Archive for September, 2012

Again, a long time. Much has transpired…

September 4, 2012

And I cannot in truth say that I’m happy. I have my moments, we all do…but overall I feel a prisoner in my own apartment.

The good news…my Jimi piece is well liked, and plans are being made for it. My Janis light box is being shipped back to me as we speak, as it were. And my framer is finalizing two jazz pieces that I intend to give free to a real estate broker in Beverly Hills, to give to plum customers, in the hopes that they will want more art from me. So I need to come up with a brochure/presentation package that will be suitable and professional.

I belong to a group on FB now started by comrade V called postcerealism. It makes me happy – what can I say? They are all very silly, the members of this group – and all artists.

I am going to do a famous reggae guy next, but in the meantime, I’m working on my own stuff. I just have to. It’s in the very early stages, but I’ll share it anyhoo…

I also need to get back to writing my autobio. It’s been way too long. In the meantime, I’m very much enjoying my read called Possession by A.S. Byant, the first fiction I’ve (ahem) allowed myself to read in decades. It is full of poetry, and it makes me happy. A review:

“”Literary critics make natural detectives,” says Maud Bailey, heroine of a mystery where the clues lurk in university libraries, old letters, and dusty journals. Together with Roland Michell, a fellow academic and accidental sleuth, Maud discovers a love affair between the two Victorian writers the pair has dedicated their lives to studying: Randolph Ash, a literary great long assumed to be a devoted and faithful husband, and Christabel La Motte, a lesser-known “fairy poetess” and chaste spinster. At first, Roland and Maud’s discovery threatens only to alter the direction of their research, but as they unearth the truth about the long-forgotten romance, their involvement becomes increasingly urgent and personal. Desperately concealing their purpose from competing researchers, they embark on a journey that pulls each of them from solitude and loneliness, challenges the most basic assumptions they hold about themselves, and uncovers their unique entitlement to the secret of Ash and La Motte’s passion.

Winner of the 1990 Booker Prize–the U.K.’s highest literary award–Possession is a gripping and compulsively readable novel. A.S. Byatt exquisitely renders a setting rich in detail and texture. Her lush imagery weaves together the dual worlds that appear throughout the novel–the worlds of the mind and the senses, of male and female, of darkness and light, of truth and imagination–into an enchanted and unforgettable tale of love and intrigue. –Lisa Whipple

It appears that this woman author wrote the esquisite poetry in this novel.  It’s exciting me about writing my own stuff again…again, it’s been too long….way too long.

I used to think the following poem needed to be re-worked, now I am unsure…

Dear Judas

Space, moment of gain past saw-toothed mass

And I am sure to be “begotten” er fore’ I am begun

Echo of the sound room, screech of tabbed chair,

Feel of hard wood. All precious to him, whom

Of I sit here apart, gazing, inward-prancing –

His spotlight-blind lust, for me, for my native

Soil, as I, muted, mute hungrily, waiting…

Voices rise, the actors cued, cubits of stop/fast/action

Grind, morning breathlip-clinging, breath again quietly drawing

Attuned…listening (feel shuffle)

“Here…for the whole cast, yes,

but broken, so as not to appear to your audience

as a line…” Triangular shadows shift – my

seat’s shadow slides by – the tangible mirth. “You

All must gather for this scene, you here, no just

A bit more tilted…the actor draws his simple robe

Upward, scratching the knees…the Black One shines

A flashlight in the gray theatre, empty, but I in

My corner “safe.” Read this article! He is now exclaiming,

Sneezing and passes cakes of paper…read this…I

Think it quite good. Read this.” His voice prism-

Speckled, in a dozen brighter hues…(Who is that girl,

The other whispers, pointing hidden, to my shadow).

“I am a passionate man—“ then running –

“The overwhelming reality of life,” the hospital-bed rhetoric, my

seeming fellow, the trained response-

Wall springing, afterward, Judas had felt my air

“Was I crazy enough?” I suck my air, demure, all three of us

stand ready. “Do you…know anyone here?”

Inside the university library, I pause, expanding

My chest bilaterally, lingering…”The overwhelming reality…feeling

Of being alive!” Happy, since the long heart surgery, loving

All people. I am safe.

“No,” I answered, aware the shaved, tilted jaw-line.

“No.”. The lights were now perfect, stage ready,

actors rehearsed. My own leg bed-twinge, remembering.

“Since my heart surgery, I have learned…” The Blind

Spotlight clicked off for a night. “A tremendous

Confusion” – the dust mottled down,

My secure shadow dissipated.

“yes, I’ll be there.” Bereaved, the two settled me –

the last words, assuring my ticket.

One poet, from one distance, and a certain light.

I ran into the warm night air, to the insanely bright

Spring stars.

“Yes,” I thought, “once secure in your un-spotted chair, you are now

to live with all people – all people seem beautiful to you now.”

Untitled

Untitled

On a sad note, my cat Goober passed. He suffered the last two days, but gave me a brave farwell, pressing his nose hard into my knuckles. He is well loved and sorely missed.

The two days after he passed, both B and I heard him meow in the morning, from the hallway between the bedroom and bathroom. Well, actually B only heard him meow the one time, I heard three meows the first day and heard him meow two days after that. B did not hear those meows. I miss my Goober!

I have set up a shrine for Goober. He will always be my little boy. Tazz is doing fine…and will turn 26 in January, bless her pointy little head. I don’t know what I’d do without her…

Advertisements