A Reaction To Van Gogh’s ‘Cypresses 1889’

I

Black brushstrokes
within yellow-gold grasses
become breeze-shaken

shadows; a wild
stillness in motion.
The moon curls

in aquamarine; above
pink, gray and blue-white swirls
of cloud. The eye catches

a few bright patches
within the dark-leafed cypress.
Two pillars; as one would bles
s

each breath with starlight.

Painting here. Thanks for reading and looking. I still aspire to be a middling poet.

Sunday Music-George Benson Interview

For me, if it doesn’t have a blues base, it doesn’t connect as well. In rock and pop music, I want the blues involved. George Benson is primarily a jazz guitarist, but he’s…just a deep natural talent (a musician’s musician). He’s got some big-band and pop influence, and some R & B, so he’s generally okay for your parents.

Like many other blues musicians, often times, the guitar becomes an extension of the voice (scat vocalizations).

Seattle Photo-Breakfast At Bistro Dumpster

Northwest crows live in territorial family groups; foraging constantly for food. From dawn to dusk, you can find the usual customers, at the usual places, at the usual times.

They are cautious, and like a high, safe perch from which to view the world. Upon discovery of a new food source, they scope out the scene carefully, swooping down to ground-level only after the coast is clear.

William Logan At The New Criterion: ‘Pound’s Metro’

Full piece here.

Logan takes a look at one of the most important modern poems:

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

Ezra Pound

Logan:

‘The minor vogue and rapid extinction of Imagism, a movement whose influence we still feel, has been hashed over by literary critics for a century. Its rehearsal here is merely to bring the poem into focus within the slow progress toward the densities of language, the images like copperplate engraving, that made Pound Pound.’

Thorough and well done.

The result would echo back to the States years later:

The Great Figure

Among the rain

and lights

I saw the figure 5

in gold

on a red

firetruck

moving

tense

unheeded

to gong clangs

siren howls

and wheels rumbling

through the dark city.

William Carlos Williams

This blog tends to look cautiously at many of the ideas of the Romantic poets, and the break to modernism, but not necessarily the poems themselves.  The echo ripples outwards:

Mid-August at Sourdough Mountain Lookout

Down valley a smoke haze
Three days heat, after five days rain
Pitch glows on the fir-cones
Across rocks and meadows
Swarms of new flies.

I cannot remember things I once read
A few friends, but they are in cities.
Drinking cold snow-water from a tin cup
Looking down for miles
Through high still air.

Gary Snyder

Once we start arriving at ‘ecological’ appreciations of nature, and the postmodern, confessional altar of Self and the turn inwards to the Self a subject for the art, and the desperate search for meaning, I get more and more turned off, for my own reasons.  Such good poems will carry on.

Any thoughts and comments are welcome.