Ekphrastic Poetry: April 7-14, 2022
The Mission:
ek·phra·sis
/ˈekfrəsəs/
noun
the use of detailed description of a work of visual art as a literary device.
your next mission
ex. “I’m not much of a poet, but that tiny painting by Soldier Clinging to Helicopter straight-up moved me to ekphrasis.”
An ekphrastic poem is a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and/or reflecting on the “action” of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify, reinterpret, or expand its meaning.
Using a painting other than your own from the previous mission (or photo from the one before that), write a poem embodying a voice, theme, description, etc. inspired from a fellow creator’s work. Structure (or lack thereof) and length (or lack thereof) is up to you.
The Submissions:
Spring Flowers Speak - by Journal Kurtz
(after “Spring Fade” by Soldier Clinging to Helicopter)
We balance a honeycomb of blue from one slender tube,
ringing out our fragrance to coax bees from their slumber.
You move through as if where you will sit today is more
rewarding than the miracle being performed at your feet.
You’ve yet to unclench your chapped hands or trust the sun
and forsythia sends blossoms to butter your view. How can
you say this is not desire? The wild violet pushes through,
tilting up winter leaves like you’d hinge open a cellar door
hoping the world has warmed in your absence. You do not know
quiet, but we can teach you to listen to the rustle of crisp, lobed
oak litter shifting on the forest floor. We open ourselves wide
though we will do it once. We open ourselves fully because
we do it once. Join us in coating ourselves in spring or not,
but do not pretend you did not cry for want of this season.
by Espy la Copa
(after North of Canada’s submission)
to be sung to the tune of black energy
"Less than one, less than one!" spills from my lips, the mad mutterings of one lost at sea.
I will never know the truth.
The sun rises potent, distilling fog still gripping to aurora's pink glow. I am lost to delirium as colors unknown rise to strike her from the sky. Darkness is my instructor now.
My life divided equals discord. "Less than one!" the waves roar and whisper in impossible cacophony. I beg to be tied to the mast like the innocent on the Hesperus, but there is no body, no devil, no god
at the end of all things.
The Master rises, speaks,
"No. I will do no more work today."
by Espy la Copa
(after “Intercondimental” by Captain Quillard)
Oh Canada!
Maple stained by sticky hand
Drown my pancakes in the sap blood from the land
Dieu garde notre petit déjeuner chaud et délicieux!
by Soldier Clinging to Helicopter
(after Espy la Copa’s submission)
the shining of this winter scrum
the red thrum of this garden cardinal
the work -- my god, the work -- before this play
the dull face in this mirror
the splintering of this concentration
now do you think you can handle that?
darling, light of my life?
I knew I wanted to do something related to Espy la Copa's paintings, but I didn't know what direction it would take. I knew only that I didn't want it to be too literal. This morning, as I was getting ready for work, the line "the red thrum of this garden cardinal" descended from on high and alighted on my mind, bird-like. I built the short bits around the rest, nest-like.
“It’s Ekphrastic (boogie woogie woogie)” - by Anonymous Frau Redux
(after “Intercondimental” by Captain Quillard)
Thank you good Captain Quillard, studying the art from your kitchen was a jolly creative exercise, fun.
Sincere apologies to all, as this mission response (my attempted “poem”) heavily relies on rhyme and pun.
The work titled “Intercondimental” was a tasty little treat.
A series of symmetrical flags one could (almost) eat!
The prompt encouraged using what was available.
An artist was inspired by the refrigerator, pantry and table.
A saucy vignette where culture and cuisine unite.
Utilizing flavors one might find when “there” out for a bite.
Combining colors, stripes, symbols to represent a nation.
As do certain dishes, desserts and the occasional libation.
Sheldon and Amy had some “fun with flags” but was it as clever as this?
One hopes the Captain enjoyed a morsel of chocolate to honor the Swiss
Attempt at extra credit and to purposely misquote Forrest Gump:
“I’m not an art man, but I know I love this.”
by Captain Quillard
(after Espy la Copa’s submission)
You’ve always been
the caretaker
And to what bloody, cascading end? What
recognition for diligently, dutifully
repeating
All that Work? What willful
acknowledgement of your avalanche of
sacrifice—placing everyone’s needs
above your own? Splitting yourself
in two and
dulling the interfering
boy within
in favor of being the adult in the
room 23/7—
the only one willing to
take up the White Man’s Burden, accept the
noblesse oblige
to tend to and
civilize those who need your benevolent
correction
whether they know it or not, imparting your
words of wisdom and
denying their frivolous,
perilous invitations to
come play—can they not
see, from their selfish,
one-point perspective, that you are
preoccupied? That you
can hardly have taken care
of the business
that must be done? Have they ever
given a single moment’s thought
about your
responsibilities?
