Why must we always quantify? 4, 3, 10. Add, subtract, multiply. Divide.
My prose poem, Aggregated, based on a painting by Hilma af Klint, was among those selected as a finalist in The Ekphrastic Review Women Artists contest. You can read the entire poem and see all the finalists here. The three winning selections are here.
Well of course it is. Easy is monotonous. Uncomplicated is boring.
What is possible must first be imagined.
Am I looking for the Land of Milk and Honey? Am I waiting for my Ship to Come In? Do I yearn for Promised Lands? Do I search for the Pots of Gold at the Ends of Rainbows?
Do I ask to be One of The Chosen Few?
No. I do not.
Weep at the world.
I am too busy.
Sharpening my oyster knife, so to speak.
Calling to the ocean, sailing on its moontides, seeking kinship on its shore. Culling only what still contains life, nourishment.
Cutting through the shiny exterior. Prying open the closed doors.
To see. What has been kept from me.
Secret, hidden, suppressed, denied.
A pearl or a grain of sand?
You can’t have one without the other.
Jade at dVerse has provided a quote from Zora Neale Hurston from “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me” in World Tomorrow for this week’s prosery: No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.
these names that have lost their origins names that have lost their sounds that have lost their meanings lost meanings without references without words words that once rolled off the tongue rolled off the tongue immense with meaning with meaning now lost now untranslatable immense and untranslatable these names without meaning
these names belonging nowhere belonging nowhere to no one to no one at all invisible undernourished undernourished and withered into invisibility without a way a way to put sounds together sounds that together form words words that become names these names that are lost
these names without scripts without scripts or context without the context of language a language of mirrors mirrors now empty mirrors that yield no answers answers to questions questions without context how and what and where and why are they lost and where did they go who knows the names the names the names the names that have lost their meaning
just fragments reduced to a series of numbers– take a photo to remember, to contain the unknowable
reduced to a series of numbers, ink on paper, blurred now, salty–
take a photo to remember the spirits now dispersed, unable to find a vessel
to contain the unknowable– all the infinite subtractions– what remains has no name
A trimeric poem for Grace at dVerse. It’s very like a pantoum I think, so of course I like it.
I did this torn painting 6 years ago ago for a post mourning the fact that governments all over the world were destroying ancient art if they did not like the culture or religion it belonged to. Like the earth’s resources, once it’s gone it can never be replaced.
focus on the wheel– bright star calls for the moonshot embellished with birds
Sanaa at dVerse introduced us to minimalist photography and Glenn A. Buttkus’s site “South Sound Minimalist Photos.” She offered 12 photos to choose to respond to, and I chose the one below.
I couldn’t resist consulting with the collage box oracle, and creating a piece of junk mail art on the back of one of the hundreds of flyers I’ve received in the mail for the NYC primary for mayor. I hope you don’t mind my loose interpretation Glenn!
You can see see more of Glenn’s wonderful photos here.
Sailing in potions. The aftermath transformed from apparition into gold. Navigating in the middle of above and below, breath and fire.
How to make a path through the shoreless sea. How to find what was left behind on its phantom boundaries.
Coiled and enclosed by emotions that have no name. Entangled in a web of circumstance.
To be alive is always a risk.
Who acknowledges your vulnerabilites? What are the objects of your devotion? When will your unknowable secrets be revealed? Where is the entrance to the far side of the darkest extremity?
Why? and why not?
We too are ensnared, following your edges into a maze of decay. We are unable to meet your gaze until it’s too late. We always search for you beyond the point of no return.
All those ghoststones, weighed down by too many betrayals. The intersection of desire and fear that paralyzes completion. The piercing shards of the broken mirror.
The spiral grows tighter, less controlled. The waves isolate and discard. The horizon is lost, the voices drowned in a desperate merging of man and beast. Which one remains after the inevitable inferno?
The distance between was always an illusion.
Last month Visual Verse had a very intriguing image, with a serpent like creature, as its ekphrastic prompt. Even before I wrote a response, I wanted to do a visual response as well. You can see the original image and the published responses here.
My prose poem wasn’t chosen for publication, but I finally made my collage and revised the text a bit for Tricia Sankey’s dVerse prompt exploring risk.
you drift along, along and along, without wind or sea– can you see yourself moving? or is everything drifting? is it all doldrums, your mind sailing on doldrums, on emptiness, what is no longer there—was anything ever there?
you long to immerse yourself, to immerse your body in the sea, the primal waters of the sea– to float and forget, to dive and immerse yourself in life’s womb, to close your eyes, to shrink, becoming a stone waiting to be cast and skipped rippling back to where you belong—
where do you belong?
you drift along…
Laura at dVerse has us repeating ourselves. Not difficult for me, as my mind likes to travel back and forth and revisit what it has already said before.