Weekword: Charm

This week's word chosen by Linda Sue (whose brain and talent never fail to amaze and delight) reminded me of a poem:

A Charm invests a face
(Emily Dickinson)
A Charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld.
The Lady dare not lift her Veil
For fear it be dispelled.

But peers beyond her mesh,
And wishes, and denies,
Lest Interview annul a want
That Image satisfies.

Collage with photocopy, drawing, gift wrap & tulle based on photo by John French of a hat and veil designed by Erik (1950).

Other particpants can be found here.

Have a great weekend everyone! Be charming ...

Doubt

Inspired by these lines from Dorothy Parker's poem (Prophetic Soul):

Because your eyes are slant and slow,
Because your hair is sweet to touch,
My heart is high again; but oh,
I doubt if this will get me much.

Ode to Typography

This was my first attempt at Valentina's "reinvent" weekword last week. As soon as I'd finished it, I realised that I was not reinventing the keyboard, I was repurposing it, i.e. creating another use for it. But I spent the better part of an hour on this first interpretation, and I just hate wasted effort. (And wasted time.) So I thought I would post it today. And also because I love the poem this comes from. And also because I need a break from the sea of words I'm drowning in.

The poem is Ode to Typography, by Pablo Neruda, you can find the full one here. I am not quite sure though why it is "the U of your gaze" - any ideas?
(The keyboard is from the car boot sale - I prised off the keys and used a few for my Anatomy of Love board. The typeface I used for the letters is Tahoma, in case you were wondering...)

PS The new weekword was chosen by Asiye and is wanderlust (Lovely!!) Leave a comment on her blog here if you want to play along.

T-A-D #15 Love in Translation

I did the collage above (magazine images and pen and ink drawing) to illustrate my translation of the beautiful Dutch poem by Paul Snoek. (So I did two things today!)

Als ik geen rood meer heb

Als ik geen rood meer heb

maak ik de bomen groen, de struiken,

het hele landschap wat ik schilder.

Dus ook het onkruid en het gras,

waarin je languit ligt te wachten roerloos

maar toch diep ontroerd, wanneer je later

het doek mag zien waar ik je rooie jurk

vervangen heb door zachte naaktheid,

waarvoor ik net als voor je glimlach

vooralsnog niet de kleur vond die je past.

Als ik geen rood meer heb,

heb ik nog altijd je lippen.

Paul Snoek (1933-1981)

My translation:
When I’ve run out of red
When I’ve run out of red

I colour the trees green, the shrubs,

the entire landscape I paint

Therefore also the weeds and grass

in which you lie stretched out, waiting, motionless,

yet deeply moved when later

I allow you to see the canvas

where I have replaced your red dress

with soft nakedness

for which, as with your smile,

I yet have to find

the shade that suits you best

When I’ve run out of red

I still will have your lips.

...fabulous ...

I got this lovely award from Khaled over at Khaled KEM - he writes moving and clever poetry that always makes me think ... Thank you so much, Khaled! (Plus now I have a little puppy, even if it is only in the picture!) I am going to change the rules a little and allow myself some time to think about my list of 10 nominees ... but I will be posting them by the weekend, I hope!

T-A-D #7 Het Rode Hart

I was so inspired by Linda Sue's posting of Peter Max's beautiful heart painting here, that I decided to do a heart painting for T-A-D #7. It is not quite finished yet, I still have to do a final few scrapings, and sign it, of course.

Kind of Jim Dine-ish, now that I look at it.
I intend to hang it with a painting I did 18 months ago...

No, those are not ants on her face, they are the words of a wonderful Dutch poem:

Als ik geen rood meer heb
Als ik geen rood meer heb
maak ik de bomen groen, de struiken,
het hele landschap wat ik schilder.
Dus ook het onkruid en het gras,
waarin je languit ligt te wachten roerloos
maar toch diep ontroerd, wanneer je later
het doek mag zien waar ik je rooie jurk
vervangen heb door zachte naaktheid,
waarvoor ik net als voor je glimlach
vooralsnog niet de kleur vond die je past.

Als ik geen rood meer heb,
heb ik nog altijd je lippen.
Paul Snoek (1933-1981)

In Small Proportions We Just Beauties See.

The proportions of my Paper Doll have been bothering me. I should have consulted my bible on Dürer: Albrecht Dürer - The Complete Woodcuts. Yes, I rather think I should have ...

I am going through all my old art books again, appreciating them anew.

In small proportions we just beauties see;

And in short measures, life may perfect be.

(Lines from the poem by Ben Jonson)

... bare of chattering folk ...

Today I have been thinking of one of my favourite poems by Dorothy Parker ...

Sanctuary

My land is bare of chattering folk

The clouds are low along the ridges

And sweet's the air with curly smoke

From all my burning bridges

Life Speeds By Like A Dream ...

I would love a pavilion like this in my garden.




It is called the One Day Poem Pavilion.
The light falls through the perforations and at certain times of the year it will translate into different Sijo (Korean) poems.

Each poem consists of 5 lines with each line visible for about an hour or so ...



(Designed by Jiyeon Song, found via yatzer)

A Poet Discovered ...

I have recently discovered Kay Ryan, the new American poet laureate ...

(Eiger at Twilight, by lilcrazyfuzzy)


(Grand Canyon by zpowderhound)


(Grey glacier in Chile by Tim.Haughton)

BLANDEUR
If it please God,
let less happen.
Even out Earth's
rondure, flatten
Eiger, blanden
the Grand Canyon.
Make valleys
slightly higher,
widen fissures
to arable land,
remand your
terrible glaciers
and silence
their calving,
halving or doubling
all geographical features
toward the mean.
Unlean against our hearts.
Withdraw your grandeur
from these parts.
(from Say Uncle by Kay Ryan, Copyright © 2000 by Kay Ryan.)

Before and After

Taken from my window at 12:17:09, 10/07/08

Taken from my window at 12:17:10, 10/07/08

As to a flight of thirty birds
shakes with a thickening fright
the sudden fooled light.
(ee cummings - Always before your voice my soul )

The Most Fleeting Of All

I took this picture last Sunday.

"But because truly being here is so much;

because everything here apparently needs us,

this fleeting world, which in some strange way

keeps calling to us.

Us, the most fleeting of all."

(Rainer Maria Rilke, The Ninth Duino Elegy)

Steel giraffes

I took these photographs at the Waterfront a few days ago. I have a weird affinity for industrial machines, cranes, bulldozers, graders, etc., and feel compelled to take photographs whenever I see one. (I have not yet discovered the psychological source of this obsession, so any suggestions will be helpful ....)

But it made me think of this poem by my favourite South African poet, Douglas Livingstone:

Steel Giraffes

There are, probably, somewhere

arms as petal-slight as hers;

there are probably somewhere

wrists as slim;

quite probably, someone has

hands as slender-leafed as hers;

the fingers, probably

bare of rings, as thin.

Certainly, there is nowhere

such a dolour

of funnels, mastings, yards,

filaments of dusk-ringing shrouds

woven through the word goodbye,

riveted steel giraffes

tactfully looking elsewhere

necks very still to the sky.