Millions of people drive during the holidays. To and from. Rarely just to. I drove through ice and torrents of rain south, then through a cloudy day north and into white mist and fog. The drive, something about the drive, and the time, and the strangeness of endlessly moving forward in relative terms, led to the poem below, and a work in progress:
The vanishing point teases us Tempts us with the power Of horizons
Below, we have some new poetry from Robert Mueller, one of our frequent contributors. Robert has a great sense of the potential for soundful poetry, for the music of language, its aural qualities. His poems should be read aloud, listened to carefully, chewed on a bit.
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Reading a bit of Harold Bloom on Genius makes me ponder the difference between talent and genius. As was his intention. An early quote:
Though Shakespeare is the largest consciousness studied in this book, all the rest of these exemplary creative minds have contributed to the consciousness of their readers and auditors.
What can the Lords of Everything about dull eccentricity complain? A fine shill, which is to see kirtle cock-eyed and expect its rounding up, would cheer, would meet the sun. And then at sacred hoops the banners stream, and yet no historian writes with finish the broken horizon, and these Prodigals replay their Herculean task unnoticed, while grownups pass and joggle, sniff and blow and jo, and shuffle, prattling feet. Witness, at cost, the skipping girl: She finds in a book honors of wet cheeks and high ploys to relief in bouncing from flue to pratfall; silvers schooldays yet in stern lessons, polymath craze. Or coal-boy, rougher than the dirty feathers of his temperatures, dreams a leaf and glimmers churlish in the post-tomtom clear. . . . Read more. “Two Poems by Robert Mueller”
“A Christmas Tale” is a strange piece of movie-making, but quite effective for all of that. It turns many conventions on their heads, and does so both with a naturalistic flare and innovative camera work. It is the story of an unruly, dysfunctional family, their squabbles and their secrets, with few, if any, resolutions. It’s not your typical holiday movie. It’s not even a typical holiday movie sending up other holiday movies. It seems without genre, though the director, Arnaud Desplechin, samples from other movies like “Funny Face”, “The Ten Commandments”, and Max Reinhardt’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”. He sometimes points his actors at the audience to give soliloquies as well, borrowing yet again from Shakespeare. . . . Read more. “A Christmas Tale”
A poem in progress, after reading some more letters from the Van Gogh collection. Reminds me yet again how much he was able to fill his days to the brim. With deep thought, emotion, deep reading and seeking. He packed a great deal of life into his 37 years.
It was not what he wanted To lose a friend Gauguin his brother in Art Gauguin his kindred spirit
In the maze of being For colors For shapes and shadows
In the maze of youth Trying on yellow houses And more visits to brothels Than previously known
Saving the family Exhausting himself and his resources And dying soon after
Could not help his ecstasies
Vincent knew only how to seer
There is a cost to Art a cost
To the maker
Family and friends
And who can know as we stare At the bloody metaphor On canvas Reflecting battles lost and won