This Date in Art History: Died 30 June 1908 – Thomas Hill, an American painter.
Below – “Mount Lafayette in Winter”; “Indian by a lake in a majestic California landscape”; “Great Canyon of the Sierra, Yosemite”; “The Last Spike”; “Davidson Glacier”; “El Capitan.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 30 June 1920 – Eleanor Rose Taylor, an American poet.
“Three Days in Flower”
by Eleanor Ross Taylor
Monday he went away.
The moon was in her sign,
the weather smiled,
she cut Jacques Cartiers,
pink as in holiday.
From a champagne flute
they waved intimate,
she dreamed in their arms,
cloud and city,
one wrinkled, mauved,
one sang alone,
one threatened suicide
on glass-topped table.
He flew home.
This Date in Art History: Born 30 June 1914 – Allan Houser, a Native American sculptor and painter.
Below – “Earth Mother”; “Young Beauty”; “Silence”; “Running Free”; “Sacred Rain Arrow”; “Mustangs.”
This Date in Literary History: Born 30 June 1911 – Czeslaw Milosz, a Polish/American poet, novelist, essayist, translator, and recipient of the 1980 Nobel Prize in Literature.
Some quotes from the work of Czeslaw Milosz:
“The living owe it to those who no longer can speak to tell their story for them.”
“The purpose of poetry is to remind us how difficult it is to remain just one person, for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors, and invisible guests come in and out at will.”
“Not that I want to be a god or a hero. Just to change into a tree, grow for ages, not hurt anyone.”
“Evil grows and bears fruit, which is understandable, because it has logic and probability on its side and also, of course, strength. The resistance of tiny kernels of good, to which no one grants the power of causing far-reaching consequences, is entirely mysterious, however. Such seeming nothingness not only lasts but contains within itself enormous energy which is revealed gradually.”
“The soul exceeds its circumstances.”
“Language is the only homeland.”
Below – “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers”; “Transient blue version”; “Spaghetti & Wine”; “She Wears the Mask”; “Sacrifice of the model”; “A Telephone Call from GOD.”
“Before the Snake”
by Nathaniel Tarn
Sitting, facing the sun, eyes closed. I can hear the
sun. I can hear the bird life all around for miles.
It flies through us and around us, it takes up all
space, as if we were not there, as if we had never
interrupted this place. The birds move diorami-
cally through our heads, from ear to ear. What
are they doing, singing in this luminous fall. It is
marvelous to be so alone, the two of us, in this
garden desert. Forgotten, but remembering
ourselves as no one will ever remember us. The
space between the trees, the bare ground-sand
between them, you can see the land’s skin which
is so much home. We cannot buy or sell this
marvelous day. I can hear the sun and, within
the sun, the wind which comes out of the world’s
lungs from immeasurable depth; we catch only
a distant echo. Beyond the birds there are per-
sons carrying their names like great weights.
Just think: carrying X your whole life, or Y, or Z.
Carrying all that A and B and C around with you,
having to be A all the time, B, or C. Here you can
be the sun, the pine, the bird. You can be the
breathing. I can tell you, I think this may be
Eden. I think it is.
Below – Cecil Walton: “Eric Robertson, 1887-1941. Artist. With Mary Newbery, 1890-1985”
Contemporary American Art – Lizzie Wortham
Below – “Camp”; “At Twelve”; “Practice”; “Babysitter”; “Daddy’s Little Girl”; “Call Me.”
by Marilyn Kallet
In the dry summer field at nightfall,
fireflies rise like sparks.
Imagine the presence of ghosts
flickering, the ghosts of young friends,
your father nearest in the distance.
This time they carry no sorrow,
no remorse, their presence is so light.
Childhood comes to you,
memories of your street in lamplight,
holding those last moments before bed,
with a blossom of the hand
letting them go. Lightness returns,
an airy motion over the ground
you remember from Ring Around the Rosie.
If you stay, the fireflies become fireflies
again, not part of your stories,
as unaware of you as sleep, being
beautiful and quiet all around you.
Below – Paul Bond: “Evening at the Edge of the Garden”