Friday, May 2, 2008
Inspiration 3- A Poem by Kamau Daaood
Kamau Daaood is a pioneer of the spoken word movement. His poems are musical, influenced by jazz. They have been called "chronicles, incantations, portraits, invocations."
I am a devout poet. I believe that the right words offered in the right way can be music holding us together. When we can speak the language of essence, we will be able to commune in a space miles above dogma and the confines of individual traditions. And we can develop into evolved human beings capable of radiating profound love, light and service to others. I believe wholeheartedly that art in community is noble work that fosters beauty and meaning into our lives. That art is vital and necessary. I believe in the sacredness of breathing.
Kamau Daaood
Many of Kamau Daaood's poems in The Language of Saxophones got to me in a good way. The following poem THE MEN scored a home run.
THE MEN
for my sons
I
deep the space between father and son
deep the place where chests meet
fragile the air carrying words
from the male heart
difficult the eyes meeting
father, pass the story
and tell the secrets
son, humble the ears and cling
to the wings of the words
that carry the torch
of your son's song
on the tongue of your father
your grandfather speaks
of his father
to your unborn grandchild
clip the wings of ego that hinders flight
tip toe with clenched fist
in this hour of the breaking of chains
deep is the conversation
of bearded hearts
sacred the word that dwells there
II
in the firm gripping of hands
the silence of the male air
folklore of barber shops
shielded speech
muscle and stance
the music our fathers whistled
sweat and hue
hats that cover the head
minds full of stars and wonder
the spit shine of noon
the deep thighs of night
hard voice of reason
in the long scar of memory
you will find it....
III
i will show you the beauty of my scars
they are concealed beneath my skin
some given me by your mother
to teach me to see myself
i have many scars
i pull them out when i am alone
i read them like scripture
i bathe them in prayer and memory
i offer them to you in light
website
http://www.kamaudaaood.com/index.htm
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Inspiration 2 * Sacred Art - The Mandala Experience
http://www.mandalaproject.org/What/Main.html Mandalas are in nature, in experience, inside us. We create our own experience mandalas often without knowing. Artist create concrete mandalas ( sometimes on paper, sometimes in the sand or on the ground) for religious ceremonies and as visual catalysts for meditation and awareness. This poem was written years ago when I was given this Gilchrist mandala as a gift. It hangs on my living room wall. Today it reminds me of the organic nature and mystery of life's experiences. When I look at the mandala, the shapes begin to shift. As they move something happens. It is hard to describe. It is like an invisible oil that greases a wheel getting it to go forward. It is like a hand that comforts. It holds an energy that transforms.
SHAMANIC ARTIST, LA DI DA IN SIX PARTS
Elizabeth P. Glixman
I
Shrieking harmonic convergences
unleashing unified fields of hues
He blows light from his hands
to those who can catch
glowering balls
without falling downward
in the after shock of glazed echoes
and the heat of ruby red slippers
sparkling wings filmed by a universal studio
His hair streaked an orange tipped fire frenzy
flails startles sleepy caterpillars
and anyone with curves who desires
the anonymity of smoke.
Feathers flower from his quaking nostrils
They rhumba the rhythm of yahoo
the whipped cream of it all
His percolating ear vibrates to magma moans
a seismic transformation gone wiley
He is a derelict cohabitating with
fruit of the loom cotton that dabs
his burning eyes
Is that why people think he is mad?
Genital seeing is not cognized by many.
II
At birth painted sounds were in his womb
His knuckles turned red clapping
archetypal images
conjuring prismatic paper multifaceted bells
Templates of ringing wake his third eye
from transcendental sleep
His fingers spin three-dimensional spheres
the free river of refined visual language
III
One point is the beginning of time
Then there were two and then
there were snowflakes
endless in calligraphic directions.
The words on the pear tree
the vistas
the pavement
ground like mutton
Plato watches the lambs in rubber boots
walking the river of shadows
He outlines the mad man's geometry
the focused eye of his hand
Meticulous mandalas bulls eyes of contemplation
Bravo thinks Plato about the octahedrons
tetrahedrons
roused in circular heavy weight
bond flames
IV
The first word of God was laughter
He never spelled it phonetically
He let it burst out in a catastrophic hug
He wrapped his insides in spectacular unformed
cobweb fireworks
bringing in diminishing darkness
Dispersed fireflies fondled the
weightless space kissed voracious ambiance
learned to recite
the alphabet in choral repetitions
without a lamp by the bed stand
Forms began
V
In the age of Kali Yuga
a complete 432,000 years
Destruction is the tune our ancestors
watch and can not vocalize
They are too busy spying
VI
The painter with his stretcher sticks and pliers
pries our minds open
underneath the generic
gravestones of in and out breathe
The acrylic visionary wins
the world series of names
bats the square root of all
He colors the beginning
and ending of God's laughter
with watercolor cubed mandalas
ink stained pyramids
and other shapes
inhabiting his uncluttered mind
The mad man bellows and puffs
He waves his pencils marks
They are freedom flags
wrapped in God's arms
embracing us
Arms as large
as what can never be colored
only in vague nightmares by children
with fat hand chalk.
