#100Days100Poems Day 40

It seems a lifetime ago that we discussed how even the nation’s most important cultural institutions are in the struggle against the cacophony of crazy from Trumpet and his minions. The Museum of Modern Art installed several works to add voice to the chorus of those of us protesting and fighting. With each plaque accompanying the pieces you read

This work is by an artist from a nation whose citizens are being denied entry into the United States, according to a presidential executive order issued on January 27, 2017. This is one of several such artworks from the Museum’s collection installed throughout the fifth-floor galleries to affirm the ideals of welcome and freedom as vital to this Museum, as they are to the United States.”

Inspired by this, today’s poem joins the other ekphrastic pieces responding to some of the works in the MoMA’s collection. The poem, untitled at the moment, simply bears the name of the artist and painting. Photos of the piece are the author’s own.

***

The Mosque 1964
Ibrahim El-Salahi, Sudanese, born 1930
Oil on canvas

somewhere just off-canvas

        or so it seems

                the muezzin begins the adhan

        and it calls out from the minaret

        stretching far beyond frame

                and gallery, far

        beyond wall and window

and from the west

        a figurey shadow looms

                menaces in manic paranoia

        the mosque suddenly marked & monitored

                        no longer sanctuary

to the east, a figure

        masked,

                perhaps Munchian in style, no

        El-Salahian

                        perhaps he the muezzin

                is it a look of dread

                        eyes wide mouth agape

                is it a look of reverence

                        the call pouring from outspoken lips

                is it a look of caution

                        a warning warbled of the wicked

                wizard of

                                the west

the shadow rising from

        & the call continues

        and the mask reveals nothing

                as if frozen in oil on canvas

        & the call continues

        through soundless swirls and silhouettes

& the call continues

        the muezzin is muzzled/is the muezzin muzzled

the perilous penumbra poised in the west

        poisonous in its prevarications

        dangerous in its discharge of belligerent jingoism

the western aggression

        threatening bans & walls & wars & blitzes

another call starts

is it to line up for prayers

        or deportation

        or encampment

                        for petitions

        or capitulation

        or opposition

somewhere just off-canvas

another call starts

***

 

© David Siller – Text and Images – 2017

.*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, this blog will feature a new poem of protest, by my own hand and by others. They will be polished gems, or rough cut drafts of rage, or in process pieces searching for peace. They may be haiku or tanka, limericks or lyrics, verses free or fettered. If you would like to submit to this endeavor, please send an email, with poem saved as a word document (.docx) to waxyandpoetic AT gmail DOT com. All rights remain with the author.

VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!

Please address any formatting preferences in your email. I will post submissions time permitting, with at least one per day. Editing will be limited to obvious errors of spelling and the like.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

#100Days100Poems Day 23

For today’s poem, I simply include the note from the poet herself:

The story behind this poem is two fold: First, it was in response to artist Jackson Pollock’s work ‘Untitled. C.1950.’ This poem is also in response to the recent ban on immigrants and refugees, and a growing increase of intolerance in the United States. According to Carl Jung, everyone has parts of themselves that they suppress and ignore. These parts make up what Jung referred to as our shadow. Jungian scholars pose that just as an individual has a shadow, so do societies and nations. According to Japanese author Haruki Murakami, ‘At times, we tend to avert our eyes from the shadow, those negative parts, or else, try to forcibly eliminate those aspects. No matter how high a wall we build to keep intruders out, no matter how strictly we exclude outsiders, no matter how much we rewrite history to suit us, we just end up damaging and hurting ourselves.’

 

A link to the referenced artwork can be found at: Jackson Pollock, Untitled (c. 1950)

 

we are a land of shadows


sometimes they break through
the veil
dark, dense and outside
the light
black winged things
swishing saurian tails
dancing
encircling
containing
what we cannot reconcile
thought and memory
blur
incite 
the primitive
to rise 
a fevered frenzy
of feathery trails
engulfs us
lifts and carries us
not above our own wounds
but the world’s

 

© Mary Katherine Creel – 2017

Bio:

Mary Katherine Creel lives in the foothills of North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Mountains with her husband and their animal collective.  Her poem ‘we are a land of shadows’ first appeared in What Rough Beast. She has worked as a journalist, freelance writer and counselor, and currently serves as communications manager at an art museum. Her poems have been published in Paper Rabbit, Tar River Poetry, Pittsburgh Poetry Review and Avocet. Her first poetry chapbook, Exit Wound, is forthcoming.

.

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, this blog will feature a new poem of protest, by my own hand and by others. They will be polished gems, or rough cut drafts of rage, or in process pieces searching for peace. They may be haiku or tanka, limericks or lyrics, verses free or fettered. If you would like to submit to this endeavor, please send an email, with poem saved as a word document (.docx) to waxyandpoetic AT gmail DOT com. All rights remain with the author. VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!

Please address any formatting preferences in your email. I will post submissions time permitting, with at least one per day. Editing will be limited to obvious errors of spelling and the like.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

#100Days100Poems Day 22

As we mentioned yesterday, the Museum of Modern Art has joined in the voices against the Trumpet nonsense. With each plaque accompanying the art you read

This work is by an artist from a nation whose citizens are being denied entry into the United States, according to a presidential executive order issued on January 27, 2017. This is one of several such artworks from the Museum’s collection installed throughout the fifth-floor galleries to affirm the ideals of welcome and freedom as vital to this Museum, as they are to the United States.”

