Wandering in Woodacre – 28 October 2020

Contemporary American Art – Murray Taylor

Below – “Perpetual Contemplation”; “Sea Sky 4”; “In The Stream of Eternity”; “Before Night”; “The Bright Abyss”; “August Sky.”


This Date in Literary History: Died 28 October 1998 – Ted Hughes, an English poet and Poet Laureate from 1984 until his death.

“Hawk Roosting”
by Ted Hughes

I sit in the top of the wood, my eyes closed.
Inaction, no falsifying dream
Between my hooked head and hooked feet:
Or in sleep rehearse perfect kills and eat.

The convenience of the high trees!
The air’s buoyancy and the sun’s ray
Are of advantage to me;
And the earth’s face upward for my inspection.

My feet are locked upon the rough bark.
It took the whole of Creation
To produce my foot, my each feather:
Now I hold Creation in my foot

Or fly up, and revolve it all slowly –
I kill where I please because it is all mine.
There is no sophistry in my body:
My manners are tearing off heads –

The allotment of death.
For the one path of my flight is direct
Through the bones of the living.
No arguments assert my right:

The sun is behind me.
Nothing has changed since I began.
My eye has permitted no change.
I am going to keep things like this.

Below- Lauren Murphy: “Hawk Roosting”

Contemporary German Art – Andreas Zeug

Below – “Alma”; “Anna”; “Helena”; “Hoki”; “Edith on the chair”; “sisters.”

This Date in Literary History: Died 28 October 2014 – Galway Kinnell, an American poet and recipient of the National Book Award and the Pulitzer Prize.

“Wait”
by Galway Kinnell

Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven’t they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Personal events will become interesting again.
Hair will become interesting.
Pain will become interesting.
Buds that open out of season will become lovely again.
Second-hand gloves will become lovely again,
their memories are what give them
the need for other hands. And the desolation
of lovers is the same: that enormous emptiness
carved out of such tiny beings as we are
asks to be filled; the need
for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.
Don’t go too early.
You’re tired. But everyone’s tired.
But no one is tired enough.
Only wait a while and listen.
Music of hair,
Music of pain,
music of looms weaving all our loves again.
Be there to hear it, it will be the only time,
most of all to hear,
the flute of your whole existence,
rehearsed by the sorrows, play itself into total exhaustion.

Below – Edward Zentsik: “Singing Flute”

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