We make choices. And those choices
reflect on us
with a Kubrickian symmetry,
mirroring who we are and shining
back to us the striking, vibrant,
geometric
patterns
which have led us to embrace
this version of ourselves and
Overlook
who we might have been
instead, had we navigated the
maze of life differently, avoiding
our private emotional
holocausts and not falling for
false footprints—the drifted
tracks of misdirection which
left us out in the cold,
frozen in time—It’s
a fool’s errand, of course—an
exercise in futility and
a job we never should
have taken—to second guess and
debate destiny versus
self-determination—
To foresee who we’d
become and understand the forces
at play
would take some special
ability—a talent for
telepathy and a childlike
naiveté maintained despite the
bruising moral obligations and
the physical abuse of
life itself. The
blood spilled in the
genocide
of our innocence gushes forth and
fills the hallways of our potential,
devouring our hope of redemption with
a rum red voracity and
leaving us hollow as the Fourth
of July
without the slightest idea of what
a moral and ethical principle
is—Knowledge and responsibility exert
their power and influence on us with
imperialistic precision, manifesting
our destiny and forcing
us again and again to swallow
the hair of a beast, the sting
of whose bites are
felt even still. In our madness, we
try to write our own stories, yet
we are
unreliable narrators—living
inside our own mouths and storytelling
through voices unrecognizable
as our own, because we are
not here right now—our
credibility is compromised
by a momentary loss of
muscular coordination, a few extra
footpounds of energy per second
per second
exerted upon the
writer’s block suffered in trying
to tap out our manuscript—
to shed our velvet and shed
some light on the irreparable
harm of
who we are
who we were
who we could be
who we’ve always been
It is a grand thing to have the
ability—to see what others
cannot—
but another still to
understand the limitations of our
effect on the outcome—to know which
parts of the script we write and which
will write themselves—to make
sense of the why—make sense
of the who
and know what it is
we are
taking care of
Better to illuminate
than merely
to shine
If nothing else, these weekly assignments seem to be sending me down some fun rabbit holes. This week, those rabbit holes included reading up on some very interesting themes, symbolism, camera techniques, and interpretations of meaning in “The Shining,” thanks to Espy la Copa’s amazing notecard paintings. For the sake of brevity here, I’ll just say those included the ideas of toxic masculinity, Imperialism, the Holocaust, genocide of Native Americans, Faustian bargains, mirror images and symmetry, and the ability or lack thereof to break the cycle of who you’ve been in the past and rewrite your own future (among many other theories).
At the same time, this week I was indulging my fanboy tendencies by attending two concerts by Jack White, including the tour opener and release of his new album in Detroit. On my drives to and from Detroit, I immersed myself in the new album, and have listened to it a lot this week since returning. Besides the obvious and superficial symmetry in the names Jack White, Jack Torrence, and Jack Nicholson, I found some strange connective tissue between the album and the research I’d been doing on “The Shining.” Those connections may be suspect, born out of my two focal points for the week, but they kept popping up, nonetheless. More than anything, the last part of the last song on the album, “Shedding My Velvet,” contained the line I chose to end my poem with: “Better to illuminate than merely to shine,” which I believe is originally attributed to Thomas Aquinas, and felt like a good fit here. Full disclosure, the phrase “noblesse oblige” may also have appeared in both that song and my poem. :)
“What’s Happening Today” - by North of Canada
(after “Intercondimental” by Captain Quillard)
I cannot write a poem
between Zoom interviews for the General Manager.
I cannot write a poem
in the same pen blush as the check to the California Franchise Tax Board.
I cannot write a poem
before picking up the recharged deep cell battery at Auto Zone.
I cannot pronounce ekfrastic.
I can’t spell it.
I can blend a swill for a goose
of zesty Italian marinara
soothed with olive oil,
French merlot and dijon,
Worcestershire and tea
from Britain the Great.
Sweetened on maple syrup
of gentle Canada,
shot through with
Japanese barbeque and
Thai tuong ot sriracha.
Pour it in a crock and a cannon
to send love and weapons to the glory of Ukraine.
by Heart of Darkness
I failed miserably this week, so here’s a haiku why I didn’t do it…
Theory, reading, sleep.
Abolitionist teaching.
Doctoral classes.
Next Week’s Assignment:
Take note of the textures you find around you as you move about the world this week.
Using paper of your choice and a crayon or other material, make a rubbing of a texture you like—a particular pattern, shape, lettering, etc.
Embellish that rubbing in some artistic way of your choice, and submit a photo of the final product.
Bonus points: take the photo of your finished art in the same place where the rubbing was done.