Today’s poetic response is to [Composition-40-2011] by Shirana Shahbazi, a German artist born in Iran in 1974. It is a chromogenic color print from 2011.

space-painting

 

 

 

Standing on a Ridge on Callisto,
Gazing toward the Sun

“Of course, it’s easy to see
the Red Planet, Mars,
God of War, guardian of agriculture--
and next to him the terrible Deimos,
as if war needed an escalation,
and just beyond is Luna,
that bright white moon doing
all it can to hide the blue dot behind.”
 

        And what is that, exactly?


Nothing worth the trouble--
separated by puddles
they still fight over myths &
borders & trinkets &
colors.
So wrapped up in themselves
we are able to remain here,
unknown
unbothered
uninvaded  
and the sun a kilomètre zéro, blazing bright center,
lighting our way to more,
            far beyond the blue, wet contentious stone. 

© David Siller – Photo and Poem – 2017

.

 

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, this blog will feature a new poem of protest, by my own hand and by others. They will be polished gems, or rough cut drafts of rage, or in process pieces searching for peace. They may be haiku or tanka, limericks or lyrics, verses free or fettered. If you would like to submit to this endeavor, please send an email, with poem saved as a word document (.docx) to waxyandpoetic AT gmail DOT com. All rights remain with the author. VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!

Please address any formatting preferences in your email. I will post submissions time permitting, with at least one per day. Editing will be limited to obvious errors of spelling and the like.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

 

#100Days100Poems Day 21

Even the nation’s most important cultural institutions are in the struggle against the cacophony of crazy from Trumpet and his minions. The Museum of Modern Art recently installed work to add voice to the chorus of those of us protesting and fighting. With each plaque accompanying the pieces you read

This work is by an artist from a nation whose citizens are being denied entry into the United States, according to a presidential executive order issued on January 27, 2017. This is one of several such artworks from the Museum’s collection installed throughout the fifth-floor galleries to affirm the ideals of welcome and freedom as vital to this Museum, as they are to the United States.”

Inspired by this, today’s poem will be the first of eventually several ekphrastic pieces responding to some of the works in the MoMA’s collection. The poem, untitled at the moment, simply bears the name of the artist and sculpture. Photos of the piece are the author’s own.

 

 

 

The Prophet 1964
Parviz Tanavoli, Iranian and Canadian, born 1937
Bronze on wood base

I. The Profit
Eyes downcast
 this blockhead leaning or falling back
  hands worse than tied: stopped locked and boxed
   such constraints only propel the reverse
    this is the devolution, where capitalism
     trumps democracy, where regression
      brings a high ROI, at least to the top
      (lean back enough, you’ll see up there)
       hands worse than tied: unable to reach the ballot box
        from this prison of our own (though not the majority of us)
         making the stench in the air comes from the refilled swamp
          a reminder that money does(n’t?) buy democracy

                                                      The Prophet II.
                                                    Eyes high & wide
                                               arms folded & strong
                                         we lean into the future
                                       lean into the struggle
                                    our queer straight immigrant
                                  citizen shoulder to the wheel
                                 you see hollowed stomach,hungry holes
                               this is how we feed ourselves,
                             that pit yearning for freedom
                           this pit to be filled with justice,
                         that with equality, this with light,
                       those with shared bread, shared love,
                     shared dream
                    this is the revolution,
                   where, like comic book heroes,
                 we stand firm, we plant ourselves like a
               “tree beside the river of truth,
             and tell the whole world, No, you move
           because for the struggle forward is the only way


through walls & bans & backroom bargains
through bought pols & bought polls & 
bought nominations & bought abominations
the power of a prophet always mightier than that of the profit

 


© David Siller – Photos and Poem – 2017

.

 

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, this blog will feature a new poem of protest, by my own hand and by others. They will be polished gems, or rough cut drafts of rage, or in process pieces searching for peace. They may be haiku or tanka, limericks or lyrics, verses free or fettered. If you would like to submit to this endeavor, please send an email, with poem saved as a word document (.docx) to waxyandpoetic AT gmail DOT com. All rights remain with the author. VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!

Please address any formatting preferences in your email. I will post submissions time permitting, with at least one per day. Editing will be limited to obvious errors of spelling and the like.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

“Tingling like a first kiss, crazier than a death wish…” or just really ekphrastic!

The Kiss

22 February 1930, charcoal & oil on wood panel

painted by Picasso, probably on a cupboard door

It is awkward, yes, but all the better

to practice

You must first, my dear,

lean your head towards me,

hair falling behind

you like waterfalling just before

    the great maw of tropical cave

your tongue, sharp, isosceles

    must invite

you sir, tilting head slightly back

    your upper lip above hers

    your tongue, too, arrowhead, trying to pierce her

keep your eyes open

it is awkward yes

do not touch tongues

    yet

open-mouthed—imagine devouring the other

        engulf breath and voice and time

do not touch tongues

    yet

open-eyed enter the other

mouth, consume and be consumed

    hold there

        first kiss, first loss

        I will sketch you

        it is awkward yes

        two forms always almost coming

            together

         awkward—to enter

            the other

                in voice & breath

                awkward

                forward

                you will not get this back

except perhaps when you open cupboard door.”

the kiss
With apologies for the size, it refused to get bigger.