Letters by Google Blogoscoped. All photos from Stuttgart, Germany. Some rights reserved...
Phillip does the neatest things...
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in Art | Permalink | Comments (1)
what is poetry for?
this silence
A reminder: Jane Hirshfield is engaged in a conversation about poems, poetry, and other matters at The Well. This conversation is open to the public, and you are invited.
I've been reading Ted Kooser's The Poetry Home Repair Manual: Practical Advice for Beginning Poets. Yes, I've been doing this for nearly twenty years, and I'm still a beginner.
I do recommend it for beginning poets; he offers lots of technical reminders they will find useful. He also offers some observations and opinions that I think apply to almost any creative endeavor -- and since I like what he says, I'm going to share some of it with you:
in Art, Blogging, Books, Poetry, Poets, small poems, The Artist's Way, Writing | Permalink | Comments (3)
My friend Niki made this for me last year (the year before?) and it's been on my pinboard ever since. I wish the scan were better; this is so beautiful, color, texture -- that just doesn't show here. Those dots on the upper right sparkle. Click to see it larger.
This is a very special day for me -- this evening I'm going to go hear Linda Hogan read. Any of you who are in, or can get to Missoula for this -- don't miss it! I will never understand why every reader does not know her name.
May all of your days be as special as this.
in Art, Poets, The Artist's Way | Permalink | Comments (3)
two long nights
one short daythe buddha smiles
[This charming buddha, sitting in the light, was made by Bill Walker. If you are interested in his work, he can be reached at flutio21 AT yahoo DOT com]
in Art, Current Affairs, small poems | Permalink | Comments (0)
50 people see sadness and happiness
Originally uploaded by brevity.
This day passed as quickly
as yesterday, no sunrise,
only a lightening of sky
and later, a darkening.
Rain washing down on
snow, then snow on rain.
A measure of solitude.
A measure of sadness.
Four a.m. awake in that
border space. Ice fog
to the ground. What do I
look for in this place? Some-
thing that hides in the day. Some
color, some shape undimmed
by pragmatism. Some measure of joy.
24 March: Do not miss the comment on this post, which is far more lyrical and punchy than I can manage at present. I like it, it makes me want to get up and dance -- even though I believe it is a pointed observation on the prosaic nature of this inadequate poem, above.
First one must find a concept
large enough to contain the entire
city: Saffron, perhaps, or Gate.
The horse pulls its head into
its neck, making its body an
S below the gibbous moon.
Cover the river in grey silk. Let
the building reinvent itself
in soft satin curves. Owls
resent this impersonation
of their essence, feathers
cloaking coldness and no
blood. Let mice run beneath
the strutted floors, the gilded
ceilings arched like stars over
nothing. Nothing in this sky
is identified, so let it be
that.
in Art, Poems | Permalink | Comments (4)
Graham calls these Must get out more -- but what they tell me is to look around where I am; there is beauty and interest close to hand. And since I have a difficult time getting out, this is good news. I can't take pictures like this, but I can look again, and take snapshots. Maybe a project for the new year -- a series of domestic snaps.
Aren't these wonderful, though? -- Do click to go to his site and see the larger images.
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These are for David, who loves Halloween, but is easily frightened. The original photographs (of a rather unusual garden ornament) were taken by my friend Abigail; then I played with them to make them more appropriate to the season.
Click on the image for a larger version -- help yourselves, folks!
in Art, Frivolity | Permalink | Comments (2)
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