Toward Disappearance
—Painting by Sam Francis, 1973
—Poems by Neil Ellman, Livingston, NJ
TOWARD DISAPPEARANCE
(after the painting by Sam Francis)
For an instant we are seen
struggling to hold our shape
like warm breath on cold glass
then disappear without a trace
*
steam from a kettle
the smoke of smoldering fire
until we vanish
into the bloodless clouds
*
a specter, a phantom
a shadow of a former life
foreshadowed in the fading colors
of our lives
*
being and becoming
this world to the next
the eye blinks once
and darkness descends.
_________________________
SLOW SWIRL AT THE EDGE OF THE SEA
(after the painting by Mark Rothko)
Ever so slowly
at the edge of a boiling sea
without a face or feet
or swiftness of wing
they swirl in clouds
of possibility
too improbable to grasp
without any fingers
and minds of their own
they gather in the shallows
of the primordial soup
to begin their journey
to the promised land.
In the slow swirl of time
at the eve of creation
there is expectation
in a whorl of miracles
and promises to keep.
(after the painting by Mark Rothko)
Ever so slowly
at the edge of a boiling sea
without a face or feet
or swiftness of wing
they swirl in clouds
of possibility
too improbable to grasp
without any fingers
and minds of their own
they gather in the shallows
of the primordial soup
to begin their journey
to the promised land.
In the slow swirl of time
at the eve of creation
there is expectation
in a whorl of miracles
and promises to keep.
_________________________
SIMULTANEOUS CONTRASTS: SUN AND MOON
(after the painting by Robert Delaunay)
Like the understanding between
the sun and moon
an old man and old woman
married so long
that they know each other’s thoughts
before a word is said
we live out our separate, contrasting lives
alone, apart in orbits our own
our circles never cross—
ours the division of night from day
ours the journey that never ends.
_______________________
SOLAR ECLIPSE (TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE SUN)
SOLAR ECLIPSE (TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE SUN)
(after the assemblage by Joseph Cornell)
Reality hides on the dark side
of the moon
in the shadow of the sun
and, like a fox pursued
by hounds, in the hollow
of a tree
undetected
not even its feathers
make sound
when the wind comes near
to expose its presence
in the brambles of a field
nor when the eye perceives
a glimmer of its shape
hidden in wavering flames
never the same
never as it was or will
always beyond our reach
it secrets itself
between alternatives, opposites
and the place between the want and need
what is and not
the hope of redemption
or disregard
reality is the dark side
of the moon
the shadow of the shadow
of a night-bird
hunted to extinction
by the sun.
Reality hides on the dark side
of the moon
in the shadow of the sun
and, like a fox pursued
by hounds, in the hollow
of a tree
undetected
not even its feathers
make sound
when the wind comes near
to expose its presence
in the brambles of a field
nor when the eye perceives
a glimmer of its shape
hidden in wavering flames
never the same
never as it was or will
always beyond our reach
it secrets itself
between alternatives, opposites
and the place between the want and need
what is and not
the hope of redemption
or disregard
reality is the dark side
of the moon
the shadow of the shadow
of a night-bird
hunted to extinction
by the sun.
Maman
—Sculpture by Louise Bourgeois, 1999
MAMAN
(after the sculpture by Louise Bourgeois)
How I remember you, ma-ma,
crawling in my mind
clinging like a spider to its web
seeming so much larger
than you really were
becoming even larger
through my eyes
more menacing than when
you held me in your arms
and sucked the breath from me—
Oh, ma-ma, my mother
you made me more like you
than you could ever understand.
(after the sculpture by Louise Bourgeois)
How I remember you, ma-ma,
crawling in my mind
clinging like a spider to its web
seeming so much larger
than you really were
becoming even larger
through my eyes
more menacing than when
you held me in your arms
and sucked the breath from me—
Oh, ma-ma, my mother
you made me more like you
than you could ever understand.
_________________________
CENTRAL PARK CARROUSEL, IN MEMORIAM
(after the assemblage by Joseph Cornell)
I almost lost my life
falling off a blue saddle
painted on the back
of a wooden horse
on a carrousel
in Central Park.
It cantered, it bucked
it breached as if it were
a whale
and circled as if it were
a shark around its prey
while the calliope played
a dirge for me
I caught my breath
held tight the reins
watching
my mother’s face
as her day rolled by
I almost lost my life
then and there
thrown from a blue saddle
painted on the back
of a wooden horse
on a carrousel
in Central Park
in its final turn
as I held on.
_________________________
Today's LittleNip:
THE LORD OF THE ARTICHOKES IS AN OWL
(after the painting by Arshile Gorky)
The lord of asparagus is a hawk
of broccoli a hummingbird
of carrots and corn a crow.
Arugula prays to sanderlings
follows the law of the gallinule
and knows the dowitcher way.
In the gardens of their faith
all vegetables worship birds as gods
but the lord of the artichokes
is just an owl.
________________________
CENTRAL PARK CARROUSEL, IN MEMORIAM
(after the assemblage by Joseph Cornell)
I almost lost my life
falling off a blue saddle
painted on the back
of a wooden horse
on a carrousel
in Central Park.
It cantered, it bucked
it breached as if it were
a whale
and circled as if it were
a shark around its prey
while the calliope played
a dirge for me
I caught my breath
held tight the reins
watching
my mother’s face
as her day rolled by
I almost lost my life
then and there
thrown from a blue saddle
painted on the back
of a wooden horse
on a carrousel
in Central Park
in its final turn
as I held on.
_________________________
Today's LittleNip:
THE LORD OF THE ARTICHOKES IS AN OWL
(after the painting by Arshile Gorky)
The lord of asparagus is a hawk
of broccoli a hummingbird
of carrots and corn a crow.
Arugula prays to sanderlings
follows the law of the gallinule
and knows the dowitcher way.
In the gardens of their faith
all vegetables worship birds as gods
but the lord of the artichokes
is just an owl.
________________________
—Medusa, thanking Neil Ellman for today's poems, and noting that Medusa has a new photo album of last Monday's Sac. Poetry Center reading, thanks to Michelle Kunert. Check it out on the Medusa's Kitchen Facebook page!
Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea
—Painting by Mark Rothko, 1913
