Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Photopoetryblog: "Snow Day"


Poem: "Snow Day" by Billy Collins
Photos: "The Texture of Snow"; "Mount Timpanogos Series"; "Weather Report"

"The Texture of Snow"


Snow Day
by Billy Collins

Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,   
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,   
and beyond these windows

the government buildings smothered,
schools and libraries buried, the post office lost   
under the noiseless drift,
the paths of trains softly blocked,
the world fallen under this falling.

In a while, I will put on some boots
and step out like someone walking in water,   
and the dog will porpoise through the drifts,   
and I will shake a laden branch
sending a cold shower down on us both.

But for now I am a willing prisoner in this house,   
a sympathizer with the anarchic cause of snow.   
I will make a pot of tea
and listen to the plastic radio on the counter,   
as glad as anyone to hear the news

that the Kiddie Corner School is closed,   
the Ding-Dong School, closed.
the All Aboard Children’s School, closed,   
the Hi-Ho Nursery School, closed,
along with—some will be delighted to hear—

the Toadstool School, the Little School,
Little Sparrows Nursery School,
Little Stars Pre-School, Peas-and-Carrots Day School   
the Tom Thumb Child Center, all closed,
and—clap your hands—the Peanuts Play School.

So this is where the children hide all day,
These are the nests where they letter and draw,   
where they put on their bright miniature jackets,   
all darting and climbing and sliding,
all but the few girls whispering by the fence.

And now I am listening hard
in the grandiose silence of the snow,
trying to hear what those three girls are plotting,   
what riot is afoot,
which small queen is about to be brought down.

"The Idea of a Mountain 1"

"The Idea of a Mountain 2"
"Portrait of a Morning"

"Contrast"
"Weather Report"

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Photopoetryblog: Buy the Sky

Photo: "Par ti tion" by me

Poem (song): "Fall on Me" by R.E.M.


Par
ti
tion

 

 

 

Fall on Me

There’s a problem, feathers iron
Bargain buildings, weights and pullies
Feathers hit the ground before the weight can leave the air
Buy the sky and sell the sky and tell the sky and tell the sky

Don’t fall on me (what is it up in the air for) (it’s gonna fall)
Fall on me (if it’s there for long) (it’s gonna fall)
Fall on me (it’s over it’s over me) (it’s gonna fall)

There’s the progress we have found (when the rain)
A way to talk around the problem (when the children reign)
Building towered foresight (keep your conscience in the dark)
Isn’t anything at all (the statues in the park)
Buy the sky and sell the sky and bleed the sky and tell the sky

Don’t fall on me (what is it up in the air for) (it’s gonna fall)
Fall on me (if it’s there for long) (it’s gonna fall)
Fall on me (it’s over it’s over me) (it’s gonna fall)
Don’t fall on me

Well I could keep it above
But then it wouldn’t be sky anymore
So if I send it to you you’ve got to promise to keep it whole

Buy the sky and sell the sky and lift your arms up to the sky
And ask the sky and ask the sky

Don’t fall on me (what is it up in the air for) (it’s gonna fall)
Fall on me (if it’s there for long) (it’s gonna fall)
Fall on me (it’s over it’s over me) (it’s gonna fall)

Friday, September 6, 2013

Photopoetryblog: "Digging"

Poem: "Digging" by Seamus Heaney
Photo: "Cutting Wood" by me


I taught an Irish poet in my 'Introduction to Spanish Literature' class today. I taught one of my favorite poems. I taught a poem about the generations passing and what they pass along. 
RIP Seamus Heaney.




Digging

 
Between my finger and my thumb   
The squat pen rests; snug as a gun.

Under my window, a clean rasping sound   
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:   
My father, digging. I look down

Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds   
Bends low, comes up twenty years away   
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills   
Where he was digging.

The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft   
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked,
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.

By God, the old man could handle a spade.   
Just like his old man.

My grandfather cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner’s bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, going down and down
For the good turf. Digging.

The cold smell of potato mould, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I’ve no spade to follow men like them.

Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.

Seamus Heaney, "Digging" from Death of a Naturalist. Copyright 1966 by Seamus Heaney.


"Cutting Wood"


Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Photoblog: Gnosis

Photograph: "Gnosis" by me

Happy Pioneer Day

"Gnosis"

Saturday, June 29, 2013

Photoproseblog: Rayuela, 50 years

Prose: Chapter 105, Rayuela by Julio Cortázar

Photos: "Profile"; "Chromatic"; "Lonely Birch"; "Inertia"; "Focal-plane" by me

It's been 50 years since the Argentinian author Julio Cortázar published his groundbreaking novel, Rayuela, and so I blog about it.  

