Sunday, November 10, 2013

Portal



Portal





In the harlequin forecourt
of  geometry and bones,
the  red lacquer peonies
were placed, broken and missing

half their petticoat petals, stiffened
and formal as a used pelvis,
encrypted as effigies,
but the florist still wanted more

than a month's pay for them.
Take the rosemary road
through the wavering maze, you'll
see blocking the way an opened

sardine-can portrait, face frozen
framed in the fishbones. The woman,
escaped turquoise diamond
from a square black and white

 hole, runs for the flowers, 
breaking the straitjacket
of the last Italian  garden.
She wraps angora fingers

round each balloon-string stem,
cocks the carnival of pistils,
rising rosily on their lightness
all the way to the top,

shaking out her wild
red lacquer clown hair,
laughing at closed clipped faces
that could never afford her.



~November 2013








posted for     real toads
Sunday Challenge: Art of Mike Worrall
Grace introduces us to the amazing work of Mike Worral, and asks us to write a poem related to one of his pictures. Thanks to him for so generously sharing his work. You can view more of it at his website: Mike Worral



Image: The Portal of Intoxication, oil on canvas, 2011, by Mike Worrall



38 comments:

  1. Hey Hedge

    always. always the best picture headers at your place! thanks to Grace for todays and introducing me to another interesting artist. The power of art to inspire and most importantly to allow us to transcend. I have been working on an academic paper regarding the Chauvet cave paintings and it has kicked up some really relevant and DEEP revelations. The collective pool of the unconscious or world spirit, the collection of animas and archetypes - these portals that allow us respite, oasis breaks fixed with us on the caravan humanity, in-built imaginational humps on our camel train as we traverse the desert.

    This is such a place - your formulation of imagination replenishing.

    In the harlequin forecourt
    of geometry and bones,

    the land of the Infinite Jester . . .

    you'll
    see blocking the way an opened
    sardine-can portrait, face frozen
    framed in the fishbones

    a smelly faced princess . . .

    so rich and full of colour,
    the painting in-translation
    a language I can understand clearly
    because it's already in me

    but you decipher it SO well,

    even hell can be made beautiful
    such is our incredible well :)


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    1. Thanks, Arron. Yes, the first times, when art WAS magic--the spirit-informed, be-spelled figures in cave paintings-- the primal beginning, more than any throbbing sinister black monolith,and they and every thing since exactly the camel-hump that sustains the desert nomad you describe. Always makes my day to have you here in the witch's kitchen, A.

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  2. Wow. you created a great synthesis to the picture and added depth... had to read it over and over...

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  3. "formal as a used pelvis"

    "you'll
    see blocking the way an opened

    sardine-can portrait, face frozen
    framed in the fishbones. "

    Get out of town. Just go. *breaks pens in half, weeps*

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  4. I was sure your imagination would be capture by Mike Worrall's work, and you have not disappointed. I love the story, and the forward rush of lines and images that catch up the reader in the momentum of the getaway. I was rooting for to out run them all, and make it to the sky!

    Gorgeous and fulfilling poetry, which proves to me once again that a 'thing of beauty is a Joy forever'.

    :)

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    1. Thanks, Kerry--I wish! but appreciate the thought. Loved yours as well. ;_)

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  5. This is wonderful, surpassed only by Kerry's fabulous pun "a thing of beauty is a Joy forever" which describes your poetry perfectly.
    Luv, K

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  6. Just who emerges through this portal is the question and quest of this poem, and each stanza seems to produce a Russian doll inside or beyond the former. I can read it as myth, biography, a history of poetry and / or something zanier, like, "America Escapes Tea Party!" Each reading produces another surprise, wahich I guess is the finest praise for Worrall's images and your imagination. Fine braid, with the ending we all applaud. - Brendan

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    1. Laughin at escaping the Tea-liban--I wish there was a way, believe me. Thanks for reading, B--history is mystery.

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  7. whew. you gave quite the grit to this picture hedge...surreal, a little alice in wonderland feel to it...twisted...stiffend and formal as a used pelvis...ha...the sardine can portrait...cocks the carnival of pistils, nice word play in that....well played.

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  8. Great imagination. You transformed the painting into a wreath of wonderful words. Loved it. :-)
    -HA

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  9. This is amazing poetry Hedge. The word play and imagery are sublime. You have the ability to remove your story one extra step from the literal than I ever can while still maintaining a connection to the story. When I read this I feel like I'm still fingerpainting and eating glue.

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    1. I edit, then I rewrite, then I edit, A LOT! ;_) Thanks, Sam, for the very kind words.

