Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Thursday, December 20, 2012

Winter Trees


Winter Morning


A student shared this poem with me today and so I am sharing it with you. As a lover and painter of trees, I find it touches many things that I think about them. Enjoy!



Vertical


by Linda Pastan

Perhaps the purpose
of leaves is to conceal
the verticality
of trees
which we notice
in December
as if for the first time:
row after row
of dark forms
yearning upwards.
And since we will be
horizontal ourselves
for so long,
let us now honor 
the gods
of the vertical:
stalks of wheat
which to the ant
must seem as high
as these trees do to us,
silos and
telephone poles,
stalagmites
and skyscrapers.
but most of all
these winter oaks,
these soft-fleshed poplars,
this birch
whose bark is like
roughened skin
against which I lean 
my chilled head,
not ready 
to lie down.

Saturday, December 1, 2012

How Can You Become a Poet?





REPLY TO THE QUESTION: “HOW CAN YOU BECOME A POET?”

take the leaf of a tree
trace its exact shape
the outside edges
and inner lines

memorize the way it is fastened to the twig
(and how the twig arches from the branch)
how it springs forth in April
how it is panoplied in July

by late August
crumple it in your hand
so that you smell its end-of-summer sadness

chew its woody stem

listen to its autumn rattle

watch it as it atomizes in the November air

then in winter
when there is no leaf left

invent one

~ Eve Merriam (1916-1992), American poet and playwright

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Clair de Lune

Clair de Lune
12 x 10

Another small painting for the Autumn Exhibition at Blackheath Gallery, London. Click on the image for a larger view. The limited palette and close values necessary to paint nocturnes are surefire "mood makers".

I was thinking about this poem by Mary Oliver as I painted this piece.

Moon and Water
by Mary Oliver

I wake and spend
the last hours
of darkness
with no one

but the moon
She listens
to my complaints
like the good

companion she is
and comforts me surely
with her light.
But she, like everyone,

has her own life.
So finally I understand
that she has turned away,
is no longer listening.

She wants me
to refold myself
into my own life.
And, bending close,

as we all dream doing,
she rows with her white arms
through the dark water
which she adores


Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Summer-Rick's Pool

Summer-Rick's Pool
Vine charcoal on Strathmore paper
5 1/2" x 8 1/4"

Rick’s Pool

In spring its surface is inscribed
With trails of water bugs
Across the water’s answer to the sky

On August nights the moon dips low into its darkness
While heavy breathing frogs chant
Their shimmering songs

In late October while birds make haste
Brittle pieces of color float,
Then sink, as autumn’s moment dies.

Muffled and bare at last,
And wrapped in December’s shroud
It waits in silence for what comes next



Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Trees

Pine Tree Study
Vine charcoal on Hahnemuhle paper

I started teaching my online class Drawing & Painting Trees this past Friday, so trees have been much on my mind. Here is one of my favorite poems . Enjoy.

The Trees

Do you think of them as decoration?

Think again.

Here are the maples, flashing.
And here are the oaks, holding on all winter
to their dry leaves.
And here are the pines, that will never fail,
until death, the instruction to be green.
And here are the willows, the first
to pronounce a new year.

May I invite you to revise your thoughts about them?
Oh, Lord, how we are all for invention and
advancement!
But, I think
it would do us good if we would think about
these brothers and sisters, quietly and deeply.

The trees, the trees, just holding on
to the old, holy ways.
Mary Oliver

Sunday, January 25, 2009

Of Poetry and Painting

Last Light at Palo Duro
15 x 15 oil on linen

Available at the Panhandle Plains Museum Invitational


"Life is a spell so exquisite that everything conspires to break it."
Emily Dickinson

I have always felt a strong connection between my love of poetry and my painting. I'd like to take credit for that as an original idea, but, alas, its one that's been around since antiquity. As I was driving over to Sherman the other day, letting my mind wander and my eyes enjoy the landscape, it occurred to me that what I love most about poetry (aside from just the sound of the words) is its dual nature of compression and expansion. What I mean by that is that an experience or idea is compressed into a poetic form-a few words- each chosen carefully for maximum impact of meaning and sound, and in that very tightly woven group of words, whole worlds can be described and felt. The compression, the winnowing down seems to distill the meaning and feeling into something more intense and expansive. That's exactly what I'm trying to do in each painting. And, yes, I really think about stuff like that when I'm driving.


A note to my blog subscribers: For some reason, Feedburner (the service I use to deliver my posts via email) has redelivered an old post from December several times this week. I can't figure out why and can't seem to stop it. I do know that Feedburner has been experiencing many problems lately. I'm sorry- just wanted you to know I wasn't obsessively pushing a button somewhere like that guy in Lost.