There's a painting called
"The Red Shoes"
No one has daintily stepped in red gracefully
I know, because red scatters unpredictably
The hands grip, the red
talks, there I ponder
The path were once as sunshine
as yellow of gold
the blooming at noon
used to be clear as honey
you had to glide with ease
just to not disturb peace
Now the jealous is emerging
through the innocence of self
the heel is a witty trap
conniving and plotting sinisterly
in clinging passion
the great secret lies
on some whimsical young girl
Continue everyday in constant struggle
gripping in blood, so beautiful stepped
she walks forward as if fearless
the hands are dripping
I cannot move, but she can.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
X. J. Kennedy Nude Descending a Staircase is probably my favorite poem based of a piece of artwork. The poem brings out a refreshing vibe from this painting by Marcel Duchamp. Each verse has something I love about it. A gold of lemon, this line conveys elegancy with a zest. She proceeds down the stairs “with nothing on. Nor on her mind.” I imagine the figure move with an air of class and celestial qualities. She has no problems troubling her and is carefree with a simple smile. One-woman waterfall is a perfect metaphor for this painting. The ending of the poem is successful in tying everything together into one neat package, also relating back to the artwork, all motions summing into one collective pose.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Matisse: “The Red Studio” by W.D. Snodgrass has so much liveliness even though the objects in the painting are inanimate. The energy weaved into the poem is invigorating. “Like a great beast sinking into sands,” is such a powerful and imaginative line. The poet portrays the studio to produce life with an electric vibe. The line “his own room drank him” unifies the real and the unreal. The room looks like a warm red wine, the play on imagination that the room consumes the artists is cunning. I love the personification of the red walls, “ the belly of these walls that burn.” The line evokes me to imagine the wall swallowing up these paintings but at the same time, the paintings stay stationary.
I’m not sure how I feel about Cezanne’s Ports by Allen Ginsberg. I like Paul Cezanne’s painting, L’Estaque much more. Poems inspired or written about paintings are a hit or miss for me. If the poem describes literally with not much insight, I’m not into it. If the poem brings the painting on a different level by creating a story beyond the painting, I then love it. This poem does discuss activity outside the canvas, but it isn’t enough for me. It’s interesting how the poet uses bleak white haze to accompany heaven. My attention is more on the painting, how the water reaches across both sides of the canvas, how lovely it must be to live in the French village below.
The Man with the Hoe by Edwin Markham is a powerful poem commenting on the oppression of man inspired by Jean Francois Millet’s famous painting. The artwork and the poem compliment each other nicely. The poem has to be analyzed from the time period it was written from, the French Revolution. The word choice in this poem is capturing, “the emptiness of ages in his face,” and “the reddening of the rose,” are my two favorite lines. The poet enters a different dimension in the second verse, which brings an ethereal element to the poem and painting. This poem is a nice piece of history. Do some of the questions in the poem pertain to today’s society?
The Man with the Blue Guitar written by Wallace Stevens inspired by Pablo Picasso “The Old Guitarist painting” is a collection of poems. I tried to read these cantos as one consecutive poem. While reading them out loud, I felt like I was reading a Dr. Seuss book, delighted with the rhythmic value. I would rather have a book rather than a continuous flow of cantos. So then I could appreciate each poem on it’s own. A stanza that sticks out to me is the beginning of VII. The poet describes the sun, he states the sun shares our works, and then contrasts it to the moon that it shares nothing, it is a sea. He then continues to say the sun is a sea it shares nothing. When I think of sea, I think of vast liveliness, containing everything, not nothing. Each canto is just as beautiful as the next.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Monday, October 8, 2012
The structure of Ghost in the Land of Skeletons throws me off, but what is being said does intrigue me. Phrases such as “flesh’s pretty paint” and “a spectral game of hide and seek” make me smile through the image it illustrates. I imagine the warm and cool tones within skin and the sense of life it suggests. The speaker is fascinated by death yet scared. He enjoys observing paranormal quirks; the thought of becoming a ghost puts him at ease, eliminating the fear of dying. The ending hints he failed to acknowledge and accept that he is already dead. The man that approached the speaker and asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re a ghost?” mocks and laughs at the speaker’s ignorance. The accompany artwork doesn't do much for the poem to me.