Monday, July 13, 2020

My Poetry As Art

I am so blessed to know so many wonderfully talented people -- musicians and glass artists, chefs and actors, makers of jewelry and carvers of wood, physicians and athletes, so many people -- who possess a stunning variety of gifts and and the determination to develop and refine those gifts. So blessed!

Today I celebrate an even bigger thrill: the completion of a commission by Spruce Pine (NC) artist Val Beck. I can hardly see the computer screen because I'm weeping for joy at how beautifully this turned out.


It is based on something I wrote a few years back. (Text below; some of you will remember it.) The white lines you see are actually just reflections of lights in the studio.

It is the gloaming,

The quiet time, before the fall of night.

My faithful dog lies quietly at my feet

While in the distance, others of his kind are madly barking.

Fireflies wink while unknown insects chirp.

A lone dragonfly zooms about.

An owl on the prowl hoots

While somewhere out there a peacock screams.

And Venus and Jupiter light the darkening sky.

These are the times I like best.

My world is quiet, save for the sounds of a thousand years, the sounds of eternity.

In the present,

The air is cool enough, though heavy with the eternal humidity of the South.

My South, and it is pleasant to me.

Even the mosquitoes cannot shake my reverie.

With the Henry-Dog.

In the gloaming.

The quiet time, before the fall of night.