Samantha Gee here . Want to try your own hand at an Ekphrastic poem? It’s fun! You can find the monthly challenge here .
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cleaning, ekphrasis, kitchen, love, poem, poetry on July 27, 2017| Leave a Comment »
Don’t look in the sink for happiness.
It sounds so obvious. But even the shiniest,
cleanest sink is still only a sink.
Don’t look in the cupboards.
Don’t look in the fridge. Don’t look
to the tile floor—though this
is a place we’ve danced before.
Even the stovetop, the home of flame
and chemical change—the burners
are not what we seek. Of course
we look to the kitchen. The center
of everything. Don’t look out
the open window. Don’t expect
from the empty green vase.
The only thing that’s ever mattered
were the lovers in this space.
No matter how clean the counters.
No matter how soft the breeze.
It’s us, my love, it’s us that’s missing.
It’s us that we most need.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ekphrasis, poem, poetry, Van Gogh, yellow on February 9, 2017| 5 Comments »
while not looking
at Van Gogh’s sunflowers,
inside my thoughts
I find them—
large unruly bouquets,
torches of hope
and yellow
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ekphrasis, poem, poetry, Rene Magritte, the treachery of images on November 17, 2016| 2 Comments »
A poem based on The Treachery of Images
No, of course it’s not a pipe,
and I am not a woman
looking at an image
of a pipe,
and this is not
a love poem.
Just today I did not put a frame
around my tears.
I felt them slip,
wet and messy,
hot and light
against my cheeks,
the rich and pungent
scent of smoke
nowhere
to be found.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Art, ekphrasis, poem, poetry on October 3, 2016| Leave a Comment »
Here’s a bit of information about the upcoming show, In Three Lines and (I hope) book launch for Even Now … Thank you Telluride Inside & Out!
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ekphrasis, Frida Kahlo, poem, poetry, trouble on September 18, 2016| 1 Comment »
When trouble comes like a black monkey
sitting on your shoulder, picking at things
you can’t see; when trouble comes
like a necklace made of thorns that twists
around your neck; when trouble comes
with its hummingbirds dead and dangling,
with its indifference to blue, do not try
to escape into the upper left corner,
though the dragonfly there could distract you.
Dare to meet it with a gaze unyielding,
meet it exactly where you are. Ask it
with your eyes, What do you have to teach me?
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Self-Portrait_with_Thorn_Necklace_and_Hummingbird
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged Art, ekphrasis, Jill Sabella, poem, poetry, Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, Telluride Art Walk, three lines on September 8, 2016| 2 Comments »
October 6
Art Opening: In Three Lines
Telluride, CO
81435 Gallery, 6-9 p.m.
For two years I have been collaborating with artist Jill Sabella, experimenting with simplicity—a leaning toward less and the more that blossoms out of it. We took turns sending each other work to respond to. The result: 45 intimate pairings, in which three-line drawings and three-line poems reflect each other. Some are framed individually and others framed in conversations of three. Our vision: Elegant. Provocative. Inviting. Poignant. The artwork began with charcoal thoughts, and later the same drawings were done on rice paper with Sumi ink and brush.
In addition to the framed artwork, the pairings have been made into a book, even now (Lithic Press, 2016), which will be available in just a few weeks!
The pieces will be for sale in the gallery. If you are curious about purchasing a piece but are not able to make the show, I will help you see the images to make your selection. Single pieces are $250 and triptychs are $800. The show will be up until the first week of December. For more information, contact Molly Perault, 728-3930 or molly@Telluride Arts.org or Rosemerry at 970-729-1838, rosemerry@wordwoman.com
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged ekphrasis, Meghan Tutolo, poem, Rattle on December 26, 2015| 2 Comments »
… that’s what I was thinking about when I saw a painting by Meghan Tutolo as part of Rattle’s Ekphrastic Challenge … today it was featured on the Rattle site, the poem Divining. Wishing all of you beauty in these hours at the edge of our darkest days …
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, ekphrasis, life, poem, poetry, window on December 19, 2014| 1 Comment »
No space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunities misused!
