The World Examining Works

Poetry

 

 

 

My father, who was a very sensible man, liked the old adage, "Never explain; never apologise." (Though he often did both himself.)

A very small collection of my poems is now available here. (The first two poems appear in a preview).

The poems are about very ordinary things

domestic life

trying to be creative

 discovering bugs that hide under planks

and why jeans wick up puddle-damp and catch on your shoes and trip you up.

I have two proof copies to give away. Just leave a comment or email me and I'll pick  the names on Saturday.

 

Metropolitan Museum

 

Walked across the park in the warm morning

with the leaves at their giddy yellow best

to the quite different palatte of the museum.

New Islamic galleries awash with treasures.

Reminded me of John Masefield's 

I must go down to the sea again

to the lonely sea and the sky

And all I ask is a tall ship

and a star to steer her by.....

For me it's not remotely the sea, but the idea of longing awakened by art  and books

Just imagine living in the Damascus Room when one can't possibly go to real Damascus just now.

No good wandering round the museum taking pictures of stuff

except I couldn't resist this luster glass cup. Abbasid Period 9th or 10th century. Iran or Iraq

A good place to go to study things

and talk about them with friends.

 

 

The Time of Year When Things Begin Anew

 

On Friday, coming back from the beach

we passed through Huntington where the historical society was preparing for a little festival --very end of summery/hint of fall.

Then home to the city under terror alert. Earthquake, hurricane, floods and then people zooming about on large motorcycles trying to express whatever was impossible to express about this weekend's sad anniversary.

We are alert to a plane very high up above a building! A World War Two plane travelling so very slowly. The weekend over

 

 the light, so clear and bright, makes complicated patterns everywhere.

Even the chain link fence looks abstracty and artsy.

Our apartment floors sanded and sealed, a storage cabinet built, walls painted. Everything cleared and clean and ready to make something new.

 

In the meantime, I dug up a very old poem about my cereal bowl.

Villeroy and Boch

 

 

_{they reap the corn two centuries ago}

_{in some hot european field}

_{where two men stand}

_{bent slightly over scythes}

_{and women stoop to gather what’s been cut.}

_{it was ever thus.}

 

_{this tasteful scene}

_{congeals beneath my weetabix}

_{in monochrome}

_{(bone china}

_{dishwasher safe)}

_{atop a polished table}

 

_{the sweat! the smell!}

_{the hours under scalding sun}

_{I’d hate to be a peasant then}

_{broad-fingered, ignorant and numb}

_{to everything but aching back and shoulders’ burn}

_{I’d long to loll beside the cows}

_{in shade beneath the heavy trees}

_{I wouldn’t care to look charmant}

_{to decorate a dish}

_{my labor turned to prettiness}

 

Poets House

 

Once upon a time I thought I'd like to be poet since poetry was the most thrilling, intoxicating stuff in the world.

I still think that sometimes. Here Poets House, in Battery Park City, a contemporary temple to the art of the word. So peaceful and quiet and replete with

so many books it makes your head spin.

So much intensity and such cool book jackets too.

How wonderful to come at the world with the clarity of the child, the lunatic and the poet.

In the olden days poetic types were allowed to have cigarettes with their coffee. They came with the territory.

I know nothing of Diane di Prima, but, from the photo alone, I long to find out.

 

 

Excursion

*

 

All the photos were taken last Friday at Planting Fields Arboretum, Oyster Bay, Long Island.

Fame and Fortune

Well,.....

I think the bus is coming soon. My best guess is that these are not very famous people.

 

Perhaps they should worship at the little shrine that has popped up on 22nd Street.

It is a shrine to FAME something much worshiped in America --and probably other places too. It is not nearly so cool as the shrine from Udaipur below, but it is an attempt with the little candles and flowers and so forth.

 

But back to fame.....and anonymity (gosh, I spelled it right!) For some reason these workers reminded me of a renaissance painting......maybe something Piero della Francecsa. Anyway, they were chatting with each other companionably.

  Unlike the woman lunching alone, checking her purse for the right change, who made me feel a little bit sad.

Buster, who, as we all know, is astoundingly famous and doesn't know it (or care because he is a dog ) stands in front of Mr. FAT-RAT-CIGAR-CHOMPING-MONEYBAGS.

So without digressing into Gray's Elegy in a Country Churchyard, we have encompassed art, art history, money, religion, solitude, and so forth.

Gosh, I'm tired already.

P.S. Am going to Daphne Kalotay's book signing this evening at Barnes and Noble. Russian Winter sounds wonderful and it's always so thrilling when someone one knew when they were just starting out does wonderfully well.

The House by the Water

A friend has bought a long abandoned house

with a path that leads directly to the water.

How wonderful.

The neglected greenhouses are a photographer's delight --

neglected stuff always is -- providing all you have to do is look at it rather than do anything about it.

The sky visible though a missing pane.

I'm reminded of Roethke's poem, Child on Top of a Greenhouse

The wind billowing out the seat of my britches,
My feet crackling splinters of glass and dried putty,
The half-grown chrysanthemums staring up like accusers,
Up through the streaked glass, flashing with sunlight,
A few white clouds all rushing eastward,
A line of elms plunging and tossing like horses,

And everyone, everyone pointing up and shouting!

Chelsea Art

Once upon a time I was writing a poetry curriculum and thought I had better look up the definition of poetry in the dictionary. #2 suggestion was the products of a poet. This did not seem entirely useful to me.

But it's a loose enough definition to cover pretty much anything.........by that token: art is the product of an artist.........

People have spent all sorts of time and energy discussing the question: WHAT IS ART?

If you look amazingly closely at the picture above --through  the doors of the Gargosian Gallery on W.21st Street  -- you will see some of Monet's Waterlilies. Stunning and glorious, and gosh how much running back and forth he must have done to produce these very abstracty paintings that  form images from a distance.

   

This is not art at all, but fun nonetheless. On 23rd Street.....and not a lily in sight.

This is the work of my chum BERCH who decorates  local diners for every possible celebration.

Deja Vu All Over Again

 

We want new things: at the same time we delight in same old, same old . I keep thinking I ought to photograph new stuff. Then I remember that Morandi painted the same things over and over. Who can possibly count the number of Elizabethan sonnets written in praise of the beloved's unique charms? So, lemons it is.

And roses, as ever. Then I remembered I had taken almost exactly the same photo two Junes ago in another country. This photo was taken yesterday in New York.

This one was taken outdoors in the courtyard in Morocco.

After the Snow

It sounds as if everyone is getting fed up with the snow, and the aftermath of it is rather dreary and messy. Here frozen snow makes a nice backdrop for the boxwoods. 

What thin, not quite twiggy, arms this character has! I liked his wannabe laurel wreath which was actually made of holly.

The nice, shiny UPS truck is right in front of our building. The poor snowed-in bicycle isn't going anywhere soon and is now a receptacle for used napkins.

London Terrace is reflected in the puddle looking a tiny bit like a castle. The beer can in the gutter brings us back to reality.

The most stunning flower arrangement in the  florist's window makes me wish I had an extremely rich and generous valentine.....