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  10. Wow. You knocked this one right out of the ballpark, kiddo. Too many wonderful lines to quote...just basically the entire poem.

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  11. Joy Ann, your imagination is fabulous. You seem to have reached into the painting and pulled away a complete world of the surreal. Love it. Happy Sunday to you.

    Pamela

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  12. I thought the theme will be perfect for you Joy ~ My first response of the portal is escape and sliding from inadequacy to adequacy (if there is such a goal) ~ I specially like the details of geometry and bones, escaping from the black & white, angora fingers ~ Powerfully written and thanks for participating in Sunday's Challenge ~

    Happy week to you ~

    Grace

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  13. Fireblossom said it for me. I picked out the same lines. Wow. The figure is frozen on that threshold - framed there, if you will, and you've evoked that in words as marvelous and colorful as the painting.

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    1. Thanks, Mark. Means all the more to me coming from you.

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  14. I just love how the shaking out her wild line reads alone!! The original ideas you've brought to an already amazing image are just a thrill to read, Hedge!!

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  15. the whole piece is a harmonious feast of images. I enjoy the scent on the rosemary road, and I find your perfectly succinct ending finishes with a question. I am a huge fan of portals (probably because of the questions they open) and admire the dimensions you bring into play through this one.

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  16. "half their petticoat petals, stiffened and formal as a used pelvis," Love that..Your words are as much a piece of art as the painting....

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  17. "stiffened
    and formal as a used pelvis"

    Aw, what the hell! Hair is overrated anyway.

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  18. There are some lines that say things in a way they've never been said before. Stiffened and formal as a used pelvis is one.

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  19. a beautiful transformation of the painting into a poem keeping the spirit intact.......

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  20. The used pelvis line definitely makes its mark but my favorite is the carnival of pistils. The whole poem has wonderfully rich imagery and assonance. The word de-flowered comes to mind though of course your character holds her flowers tightly. K.

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    1. Thanks, k. for going beyond the pelvis. ;_) I'm getting pretty tired of that line now--it seems to be drawing attention away from the poem instead of adding to it. Best wishes for a good week.

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    2. Ha- well, there's that a kind of drama and jagged tawdryness (not the right words but you know what I mean) there that people like == but it did not draw my attention from the rest of the poem--

      actually the whole line --"cocks a canival of pistils" is quite striking in the circumstances! Any circumstances. Ha. What I like is that it is in fact so truly descriptive of those pistils as well as playing on words on many levels, and shows a sense of humor too.

      the balloon string stems very nice--I confess the angora fingers took me aback-- I only come up with mating like rabbits but I don't think that's what you meant--then, well, a child's hands. (in gloves). But I certainly was struck by it and remembered it, so though I was uncertain about it, it stuck with me-- k.

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    3. And of course all the bones and sardine and diamond patterns are striking too! k.

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    4. Thanks again, k. The angora was just about suggesting softness, smoothness and warmth, but mating like rabbits works for me.;_) It's quite possible I got a bit lurid and carried away here. As usual, this poem was born in another larval form, about a red lacquer box with missing drawers, and the pelvis came form Georgia O'Keefe. The carnival of pistils did come from this painting. thinking about the peonies, and what they're about. I'm really glad that line appealed to you as I thought it was pushing it a bit. Thanks so much for your insightful and helpful reading. Hope your project(s)/ job are not driving you crazy.

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  21. "formal as a used pelvis," " an opened/ sardine-can portrait, face frozen/ framed in the fishbones.", How do you come up with the stuff? Cause it's amazing! And your final lines, wow! That's it. Such a Truth of our silly species. Love this Joy.

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    1. Thanks, Mary. I had fun with it, really.

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  22. Your words transform us into the surreal wonder of the painting!
    Bravo!

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  23. "Take the rosemary road
    through the wavering maze" ( so loved that )

    reads (to me) like a mad dash for freedom!

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  24. like so many before me, i found "formal as a used pelvis" to be an especially intriguing phrase. this is stunning, Joy!

    i have an idea ~ you, Shay and Kelli can take a trip together to a deserted island with no internet to give the rest of us a breather from such exquisite writing, okay? you know, just a little beach vacation! oh, no paper and pencils allowed either.


    dani

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  25. So....
    Were her Angora fingers furry, or soft?

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  26. She is catatonically regal, yes? I'd say tour de force, but that's not quite it - that term is too - well, forceful. Elegant, a whisper and a glimpse of something just out of sight, just at the edge of hearing - that's what you've achieved here. Mike's art - as Arron and Brendan allude - taps into something beyond the conscious. Lovely. ~ M

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg