Wandering in Woodacre – 22 June 2021

Contemporary Dutch Art – Marie-Helene Stokkink

Below – “young eagle”; “Raccoon in the night”; “Blue Geese”; “The sheep with the black face”; “Koala”; “femme nut Sur le dos.”

A Poem for Today

“Sugar Water in Winter”
by Christie Towers

A bowl of rose water dreams itself empty
on the radiator: It’s December and we can
hardly afford the heat, our milk money
crinkling hungry over the cold counter
of our convenience store, the very last
of our cash for creamer, for pleasantries,
for cheap tea and cigarettes, for the barely-
there scent of roses burning softly. We trade
our hungers for hearth, for the clank and hiss
of warmth. Small fires, these, but even we,
in our clamorous poverty, demand pleasure:
steal sugar, our neighbor’s flowers, and never,
ever are caught thankless in better weather.

Contemporary American Art – Wayne Pruse

Below- “Rainy Days”; “The Lady In The Lake”; “Sleeping Beauty”; “Adoration”; “Safe Slumber”; “Who’s Who”; “Burch”; “Secrets Make You Sick.”

A Poem for Today

“Glorious World”
by Hermann Hesse

I feel it again and again, no matter
Whether I am old or young:
A mountain range in the night,
On the balcony a silent woman,
A white street in the moonlight curving gently away
That tears my heart with  longing out of my body.
Oh burning world, oh white woman on the balcony,
Baying dog in the valley, train rolling far away,
What liars you were, how bitterly you deceived me,
Yet you turn out to be any sweetest dream and illusion.
Often I tried the frightening way of “reality,”
Where things that count are profession, law, fashion, finance.
But disillusioned and freed I fled away alone
To the other side, the place of dreams and blessed folly.
Sultry wind in the tree at night, dark gypsy woman,
World full of foolish yearning and the poet’s breath,
Glorious world I always come back to,
Where your heat lightning beckons me,
where your voice

Below – Michael Vincent Manolo: “Tales from the Dream Nomad” (photograph)

Contemporary Chinese Art – Jiyou Piao: Part I of II.

Below (sculpture) – “Butterfly”; “Water mist”; “The Nightingale and the rosea”; “The Nightingale and the rosea”; “Nightingale and roses”; “Clear Air.”

A Poem for Today

“When You Have Forgotten Sunday: The Love Story”
by Gwendolyn Brooks

—And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes on a Wednesday and a Saturday,
And most especially when you have forgotten Sunday—
When you have forgotten Sunday halves in bed,
Or me sitting on the front-room radiator in the limping afternoon
Looking off down the long street
To nowhere,
Hugged by my plain old wrapper of no-expectation
And nothing-I-have-to-do and I’m-happy-why?
And if-Monday-never-had-to-come—
When you have forgotten that, I say,
And how you swore, if somebody beeped the bell,
And how my heart played hopscotch if the telephone rang;
And how we finally went in to Sunday dinner,
That is to say, went across the front room floor to the ink-spotted table in the southwest corner
To Sunday dinner, which was always chicken and noodles
Or chicken and rice
And salad and rye bread and tea
And chocolate chip cookies—
I say, when you have forgotten that,
When you have forgotten my little presentiment
That the war would be over before they got to you;
And how we finally undressed and whipped out the light and flowed into bed,
And lay loose-limbed for a moment in the week-end
Bright bedclothes,
Then gently folded into each other—
When you have, I say, forgotten all that,
Then you may tell,
Then I may believe
You have forgotten me well.

Below – Il Shan Cong: “level soft morning cream bed seres no.0303”

Contemporary Chinese Art – Jiyou Piao: Part II of II.

Below (drawings) – “Blue leaves”; “Blue magnolia”; “Nightingale and roses”; “The Nightingale and the rose”; “Blue leaves”; “Basket of feathers.”

A Poem for Today

“When the Red Goose Wakes”
by Marilyn Dorf

The sky a pure river of dawn
and the red goose wakes, the
breeze weaving, interweaving
leaves newly turned.
In the valley a song,
with no one to sing it,
some voice of the past
or the future. The red goose
sets her wings and answering
some promise she’s made
to the WILD, enters that river
of sky, neck stretched
toward heaven, maybe beyond,
tail nothing but a carnelian
nubbin fading to sunglow.
And you, stunned to a silence
the size of the world.

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