The Art of …

… the spoken word. One of the best perks of being part of this blog is the opportunity to showcase the art of our readers. Today, I’m sharing a new form of art for us. About a month ago, I posted a poem called The Mall, by Canadian poet Evelyn Lau. Dakotagreasemonkey (Rick) then took the time to record himself reading it aloud for us. He has a deep, resonant voice and I found his reading touching. I think he may have a future in dramatic arts and I hope he explores his talent and finds other ways to express himself. I’m sure you’ll all enjoy it. I’d also like to take a moment to thank Marcus (Stderr) for his technical assistance. (The photo in this clip is mine. It’s a place called Plage Nord and it’s across the street from my mother- in- law’s home in Perce, Quebec. Jack and I spent a lot of happy time there.)

The Mall

Today I chose it over the ocean.

Over the trees, their fall leaves

a flock of orange parrots perched on branches.

Over the chandelier of sunlight broken

on blue waves, over flowers

shaped like teacups or trumpets,

over the jade garden where once I dreamed

I wore a green velvet dress

clasped tight at the waist

like the grip of a man’s hand.

I walk toward it like a Zombie,

this strange planet suspended in time,

a space station in the rainforest

inhabited by teenage girls wearing glitter eyeshadow

and slippery lipgloss. I skate

along its arid walkways

as if on an invisible track, away

from my life. Here it could be day or night,

the walls stripped of clocks,

music moaning a mindless refrain,

not a window in sight.

The stores hold their mouths open

like seductresses, radiating heat and light

and a bright array of wares,

a sorbet rainbow of merchandise

delectable as pastilles.

Outside, the lives of grasses

and insects and breezes go on.

After a day at the mall,

stepping back into what’s left of the world,

the sunlight will sear your skin,

and the gallons of fresh air

will pour over you like pain.

 

by Evelyn Lau

 

 

 

The Art of …

… poetry, by Canadian poet Evelyn Lau

This poem was published in The Walrus, a Canadian magazine, in 2007. I picked up the magazine a few times to reread it and finally tore out the page and set it on my nightstand. I found it again today, and it filled me with longing for my east coast beach as acutely as it did 14 years ago. It feels very tactile to me and sad in a raw sort of way. It did serve to propel me outdoors, and that seems like a worthy cause to me, so I’m sharing.

The Mall

Today I chose it over the ocean.

Over the trees, their fall leaves

a flock of orange parrots perched on branches.

Over the chandelier of sunlight broken

on blue waves, over flowers

shaped like teacups or trumpets,

over the jade garden where once I dreamed

I wore a green velvet dress

clasped tight at the waist

like the grip of a man’s hand.

I walk toward it like a Zombie,

this strange planet suspended in time,

a space station in the rainforest

inhabited by teenage girls wearing glitter eyeshadow

and slippery lipgloss. I skate

along its arid walkways

as if on an invisible track, away

from my life. Here it could be day or night,

the walls stripped of clocks,

music moaning a mindless refrain,

not a window in sight.

The stores hold their mouths open

like seductresses, radiating heat and light

and a bright array of wares,

a sorbet rainbow of merchandise

delectable as pastilles.

Outside, the lives of grasses

and insects and breezes go on.

After a day at the mall,

stepping back into what’s left of the world,

the sunlight will sear your skin,

and the gallons of fresh air

will pour over you like pain.

by Evelyn Lau

 

The Art of …

… romanticism, by British artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

Rossetti is best known for his portraits and female figures, but he was also a poet and wrote the poem Body’s Beauty, to accompany his portrait of Lilith.

Lady Lilith, 1873, Dante Gabriel Rossetti. Image from Wikiart.

Body’s Beauty

Of Adam’s first wife, Lilith, it is told
(The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,)
That, ere the snake’s, her sweet tongue could deceive,
And her enchanted hair was the first gold.
And still she sits, young while the earth is old,
And, subtly of herself contemplative,
Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave,
Till heart and body and life are in its hold.

The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where
Is he not found, O Lilith, whom shed scent
And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare?
Lo! as that youth’s eyes burned at thine, so went
Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent
And round his heart one strangling golden hair.

                             Dante Gabriel Rossetti

,

Jack’s Walk

©voyager, all rights reserved

September

The golden-rod is yellow;
The corn is turning brown;
The trees in apple orchards
With fruit are bending down.
The gentian’s bluest fringes
Are curling in the sun;
In dusty pods the milkweed
Its hidden silk has spun.
The sedges flaunt their harvest,
In every meadow nook;
And asters by the brook-side
Make asters in the brook.
From dewy lanes at morning
The grapes’ sweet odors rise;
At noon the roads all flutter
With yellow butterflies.
By all these lovely tokens
September days are here,
With summer’s best of weather,
And autumn’s best of cheer.
But none of all this beauty
Which floods the earth and air
Is unto me the secret
Which makes September fair.
T’is a thing which I remember;
To name it thrills me yet:
One day of one September
I never can forget.

Helen Hunt Jackson

The Art of Book Design: The Springtime of Life, poems of childhood

Algernon Charles Swinburn. Springtide of Life. Illustrated by Arthur Rackham. Philadelphia, J.B. Lippincott: London, W. Heinemann, 1918.

Today’s children’s book is a collection of poetry dedicated to the early life of children by Algernon Swinburn. It was published posthumously, as a collection according to the author’s wishes and was illustrated by one of the era’s most prolific and respected artists, Arthur Rackham. I’ve included all the full-page colour plates, but the book also contains a wealth of line drawings of chubby cherubs and well-fed babies, a minimum of one per poem. I’m very fond of Rackham’s artwork and I hope it brings some pleasure to your day. [Read more…]

Jack’s Walk

©voyager, all rights reserved

It sifts from Leaden Sieves – (291)

 

It sifts from Leaden Sieves –
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road –

It makes an even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain –
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again –

It reaches to the Fence –
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces –
It deals Celestial Vail

To Stump, and Stack – and Stem –
A Summer’s empty Room –
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them –

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen –
Then stills it’s Artisans – like Ghosts –
Denying they have been –

      by Emily Dickinson

 

The Art of Book Design: The Poetical works of John Keats

Today’s book was sent in by one of our readers, Vanessa. The book has a simple cover, but it’s beautiful inside and comes with a touching story that Vanessa is graciously sharing with all of us.

John Keats. The Poetical Works of John Keats. London, Humphrey Milford, Oxford University Press, 1917

[Read more…]