The Color of Metolius Water, Central Cascades, Oregon . . .
A week on the Metolius River Central Cascades . . .
On the road in the American Northwest. [ click photo for next . . . ]
The Color of Metolius Water, Central Cascades, Oregon . . .
A week on the Metolius River Central Cascades . . .
On the road in the American Northwest. [ click photo for next . . . ]
DIALOGUE?
The great & wonderful journey of dialogue begins
when we come together with but six simple words:
"I don't know. Let's find out!"
LIFE WITHOUT POETRY—a thought poem meditation
“There’s no money in poetry, but then there’s no
poetry in money, either.” Robert Graves
Imagine a world without shadow. The end of photography.
Imagine a world without echo. The end of music.
Imagine a world without the rhyming of meaning that
is metaphor. The end of poetry.
Worlds in which nothing is hidden, nothing implied, and nothing resonates
beyond its own boundaries. Dry, harsh, lifeless worlds in which
the human spirit only with great difficulty can survive. This is the world
ruled by the literal man. For the literal man, everything means exactly
what it says. It is a world reduced to shards, bits, broken pieces that are
perceived as the hard, necessary, unavoidable facts of daily life.
No more, no less. Life without poetry.
As the apple falls, so too does the moon? Pure science.
Moral compass? Pure poetry. Where these end, we enter an unknown,
pathless land. Pure religion. Always more, never less. Life with poetry.
THE LITERAL MAN—a fractal wayside poem
Stretched between the most distant of
stars and the
sparks which fly from the
candle’s match
is the silver string of
young intelligence,
a vibrant face among the flowers,
resonant with the music of all
springs.
Still close
to the ground
where perception begins, before
thought’s cells grow thick and woody walls,
and where meanings still
flow and freely merge,
where triangles and squares become
rounded in rhyme, and where the moon
is an apple on the
tree which has its roots in the sky.
Break the string
and the apple falls
into the lap of an unhappy
grown-up, eyes dull with
years of TV,
the life of one channel only
which does not change, which does not change;
where sense stays at home, alone, afraid
to venture out,
and becomes
precisely, neatly, bounded in
time.
Break the string
and the stars
at night will fail to cohere and
start to fall,
no longer turning
around their centers,
no longer,
threaded together,
in song.
| download mp3 | 3.6 Mb [Windows: r click; Mac: opt + click] |
Featured gallery, 100 MINIATURES, a set of 100 black & white photographs. ONE image. ONE idea. ONE new way of looking . . .100 MINIATURES—online gallery
Each miniature is a kind of meditation on one idea & one image;
Each lasts 30 seconds; They play in random order;
The music is my BOREA Mix,
for hand-played ePecussion Orchestra.
[ mouse over for controls / lower right fro full-screen ]
