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Category: Blog

Jaded Poems

Jaded Poems

Jaded Aesthetic Hand-Wringing too Soon     The difference between Nature and nature I think is like Woods and woods Rivers and rivers Rocks and rocks It’s like the sun shining down on the green      And making it more green not less Or the river looking back at you in sorrow or joy As if it’s given up and the day has not Begun yet Or it seems proud of its depth and its clarity Of thought and…

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Before the Frost Comes

Before the Frost Comes

The Realist Struggles With Vacation Brochures   The painter who wanted to sing And write and travel And be the incognito ruler of the world Left his apartment that should have been a house Or a mansion In the country not the city Instead of bleakness He wanted lush greens and grounds And stone pools Shining in the sun Years were to be filled With talks and walks And healing of souls Through his words or images The notes coming…

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Alice Kaplan: Looking for the Stranger

Alice Kaplan: Looking for the Stranger

Biographies of writers, artists, musicians and the like fill our libraries to the brim. But in recent years, a new kind of bio has emerged: the “life” of a particular work of art. One very fine example of this sub-genre is Alice Kaplan’s Looking for The Stranger. The book gives us a brief (but continuous) bio of Camus, his birth and early years in Algeria, providing the North African as well as Parisian contexts for his literary output before, during…

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Colors are Heroic.

Colors are Heroic.

When I was very young, I didn’t see this. I didn’t see the heroism of color, or the way we make colors ourselves, in our eyes, in our mind’s eye, or the bravery of Nature’s way, or its tremendous courage in painting as it does. Yes, Nature paints, and that’s not just a Romantic notion. It’s not some pseudo-poetic way of describing the ineffable. It just paints. Nothing comes close to the skill set of Nature in regard to —…

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Necessity and Inevitability

Necessity and Inevitability

It’s almost inevitable that the conversation continues. About Art. About the way we humans structure things, because our brains were built that way. About the way we choose to structure poems, plays, novels and such. The rocks we use to get to something else. The fire inside that rock. The spirit of stone the best sculptors find and exploit. It was there all along, they say. And the best don’t just say that, they feel it with every fiber of…

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Stages Along the Way

Stages Along the Way

Mixed feelings. Images clash. I don’t always or sometimes or never believe in phases, set eras, concrete life-steps that group themselves in any rational order. I don’t think we pass through these things on our way to wherever we find ourselves. It’s random. And this belief I feel at times, no times, as if it were always and never, is something that clashes with my art, what I think and feel about art, how it must happen and be. Order….

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Dwell Here: Nostalgia’s Graveyard Seductions

Dwell Here: Nostalgia’s Graveyard Seductions

  The poem I sent into the aether yesterday, Probably the Last Dawn Poem, was an old one. It was already a slightly belated look homeward (angel) to a time of some social and romantic turmoil, when my life was at one of its all too frequent “crossroads.” I had written a series of poems ab0ut a young woman with the perfect name for all of this, whom I had fallen for, hard, but who was still entangled with someone…

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Nostalgia for Nostalgia

Nostalgia for Nostalgia

Probably the Last Dawn Poem Did I bring them closer Together in this soap opera chain- Smoking pseudo-wooden-fern-bar Port-in-the-storm? Did I care once about her And her high looks soft Threat of a voice Long drink of eyes waiting For me? It’s strange no it isn’t Now I’m old and they’re young And even though I must be above putting things In nice boxes I have to start doubting my level of Reason And my need to find my age…

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