She dreams herself armless
but winged and beaked
and bedecked with feathers.
His ringed bird, she’d fly
under a sky brimming with clouds
or in the white light of the moon.
Dimensions of crocheted one-piece-gloves, laid out: 52 cm x 19 cm
Poem: Fragment of poem-in-progress
9 comments:
beautiful and warming and cartoonish and spooky. I love it. You are the queen of the ineffable object.
i love this, Marjojo. so thrilled to see it sooner than expected. the red red soaks through me. and the first two images carry me to places of childhood, playfulness. the third lands me kind of hard though. i am not sure if i like seeing it more as hands (rather than wings) so starkly bound as one entity with no opening...i want to cut it in half so i can wear them but then i would have no wings, would i? i want wings.
and Oh...the poem...i love it so very much. the part where she wakes up and you have falters flutter fails and the last line really makes it for me. magical. and enchanted i am.
Beautiful fragment of words.
Beautiful, intruguing images.
She's back, and she's Brilliant!
:)
Hey, thank you!
The lines were inspired by a poem which I love and which I’ve been trying to learn by heart, WH Auden’s Musée des Beaux Arts, see http://poetrypages.lemon8.nl/life/musee/museebeauxarts.htm
and you’ll find I’ve borrowed a bit and changed it around.
oh marjojo, this is so beautiful! welcome back, I've missed you a lot. and thank you so much for asking about me, I guess it's my turn now to take a little break and need silence. all my love!
ps. but I agree with mien, there is something which worries and puzzles me about the last image.
So beautiful and so poignant! I see them as hands reaching, unable to escape, despite the allusion to wings. And even with wings, one has gravity which will always win in the end. I love the way your art begs to be turned this way and that in the mind, so complex.
ahhh. Marjojo, your version is so much better!! :).
No, Mien, it isn't, I wished I could write like WHA, but it's different and it stands well enough as it is. The point of view just slightly off is what draws me, and the silent/silenced voice. I have a thing for first lines, almost wanted to leave my first two just like that, on their own, "In a flock of girls/he doesn't know her" - they could be the beginning for a number of poems, where's my pen... Have got a treasured collection of possible first lines, and get scared of not living up to their promise with what I write next.
Anyway, dear all, thanks for your lovely comments. So glad to be back.
marjojo, this reminds me of valery and his obsession with beginnings, he used to say that gods give the poet the first verse, and then he has to struggle alone through the rest of the poem, obviously never succeeding in matching the first words! I don't know about this, especially not in this case :-), your whole poem is incredible, I can't say how much I love it.
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