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"At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet."
Plato
...antherium art!
....have way too much fun this weekend, my fine flickr friends!!! ....I will!! as I practise the art of creating goosebumps with Solo!! :~) see you on the flip side of the weekend!!! :~)
My outfit (jean, corset, poet shirt) are from RKKN : Stefania outfit gacha .
And this will be available tomorrow at The Epiphany .
The mythical poet Orpheus braved the underworld to rescue his dead wife Eurydice.The gods allowed her ghost to follow him and regain life provided that Orpheus did not look at her until both have reached the sunlit earth.Rodin depicts Eurydice's spirit floating in the underworld dark entrance while Orpheus hesitates at the threshold because he cannot feel her phantom embrace or hear her spectral voice,Orpheus turns to see if his beloved has come.An instant later he will glimpse her,and Eurydice will vanish.
Even when visiting the prairie you can forget the colors of the prairie. There seems a bright yellow and dull brown, a dusty and muted pall draped over the landscape.
The grasses are green. The grasses are brown. And your eyes can only notice the reds and blues at glances, if at all.
Apart from dawn and dusk, the sky shifts endlessly from white to blue to white while clouds build across the parching afternoon.
In summer there are few flowers, but even those come missing more often than not.
The colors in this photo are at once surreal and hyperreal. They exist in that uncertain light between the lens and the film.
The colors on the prairie are few, but giving into it feels more colorful; allowing yourself over to the prairie, scrambling with life, overcome with place and being, there exists an endless color spectrum of light.
This is how the prairie can feel.
I will often say something like "I try to make my color photos express how a place felt rather than how it looked," and that is what is happening here - though I cannot imagine it so for everyone.
Most see these nearly-desert places as empty, featureless, and ultimately colorless: the beauty is show through black & white, if at all. But here, in this photo (and with any luck in most of the prairie photos), our notions and expectations are merely the foundations for possibilities. Even this is little more than a starting place.
This photo shows nothing that wasn't already there. It invents nothing. It imagines nothing. It rearranges no design. What it does (I hope) is simply show you what is possible.
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'A Poet Without'
Camera: Mamiya RB67
Film: Agfa Color XRS 400; x-90s
Process: DIY ECN-2
Nebraska
July 2023
De geschiedenis van dit plaatsje begint in de twaalfde eeuw na Christus toen gesticht werd door de Orde van de Hospitaliers. Evenals vele andere dorpjes in de nabije omgeving, heeft het door de eeuwen heen zwaar geleden onder de verschillende gewapende conflicten. Zo had het zwaar te leiden onder de gevolgen van de Godsdienstoorlogen. Zo raakte onder meer het kasteel bij het dorpje zwaar beschadigd en werden de verschillende verdedigingswerken van ontmanteld. Na de Godsdienstoorlogen raakte het zelfs in verval en dreigde dit mooie dorpje een spookdorpje te worden. Dankzij de inzet van de zogenaamde Amis du Vieux Poët-Laval, oftewel de Vereniging van Vrienden van Le Poët-Laval, werd dit voorkomen. Zo slaagden zij er in de plundering van het vervallen dorpje een halt toe te roepen, waardoor het dorpje kon uitgroeien tot het prachtige plaatsje zoals het vandaag de dag bekend staat. Le Poët-Laval behoort tot de mooiste dorpjes in het departement Drôme. Haar prachtige ligging, tegen een beboste heuvel, heeft hier ongetwijfeld mee te maken. Ondanks de turbulente geschiedenis van het plaatsje, heeft het dorpje haar middeleeuwse karakter weten te behouden. Oorspronkelijk was het plaatsje een rustig dorpje. Onder meer de Nederlandse schrijver Gerard Reve vond hier zijn rust. Vandaag de dag herbergt het plaatsje enkele bezienswaardigheden, zoals het oude kasteel van de Hospitaalridders, de oude kapel en het Dauphinois museum van het protestantisme.
与謝野晶子（Yosano Akiko、１８７８－１９４２）
Her poet、”君死にたまふことなかれ”was her song when her brother was called up to Russo-Japanese War at 1904, produced by her husband,Tekkan.
the following is Arthar Binard translation.
I call you, brother
don't you dare lay down your life.
You, the youngest child in our family,
thus cherished all the more-
Mother and father didn't educate you.......
bring you up to the age of 24, so that you couldn't kill or be killed yourself.
.........
Although Japan pushed to War until the defeat of World War second.
For a weekly theme suggested by another Flickr member.