Chapter 105 seems fitting:

Morelliana.
   Pienso en los gestos olvidados, en los múltiples ademanes y palabras de los abuelos, poco a poco perdidos, no heredados, caídos uno tras otro del árbol del tiempo. Esta noche encontré una vela sobre una mesa, y por jugar la encendí y anduve con ella en el corredor. El aire del movimiento iba a apagarla, entonces vi levantarse sola mi mano izquierda, ahuecarse, proteger la llama con una pantalla viva que alejaba el aire. Mientras el fuego se enderezaba otra vez alerta, pensé que ese gesto había sido el de todos nosotros (pensé nosotros y pensé bien, o sentí bien) durante miles de años, durante la Edad del Fuego, hasta que nos la cambiaron por la luz eléctrica. Imaginé otros gestos, el de las mujeres alzando el borde de las faldas, el de los hombres buscando el puño de la espada. Como las palabras perdidas de la infancia, escuchadas por última vez a los viejos que se iban muriendo. En mi casa ya nadie dice "la cómoda de alcanfor", ya nadie habla de "las trebes" -las trébedes-. Como las músicas del momento, los valses del año veinte, las polkas que enternecían a los abuelos.
   Pienso en esos objetos, esas cajas, esos utensilios que aparecen a veces en graneros, cocinas o escondrijos, y cuyo uso ya nadie es capaz de explicar. Vanidad de creer que comprendemos las obras del tiempo: él entierra sus muertos y guarda las llaves. Sólo en sueños, en la poesía, en el juego -encender una vela, andar con ella por el corredor- nos asomamos a veces a lo que fuimos antes de ser esto que vaya a saber si somos.




"Profile"


"Chromatic"


"Lonely Birch"

"Inertia"

"Focal-plane"

 

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Photoblog: "Kansas"

"Kansas" not the band but the sky, the prairie, the water, the trees
Photos: mine from my trip to a conference at KU


"Cloud I"
"Cloud II"


"Kansas I"

"Kansas II"

"Prairie"

"Extasis"

"Tree-line"

"Signs of Drought"

"American Landscape I"

"American Landscape II"

"American Landscape III"

"Junco"
 
"Artificial Pond I"
 
"Artificial Pond II"
 
"KU after it Rains"

"Transparency"

"Mancha"

"Nymphs"

"Bandada"

"Flor"
 
"Tree Hug"

"Put a Bird on It"

 

Saturday, May 25, 2013

Photoblog: Calle de la Patria

Photo: "9 de Julio desde el hotel" by me

"9 de Julio desde el hotel"
 

Monday, May 20, 2013

Photoblog: Studies in Still Life

Photos by me: "Mothers Day"; "Natural Light"; "No Van Gogh": "Argentina vs. Inglaterra '86"

"Mothers Day"
"Natural Light"
"No Van Gogh"

"Argentina vs. Inglaterra '86"



Thursday, May 9, 2013

Photoblog: Eva through the Looking Glass

"Eva through the Looking Glass" by me

Friday, May 3, 2013

Photoblog: "This is How I Remember It"

"This is How I Remember It" by me

Friday, April 26, 2013

Photoblog: "Family Tree"

Photo: "Family Tree" by me

"Family Tree"

Monday, April 22, 2013

Photopoetryblog: "Earth Day"

Poem: "Earth Day" by me
Photo: "While Ye May" by me


Earth Day

Another day
Another dollar
Another tree
A million flowers.

"While Ye May"


Saturday, April 13, 2013

Photopoetryblog: Light-n-ing Touch / Ra-Yos

Poem: "El Quasar"* by Cecilia Vicuña**
Photos: "Light-n-ing Touch" and "Ra-Yos" by me

"Light-n-ing Touch"
 
 
"El Quasar" by Cecilia Vicuña
 
 
La luz de un sonido, o el sonido de una luz?

Era su no ser nada aún, su “not yet” lo que me atraía.

Su ser “casi” un borde, un “a punto de suceder.”
En esa calidad me mantenía, buscando una forma
antes de la forma.
 

La forma no nacía de una idea.

Era la idea desvaneciéndose.
 

Al nacer, el “no” la comprendía y aliviaba,
dejandola ser en su deshacer.
 

 
Un poema buscando su ser, el quasar no sabe buscar
sino el sueño del soñar.
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------
 
"The Quasar" by Cecilia Vicuña; translated by Rosa Alcalá
 
 
Light of sound, or sound of light?
 
Its not-yet-being, its "no ser nada aún" is what attracted me.
 
Being "almost" a border, an "about to happen."
 
That quality kept me looking for a form
before the form.
 
 
Form was not born from an idea.
 
It was an idea vanishing.
 
 
At its birth, the "no" understood and soothed it,
allowing it to be in its undoing.
 
 
 
 
A poem looking for its being, the quasar can only search
for the sleep of dreams.

 

"Ra-Yos"
 
*From Spit Temple (2012)
**I am writing about Cecilia Vicuña's work in my dissertation

Monday, April 1, 2013

Photopoetryblog: "Now that Winter is Over"

Poem: "Now that Winter is Over" by me
Photos: "Winter Grove" and "Thread Bare" by me
 

 
"Winter Grove"
"Now that Winter is Over"

Now that winter is over,
the trees will write a palimpsest
of fruit and flower,
their early afternoons no longer standing still
before the plunge into the western sky,
leaving those with thin skin scarred.
 
It is a lonely profession to weave clouds
out of a broken sky.
 



"Thread Bare"