― Charles Dickens, ”A Christmas Carol”
Through the window, I see myself,
dead. The white sheet doesn’t cover
my feet, and they stretch, stupid and pink,
off the edge of the gurney. There is too little
callus on them. They should be dirty
from walking the world. What a waste to die
with clean feet. The earth would not be
so covered in dirt if we were supposed to stay clean.
And there I am, facing away from the corpse.
So human to want to turn away. My sleeves
are rolled up, but my hands hang empty.
And here on the street, I see in the window
some semblance of my face,
not quite transparent, but substanceless.
I pick up a rock small enough to throw,
big enough to break the glass. No.
I drop the rock, untie my shoes instead.
This poem is a response to a picture, part of Rattle’s Ekphrasis challenge …
http://www.rattle.com/images/ekphrasisbernal.jpg
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged beauty, dusting, ekphrasis, longing, poem, poetry on December 8, 2014| 3 Comments »
They are large, the breasts,
more than two handfuls’ worth.
I move the soft cloth over them
slowly, gently, though she is bronze
and does not require tenderness.
I give her tenderness. I touch her
the way I long to be touched,
unhurried, deliberate, leisurely.
Outside the window, the cottonwood trees
are as naked as she is. Last night,
I saw the full moon in their limbs
and my thoughts let fall all their leaves.
I want the full moon to linger on me
the way I linger now on the narrow stretch
of her body, putting a shine on every
inch. She is lovely, God, she is lovely,
with her head flung back and her
arm flung high, staring at the world
with her unchanging eyes.
Through the window, I watch
as no birds fly from tree to tree.
The emptiness between the limbs
is empty. My thoughts grow
faintly green.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged box, ekphrasis, emergence, entrapment, Joseph Cornell, poem, poetry on June 1, 2014| 1 Comment »
after looking long at Joseph Cornell’s Untitled assemblage (“The Hotel Eden”)
take the center
out of the spiral, it is
still a spiral
*
this list
of things to do—
not one word legible
*
after you set me free
holding my own leash
between my teeth
*
directions to Eden—
! but the starting point
has been rubbed away
*
inside a world
another world with another
world inside
*
waiting for the world to tip,
this motionless yellow ball
*
what if the frame
just fell off, how might we
see each other then
*
a jar full of unidentified things—
shall we open it?
*
so may places for the eye to land
so many places to gather dust
so little impulse to dust them
*
where would we be
without the diagonal—
one boring box after another
*
it will never fly away,
this green bird, still watching
the spring that will never
be sprung
*
perhaps this bird knows
what I have been trying to learn
there is nowhere
but here
to arrive
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged death, ekphrasis, gratitude, life, poem, poetry on December 4, 2013| 4 Comments »
Notice, says the docent,
how the slash of flesh
creates a diagonal across the canvas.
This creates movement,
he explains, makes the painting
dynamic, more alive.
The slash is Jesus. His naked body
is clearly not alive. His blood
has stilled inside the pale skin.
The people around him
wear the pink stain of anguish,
behind them the sky skews toward black.
After forty four years,
I have never seen a dead body
unaltered by a mortician.
This is a fact aided by luck,
a small family, and a national obsession
with pushing death away.
Every hour, 6,319 people die.
Every minute, 105. Every second,
1.8. Excluding natural disasters.
Though it would be more polite
to say that 1.8 people passed.
Or 1.8 people breathed their last.
Or that 1.8 people departed.
Though since you started to read
this poem, over 60 people have
died, no matter what we call it.
All this perhaps explains why today
I noticed so many things
on the diagonal. The mountains,
of course. The sloping bangs
on the face of the girl. The tilt
of your voice as you greeted me.
The wine as it agreed with the angle
of the tipping glass. I noticed them because
I only this week learned have learned to notice the angle
of things, and perhaps because I am learning, too,
to notice the false guarantees.
On days such as these, I wake
and think, my god, what a gift to wake up,
what a windfall, this cold floor,
this dark of the morning
before the sun leans through the dark
to slant its faraway light into our room.