Created with 3D models from Digital Artist Zone, and finished off with Topaz Impression.
Life is short, hence discerned to pause for a moment.
Some final notes are from an underestimated poet.
I wouldn't rely much on the few that don’t know-it,
Friends felt the thought without a doubt, also seen it,
Serene words in notion, as well as sensible in trivet.
Video
Well, it had to happen, because to complete the proper Victorian aesthetic look in my downstairs office and reading room I had to change the Angle-Poise light I had on my desk, which was a spare from my attic office, up in the roof space.
So I found this lamp instead, which is in the classic Accountants/Banker style, but the shade is in white, instead of green or blue. I loved those colours, but felt that they would be too dominant on the desk itself. [Not that I am fussy or anything]. Also, you can’t see it in this photo, but there is a rather nice white glass ‘tulip-shaped’ lamp to the side, behind the sofa, which has a sort of elegance that I thought this light had on my Victorian desk and would echo in style to match.
Now I sound like some house interior magazine waffling on about design. But, I will be spending a lot of time in here, so I might as well get it right, and that’s my excuse and I am sticking to it!
So here I was working in the evening on the MacBook and using my written notes and reference books in my usual way.
This is for a part of a series that I am going to show on my website and Flickr, depending how it all goes, and as to what goes where, I will sort it out as it goes along. Actually there has been quite a lot of work that I have been organising over the past few months. I have had one of those patches where the writing flowed and I just wanted to keep going. A lot of it has ended up in a series, well, four of them so far, rather than just singles because the photographs were either taken on the same day in roughly the same location yet each seems has something to say, or they go together as a group because the weather was similar over a period of time. But seeing them as a series together just gives them more power. Whether this will work on Flickr I am not sure, as the format is a bit restricting, but on my website I can place them all up on a page of their own. On Flickr I might just choose a few examples to tempt you to go and look at it on my website, designed with the poem to go with it. The important thing for me is that they appear together somewhere. But then I will also be printing them out as well…
I know that on Flickr many just scroll through…perhaps not even reading the text that goes with it, or the poem, but lately I have been thinking about this and have decided that I am not going to concern myself with this behaviour anymore. It is there if people wish to engage with it more fully. Because I used to produce creative work for a living you got used to keeping a copy for yourself. And by that I mean a physical, printed copy. Nothing beats it, because you feel as though you have actually done something, and for me that is important to show that you have a body of work. Social media, and even websites can lose information, shut down, or be sold off to the highest bidder…and your work might be lost if you haven’t backed it up, not to mention the subscription fees..which keep going up.
I think that if you are serious about your work, you need to treat it seriously, and lately I am thinking that perhaps the body of work I leave might be of use in the future. I have been encouraged by the reaction to it on Flickr and elsewhere, and that has really helped me to continue producing it. But I have also been thinking about my own well-being and what I enjoy doing. And that is going out with my camera and being inspired to write poetry to go with it. In this way, the joy of producing that work will continue to shine through the work itself as long as I get the balance right.
And for those of you who are itching to know what those piles of books are in the image..don’t worry, there is going to be more about that later. Books should be shared and collections loved, and I have been collecting all my life…
The time seems to be going by faster. A lot has happened since my last upload, both on the world stage and personally, because of various power-cuts, another water-leak in my home, and other matters I am behind in my own schedule for about a month. This winter has been tough. I have had to also block some people on here, as I did not like their controlling behaviour; that is just not acceptable. If you do not like my work then just move on, but also perversely, those that do like it but want to invade my life and use either my work or my empathetic nature for their own benefit can also remove themselves from my presence. You have missed the point entirely of my work.
I am here to share my own journey of the soul, and to help you with yours if you want me to, through art and conversation. Perhaps as creative people we can all find an equilibrium in this, as it is something we can do, that we can rely on to help us through the turbulent years in our lives. I know for myself that this is true, as my work has helped me to remain relatively sane in difficult times. It is also good to share, not just in challenging times, but also in the good times.
The creative arts have always had a place in shaping history too, it can be very powerful. And it can also be quietly consoling.
As well as producing work for my own portfolio it has always been my intention to provide a gallery on Flickr and a website that shows my work in such a way that it can be a constructive help. I wanted both of them to be a calm space, a place you can go to when you need to think, or settle your mind. I wanted these works to provide an understanding of the human condition, of the difficulties of keeping your faith, whatever God you follow, and also the joy that spiritual faith can provide.
And most of all, I wanted my work to offer hope in any dark times you might be going through.
