Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Fireworks of bees and other buzzers
make festivity of flowers;
from kindle-rise, the herbs in brooms
ring a concerted much ado
calling the tribes down leagues of air
to conviviate and make the nectar's
celestial dance - orbital gathering
the sap proffered through
inconspicuous minaret blooms.
To the thyme, oregano and hyssop,
peppermint, borage, Oswego tea:
airborne jousts jar the filaments,
mercy of flights upon the flower sea;
sumo bumblebee with his stimen drop,
opiated smashbreed from prior terms,
gratuity and essence, ends and means,
as flippant as grass, as vital as earthworms.
Essential play and playful essence
work in the day-strong, one bow-shot of
duty's what's-at-hand and windy hurry:
if sun climbs, the nectar climbs; the mind
is not a clockwork box, repository
data receptor, stacking library,
but like celled honeycomb, mind is roomed
with wax time-capsules later oozed
with the unexpiring transpiration
of the seasonal unfolding, sun and moon,
cloud and rain: never is it information;
bare knowledge is nothing but deviation,
certain colony collapse disorder
when the clean and well-kept waxen borders
remain unsticked, ungummed, unhoneyed
ossuaries, without even funeral rite
for there is no dead to grieve, no body,
no harvester's decapping knife
to procure the flow, the golden flow,
content fraught, for winter feeding: the all-grace glow:
you can know something without knowing that you know.

Saturday, August 1, 2015

Sudden now the mountain is snuffed
that just before had sung and blushed
its face of snow, watched and clocked
the warming light descend,

the while becoming a ghost of glass:
helio-ward the eastern ether
staring through, as after a going lover,

back to which the wing-fledged poplars
run their shades, over flatland lay,
towing behind the temporal slash

that cuts the mountain's base away
in one smooth climb - earth rim's shadow axe.
Detached like cloud the peakmost then,

dusk's instant holds the open world,
the downs yield up musk essence when
base and mid and cap again, stand sea-green

like a close-at-hand toy or gem
obscurity-flattened, in blanketing brink.
Sudden now the mountain is snuffed,

in night-world, sends mountain-word
high-bell-clear, closer and farther
at once and the same, an everywhere house

self-despoiled, of burial birth,
great the presence, throne unseen,
like a beating white-hot heart that beats

so that would each of our burials be.

Friday, July 31, 2015

Monday, July 27, 2015

Max Monday

The Minneapolis Institute of Arts has a great online documentation of a recent restoration of Beckmann's masterpiece "Blind Man's Buff" (my personal favourite of his triptychs). They have several sub-topics to peruse on the site relating to the work itself, to Beckmann and to the restoration. Very interesting.

And here is one of the best biographical sketches I've read about Beckmann, by Dr. Harold Joachim.

Here's a good part:

His art, too, may at first appear blunt and aggressive, but those who study it will soon discover not only a profound visionary mind, but one of the most sensitive hands in modern art, a hand not only of a master draftsman who had been able to compress the diversity of the visible world into a hieroglyphic language of his own, but also of a master painter who was highly sensitive to surface texture and color relationships. It is no wonder that these qualities, so rare among German Expressionists, gained him the respect, if not the love, of the French.

Although he is now universally considered one of the major figures of German Expressionism, Beckmann himself disdained any such classification...

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Saturday, July 25, 2015

Friday, July 24, 2015

Tanka


Memory of rain
revives in the somnolent
head of mid-summer.
From the ground sweetness rises,
inebriates nostrils, stings.












Wednesday, July 22, 2015



Title: Their Eyes Were Opened

Medium: Oil on canvas paper

Size: 12in. x 16 in.

Saturday, July 18, 2015

Three Haiku (unlinked)


The car's patina -
netted, dented, olive-swathed.
No road comes near here.

*

Forest's sun-struck floor:
hosanna ferns, in noon wind,
froth with a lightness.

*

Summer's dusk mountain
is listening, purple snow.
The fields fall silent.

Saturday, July 11, 2015

Friday, July 10, 2015

Thursday, July 9, 2015