Saturday, June 30, 2012

at times poetry is:

by Octavio Paz
translated by Eliot Weinberger

At times poetry is the vertigo of bodies and the vertigo of speech and the vertigo of death;
the walk with eyes closed along the edge of the cliff, and the verbena in submarine gardens;
the laughter that sets on fire the rules and the holy commandments;
the descent of parachuting words onto the sands of the page;
the despair that boards a paper boat and crosses,
for forty nights and forty days, the night-sorrow sea and the day-sorrow desert;
the idolatry of the self and the desecration of the self and the dissipation of the self;
the beheading of epithets, the burial of mirrors; the recollection of pronouns freshly cut in the garden of Epicurus, and the garden of Netzahualcoyotl;
the flute solo on the terrace of memory and the dance of flames in the cave of thought;
the migrations of millions of verbs, wings and claws, seeds and hands;
the nouns, bony and full of roots, planted on the waves of language;
the love unseen and the love unheard and the love unsaid: the love in love.

Syllables seed

I was thinking what a good poetry prompt that would be:  "at times poetry is........"  Although mostly I think it's not prompting that's needed, but time.

Have you seen the Tumblr called #WHATSHOULDWECALLPOETS?  It's been going around on Facebook a fair bit, but I know there are still Facebook holdouts out there and you might enjoy it : )

Yes, today's post will be even more random than usual.

Summer, what is it, day 3 of summer holidays? and I feel positively scattered. I've been spamming my Flickr page with an abundance of images.  Strange how one feels guilty about that.  But for those of us living at latitude 53 or thereabouts, we know that there is approximately 3 months to go before it snows again (yes, quite possibly). And so all this green is pretty much driving me insane.  The flowers, the pretty and colourful bokeh! Summer different from winter light.

Meanwhile, I'm also going sort of crazy thinking about - what the heck do I want out of all these photographs....I mean, yes, I'm taking them for enjoyment, as a way of seeing my narrowly focused suburban world, so domestic.  I honestly haven't spent that much time questioning this behaviour - obsessively taking pictures of my everyday.  When Getty started taking the odd photo of mine, and I started even getting PAID for them from time to time (not a great get-rich-quick scheme, but nice pin money, right?) it seemed to justify this habit.  Could I at some point support my writing obsession with my photography obsession?  Now, there's a happy little fantasy.  Emphasis on the word, fantasy.  

The thing is I'm not nearly technical enough to ever really go pro.  Believe me, I'm very much a trial and error photographer.  I don't have PhotoShop.  I'm not great at taking photos of people.  I could go on.  Meanwhile, I've recently become a bit obsessed with the work of Fred Herzog, who probably never took a picture of a cookie in his life.  

So, what to do with all this?  Time is out for today.....the dog is asking for his walk, the house to clean, errands to run, a 14 year old to nag.....

And maybe, just maybe, a photo outing.  More thoughts on all this soon.  Wishing you all a very calm Saturday......
~ Shawna

1 comment:

  1. Cookies are a kind of poetry, i think. Picture perfect.


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...