Thank you all for your support and I hope to keep sharing my work and enjoying the wonderful images that you all share on Flickr. In our own way, perhaps we can make the world a better place. It is a privilege to be in the Flickr community and those who care not only about their own work, but also each other.
And If you would like to see more of my work, have a look at my website at:
Update..
Thank you to all those who have responded to this Explored image...and a special thank you to those who read the accompanying text...as that was what this image was for, just to keep people in the loop as to what I am up to. But maybe the algorithm fancied a read today, who knows? At least, for the moment, it is more benign than Kubrick's "Hal"...
"Open the door Hal...open the door Hal..."
Love to all, Shell xx
Jacques Brel (Schaerbeek 1929 - Bobigny 1978) auteur-compositeur-interprète, poète, acteur et réalisateur belge.
"L'ENVOL", statue sculptée par Tom Frantzen, représente l'artiste les bras ouverts.
AN ETERNAL POET.
Jacques Brel (Schaerbeek 1929 - Bobigny 1978) Belgian singer-songwriter, poet, actor and director.
"L'ENVOL", statue sculpted by Tom Frantzen, represents the artist with open arms.
Place de la Vieille Halle aux Blés. Bruxelles.
Poet’s narcissus (Narcissus poeticus) is a fragrant, white-petaled spring flower with a small, yellow cup edged in red at its center. Native to Europe, it’s one of the oldest cultivated narcissus species and has long been associated with myths, poetry, and symbolism. Its heady scent and graceful form make it a favourite in gardens and naturalised meadows alike.
fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcisse_des_po%C3%A8tes
Un petit rappel
Toutes les jonquilles sont des Narcisses, mais tous les Narcisses ne sont pas des Jonquilles
fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narcisse_des_po%C3%A8tes
A little reminder
For the Smile on Saturday challenge: "Quote"
This was such a hard challenge - there are so many quotes available online, ranging from the profound to the funny! I decided to choose something very personal, that means a lot to me. I love the Scottish and Irish poets, like Seamus Heaney, Norman MacCaig and Edwin Morgan for the way they draw on the everyday things of life, like picking blackberries, or digging in the garden. This poem reminds me of childhood days spent on the Yorkshire moors, picking wild bilberries (much stronger tasting than blueberries) and wild strawberries (which are tiny and tasted heavenly!) As I had some strawberries here, but no blackberries ... this was my choice! Hope you enjoy it, and it makes you smile ;o)
Little Ella, my tiny Beany Bear is standing in for me, looking longingly at the strawberry
The full poem is here: www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/poems/strawberries/
HSoS ;o))
About Edwin Morgan:
"Edwin George Morgan OBE FRSE was a Scottish poet and translator who was associated with the Scottish Renaissance. He is widely recognised as one of the foremost Scottish poets of the 20th century. In 1999, Morgan was made the first Glasgow Poet Laureate"
Cliche and Smile on Saturday: Here
Helpston, Cambridgeshire
Statue of John Clare in the garden of the John Clare cottage.
I found my poems in the fields, and wrote them down - John Clare
Well, honest John, how fare you now at home?
The spring is come, and birds are building nests;
The old cock-robin to the sty is come,
With olive feathers and its ruddy breast;
And the old cock, with wattles and red comb,
Struts with the hens, and seems to like some best,
Then crows, and looks about for little crumbs,
Swept out by little folks an hour ago;
The pigs sleep in the sty; the bookman comes—
The little boy lets home-close nesting go,
And pockets tops and taws, where daisies blow,
To look at the new number just laid down,
With lots of pictures, and good stories too,
And Jack the Giant-killer's high renown.
John Clare, To John Clare
Taken with my Xperia Z5 cameraphone
A photo of the sculpted busts of Robbie Burns and Lord Byron taken through the reflection on a glass door of the book shelves in the Yarmouth Library.
"Many poets are not poets for the same reason that many religious men are not saints: they never succeed in being themselves. They never get around to being the particular poet or the particular monk they are intended to be by God. They never become the man or the artist who is called for by all the circumstances of their individual lives. They waste their years in vain efforts to be some other poet, some other saint...They wear out their minds and bodies in a hopeless endeavor to have somebody else's experiences or write somebody else's poems."
"What we have to be is what we are."
— Thomas Merton
Christine Timm is a NYC performance poet, drawing inspiration from jazz and ska, West African griottes, Ginsberg and Bukowski, and a bucket of spoken word artists. Her recently completed dissertation, Breaking the Silence: Manifestations of the Oral Tradition in 20th Century Literature landed her a Ph.D. from the City of New York Graduate Center, where she was a student of Allen Ginsberg.