The man in red tipped hair is mad.
He sees proportions that we can not measure
Rulers we can not name
When a toe crushes the galaxies
we can begin to imagine
God's coat size and the circles of his eyes.
Published in
MUSE APPRENTICE GUILD :: SPRING 2003
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
I am Inspired by the Beauty of Wolves*Yellowstone Wolves In Danger
35 Years of Rocky Mountain Wolf Conservation on the Line
17 Yellowstone Wolves Killed Already
Open Season on Wolves
As of March 28, 2008, due to the delisting by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, wolves in Greater Yellowstone and the Northern Rockies no longer have Endangered Species Act protections.
Read our Blog:
My Yellowstone Wolves
More wolves killed 5/2/09. Female Wolves among them. Please go to the Defenders of Wildlife website and read about the inhumane leg hold traps and poisons that the Bush Administration is allowing to be used to kill the Yellowstone Wolves and other wolves in Wyoming. You will also find out how you can help to stop this, if you are interested. Legal action is being taken to halt this unconstructive method of wildlife management.
Monday, April 28, 2008
A Favorite Quote About Poetry
"Let us remember... that in the end we go to poetry
for one reason, so that we might more fully inhabit
our lives and the world in which we live them, and
that if we more fully inhabit these things, we might
be less apt to destroy both."
Christian Wiman, Editor
http://www.poetrymagazine.org/
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Familial Relationships,Oy!
See what happens when you put an unhappy marriage, an overprotective Jewish mother, a stressed out son, and an emotionally absent father together.
"Why I Learned to go Shopping by Richie Freeman" published in Women in Judaism, Vol 5, No 1 (2007).
https://jps.library.utoronto.ca/index.php/wjudaism/article/view/3145/0
As long as I'm talking about relationship here is one Slate.com writer's view on the
the dynamics of the Obama and Clinton marriages from Slate's First Mate Series.
http://www.slate.com/id/2176679/pagenum/all/#page_start
Thursday, April 24, 2008
"Painted Stories From the Dutch"
I mentioned paintings in the poem by Rembrandt, Vermeer and other masters from the Golden Age of Dutch painting. I am fascinated by 17th century Dutch history.
Here are a few of the paintings and artists I used for inspiration in the poem. The images do not show the quality of light of the paintings and the amazing details of texture. I also did not post any florals or landscapes. They are easy to find by typing Dutch Still Life, Landscapes, or Genre Paintings into an Internet search engine.
Vermeer, Jan Woman in Blue Reading a Letter c. 1663-1664 Oil on canvas 46.6 x 39.1 cm (18 11/32 x 15 13/32 in.) Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam |
Vermeer, Jan
The Music Lesson
c. 1662-1665
Oil on canvas
74.6 x 64.1 cm
Royal Collection, St. James' Palace, London
Willem Kalf
photo by about.com guide Linda Garrison
REMBRANDT VAN RIJN
Syndic of the Drapers' Guild
MerchantHere are links if you want to learn more about this period in history.
http://www.albanyinstitute.org/Education/archive/dutch/dutch.painting.htm
http://www.buzzle.com/articles/rembrandt-impasto-a-master-in-the-shadows.html
Thursday, March 27, 2008
A White Girl Lynching, Pudding House Chapbook
http://www.fullofcrow.com/crowreviews/2009/06/a-white-girl-lynching/
Review in Her Circle Ezine
http://www.hercircleezine.com/2008/05/20/a-white-girl-lynching-by-elizabeth-p-glixman/
A White Girl Lynching is part of the Ohio State University Library Special Collections, SUNY/ Buffalo Lockwood Library Special Collections, Kent State University Library Special Collections, Brown University Library, and Poets House/NYC collection. A White Girl Lynching is listed in Bowker/Books in Print.
Columbus, OH 43213
Blog Post on one Poem in A White Girl Lynching
http://elizabeth-inthemoment.blogspot.com/2008/04/painted-stories-from-dutch.html
Links to some of my poetry on the web
http://www.thepedestalmagazine.com/gallery.php?item=2192
http://www.subtletea.com/elizabethglixman2006
http://www.friggmagazine.com/volumeonearchive/slaughter
http://www.friggmagazine.com/issuetwentyeight/poetry/glixman/nolen.htm