Monday, October 19, 2015

October 19


Thomas Cole's painting
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hudson_River_School#/media/File:Cole_Thomas_The_Oxbow_(The_Connecticut_River_near_Northampton_1836).jpg

12 comments:

  1. Another Cole, his paintings irks me, and I don't know why (there's a poem there) aha..got it, the artwork I saw in peoples homes, before I left Canada, were all western artists, so I think that is real art. Are you doing any famous western artists? Yesterday's exercise was hard, I was wishing you read an example, and btw this is a conversation, not a complaint like it sounds.

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    Replies
    1. I had one or two western artists early on. I'll look for some more. Next month, we'll focus primarily on CA. I'll read an example. Maybe I'll put up a supplemental video soon!

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  2. I did not know
    Oxbow existed
    That this place
    Escaped
    Its namesake town.

    I did not know
    Fertile farmland
    Dinosaur haven
    Imploded into
    Ireland parish.

    I did not know
    Mill workers labored
    Then home to six pack
    Canal flat greens
    Down the river.

    I did not know
    Some pictured this place
    Idyllic valley
    When we married
    One exit south.

    I did not know
    Much at all
    Risking hope
    In mountain shadow
    Of Holyoke.

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    Replies
    1. Love this Jeanne. You are really growing as a poet!

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  3. Politics

    Times have changed
    since the west was won

    One of conquest as we
    have overcome

    The defeat as we meet
    expectation

    To change the world
    as we remain the nation

    To vote and note the policy
    like a river turns for all to see

    And deliver the return
    of what we had

    To give and fight
    to take it back

    The yearning of discerning
    truth

    To believe in democracy as proof

    We can vote to denote the change
    contrasting

    To what remains but never lasting

    A left is left
    And right incites

    The right to leave and
    believe the fight

    Is left to death as the right is right
    When left is breath and right is with sight

    Of leaving the grieving we leave to believe
    Is left when the deaf leads the deceived

    This is how we read the polls
    When votes are cast and counted for those

    That want to change democratically
    A destiny we blame radically

    On money which is cunning
    to corrupt with greed

    In the game we name
    politically

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    Replies
    1. Wow, you really developed this idea well!!

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  4. Navigating by Art
    After a painting by Thomas Cole, The Oxbow

    I've been to this place
    at the bend of the river,
    near Northampton MA,
    where at this moment
    leaves burn on the slopes
    as they do every October.
    So why have I never
    seen this green exclamation point
    riding the current, where the river
    ties a knot of land and water?
    No doubt, billboards blocked the view.
    So many modern distractions we can't see
    what has been there all along.

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    Replies
    1. Beautiful work, as always Robbi. I've never been there. I've always wanted to go, but now I'm afraid that it's become an urban wasteland. Great work!

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  5. Liquid Lasso

    Carving through the landscape
    unstoppable and unnerving
    driving current
    a liquid lasso embedded in the ground

    Rambling across the valley
    persistent and pressing
    rumbling current
    a liquid lasso embedded in the ground

    Stretched out along the plain
    silent and silver
    glimmering current
    a liquid lasso embedded in the ground

    Moving with the mountains
    treacherous and timid
    mighty current
    a liquid lasso embedded in the ground

    Scraping the great topographic
    morphing and mutating
    wild current
    a liquid lasso embedded in the ground

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  6. Thomas Cole The Oxbow
    View from Mount Holyoke, Northampton, Massachusetts, after a Thunderstorm

    river runs round
    nature roils Mt Holyoke
    run for cover

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  7. In the alpha of beginnings wet
    tributaries caressed and tickled
    the soul of the nation, gathering
    power for nature’s arterial
    boundaries, tumbling over
    cliffs in thundering mists, sending
    fingering inlets to erode, to chart
    and to nourish the landscape.

    Water was delivered wanton
    and tempestuous. It matured
    in wetland estuaries, sheltered in
    underground lakes, meandered
    through an oxbow at a slow, tranquil pace.

    One day, on shores where sweet mingles
    salt, an invasive species grew, waterborne.
    What was once flowing free became
    corralled and sluiced by cement walls,
    judged inconvenient and impure, water
    was piped, and chlorinated fresh.

    The shrinking watersheds dried extinct one
    warm afternoon. Water’s liberty and happiness
    was mourned by Americans, and all mankind,
    they called to the heavens for cure and
    drilled another well in a forgotten riverbed,
    located at the bend, in the omega of time.

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