At the Bowery Poetry Club in lower Manhattan, Christine co-hosts and co-produces the New York City College Poetry Slam as well as other shows, like the LOVE POETRY HATE RACISM events. For the youngsters, she produces the popular Bowery Kids Series, known for providing interactive, educational, but essentially quirky entertainment and workshops.
She also co-hosts and co-produces Westchester County’s only PSI (Poetry Slam, Inc.) registered slam.
Christine is Associate Professor of English at Westchester Community College, where she takes great pleasure in teaching composition, Modern American Poetry, and Creative Writing. She curates the Poets and Writers reading series and produces a slew of campus poetry events. She is faculty advisor to the current NYC College Slam championship team, the Urban Poets Society. She is also senior editor of the campus creative writing journal, Ink.
In addition to hitting the stage with her distinctive spoken word spin, she has print publications in places, like American Book Review and Beat Culture: The 1950s and Beyond. She has served proudly as featured poet of the month for Poets Against the War. Her poetry and performance schedule are available at www.christinetimm.com
When she’s not pushing poetry, Christine is kicking up dust with Niall O’Leary and his Irish dancing ensemble. The group has performed at many of the major New York City venues, like Symphony Space, as well as all of the real Irish pubs in town. They dance regularly with the NYC based Irish rock band, Black 47.
After swinging her entire life from one NYC borough to the other, Christine Timm moved with her husband, Bob James, and children to Westchester County. She has three lively sons, who all enjoy entertaining her with their mischievous antics.
dedicated to my soulbrother :-)*
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Works of art are of an infinite solitude, and no means of approach is so useless as criticism. Only love can touch and hold them and be fair to them.
Nothing touches a work of art so little as words of criticism: they always result in more or less fortunate misunderstandings. Things aren't all so tangible and sayable as people would usually have us believe; most experiences are unsayable, they happen in a space that no word has ever entered, and more unsayable than all other things are works of art, those mysterious existences, whose life endures beside our own small, transitory life.
~ Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters To A Young Poet ~
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The vision of the center of this mandala beleaguered me in the same night when I completed Kabeirô – and I even was told its name: Worlds within Worlds.
Instantly, I sensed a profound aversion to both the image and the name, and for about one week, I refused to start with the work on the mosaic.
Then, one sleepless night, I had another vision which was very weird: before I saw anything, I had the sensation that my body was a tremendous, overdimensioned black sphere which had a very small white sphere in its midpoint; not till then, I saw the image of the black sphere, but somehow two-dimensional (onyl the small white sphere in the center was three-dimensional), but I knew that my body – more precisely: my whole self – and the image were one and the same, and that something with it was quite wrong.
Then, after some frightening minutes or hours (I really don't know), another image arose: a white sphere, much smaller than the black one, and with a small black sphere in its middle. This white sphere was outside of my body, I only could see but not sense it, and the feeling of something quite wrong got stronger, and very scary.
The third image which arose after another frightening minutes or hours, was exactly the same I already had seen after I had completed Kabeirô: Taigitu, the symbol of life itself as well as the symbol of the polarity which forms the basis of everything in this wonderful and appalling world.
Not until then, when Taigitu arose, I understood what was wrong with the first two images: the black and the white sphere were meant to compose ONE sphere: a complete whole INSIDE myself.
On the following day, I started working on the mosaic, for I was completely aware of the NECESSITY of creating it. I just had one wish: that I was allowed to find a second name for the mandala which was concordant with my longing for staying integrated in the world of Greek mythology.
I worked on the mosaic from sunrise to sunset, and late in the night, I finally got to know the name I could welcome from the bottom of my heart: Kybele.
Kybele (English: Cybele), the great God mother of the mountain Ida (Latin: Magna Mater), was a goddess who originally was deified in Phrygien, together with her lover Attis, and later also in ancient Greece and the Roman Empire. The cult of Kybele and Attis was – similar as the cult of Mithras – a widespread mystery cult up to the Late Classic Period. The whole legend concerns apparently the gender dualism; it explains the origin of the world by an interaction of the male and the female element of the universe: the heavenly Attis must inseminate the mother earth Kybele with its blood so that the world can arise.
The mandala is not yet completed; I suppose that it's going to be quite huge and that I'll work on it for a couple of weeks, but I don't know definitely... – well, we will see. ;-)
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