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20190820_092116

A few days ago I had a dozen index cards, a pen, and an hour till the Sun would damage flesh in the Valley not so much. So I spent that hour, maybe a bit more, putting the bare beginnings of acrostic poems on those cards. This is one of them.

“Agnostic Acrostic.” This poem does not claim any insight into the nature of God-if-any. Its author does not think of himself as an Agnostic, nor a Gnostic, nor an Atheist. I once wrote “why i am not an anything” and believed it were so. Now I think of myself as a Glimmer, i.e. “one who glims.” I hope to fully explore–and explain–what that means before my time ends.

This page would not exist if not for my former classmate and lifelong friend Terry Irwin. It was she who told me about “Slow Knowledge,” which if my recollection serves is the projection of the effect on an action taken by a tribe on descendants up to the 7th generation. If the action was deemed of probable detriment to those descendants, the action was not taken, no matter what immediate good came from it. My phrase “slow wisdom” in this poem derives from this, and my poem cannot do without it. 

So, Terry, many thanks. This blog post is dedicated to you and the fine work done by you and your design collaborators.

This page also owes something to Rachel Carson, who warned us of what happens when we fool with Mother Nature. For more details, please see “Rachel Carson, Speaker for the Silent” elsewhere in this blog.

Agnostic Acrostic

Arming ourselves against bedbug & flea
Could lead to Brave New World‘s Streptocock-G
Ringing a change from peut-être to mais NON
Ogles the boggles and ROCKS Status Quo
Slowing our roll and our role in this mess
Takes the Slow Wisdom approach–we’d be blest
If God-notions don’t squeeze us dry–o terrific–I
Could harbor hope if we DON’T wax Deific

So–what does Agnosticism have to do with “this mess”? Relying less on “thoughts and prayers” and more on the wisdom of forethought can both ease future messes and help heal current ones. That’s this humble Glimmer’s opinion, anyway.

One more acknowledgment: Thank you to the quite youthful, peach-fuzzed Bob Dylan who wrote “With God On Our Side.” Bobby, you were wise beyond your years.

20190818_090609

Deborah Hodder has been making wonderful clay sculpture since before the year 2000, when she was given the Emerging Artist Award from the Shemer Art Center and Museum in their show of that year. She has spent this entire century diligently proving that the award was richly deserved. For myriad examples, please do an Internet search on “Deborah Hodder sculpture.”

So this is a fan letter to her, with love, respect and gratitude for her friendship and for her artistry. Many sculptors carve figures with skill and grace. Deborah sculpts souls, and she does it with quiet passion and gentle might. (Note: the phrase “gentle Might” in my poem refers to both Power and Possibility.)

I only wish this page of mine had even a shadow of the dignity and grace that Deborah has. It is barbaric. It is an awful pun on the now-dated phrase “Hotter than a two-dollar pistol,” which alludes to a cheap mail-order firearm that becomes excruciatingly hot when used. (Note that my spot illustration above is of the type of fake pistol which produces a cigarette-lighting flame when you pull the trigger.) And my drawings of her sculpture, and of her, do not begin to do them and her justice. I hope that viewers will see through the crudity to the love and respect at the heart of this thing. More than that, I hope, Friends, that you will do that search and then see and enjoy her sculpture.

Hodder than a 2 Dollar Pistol

Humanity, True Love, conductance, sleep
Of such her sculpture croons, with friendly Hi
Dimension and evolvement lives and keeps
Delineation of a gentle Might
Enshrined and hewn in clay, arpeggio
Reveals 2 us a carnival of Soul

2019 0816 ocelot dreams

Ocelot Dreams

On the plain & off the grid
Creep & pounce or reconsider
Endgames of the vole & grebe
Indefensible arriba
On the go big cats will scram
Theory blesses–practice damns

L’envoi

Bullies preen & boss a lot
Till they meet an Ocelot.

20190813_163429

mallet • palate

mordioux no a&p • and some “leaders” copped a plea • let us face it we’re in hell • left bereft no wares to sell • a euphemistic take’s a trait • that fair ignores the teeth that grate

About the open-mouthed fellow on the right: about forty years ago there was an album by King Crimson called IN THE COURT OF THE CRIMSON KING, and though I haven’t seen the album in many years, I would bet that my drawing is at least a secong cousin to the fellow on that cover.

 

20190812_205057

I have been advised by several of my friends that my facial hair imparts a sinister quality to my face. Consequently I shave every workday, and often on my days off. But I envy people for whom facial hair is a good enhancement.

Razor Sharp

Rumpled, stilled skin–let it pass
A clear-cut Face is full of flash
ZAP goes the Beard Burn; time 4 mash–a
Once-a-Lifetime thunderclap, or
RIGHT that Wrong–should be a snap

Note that there is a seeming irony in that this image/poem/page is not “razor sharp” at all. It is crude and slapdash. It could be that my creativity “razor blade” needs sharpening, or changing.

But no apologies nor apologia, Friends. I won’t lay the “I meant to do it that way” line on you, because I didn’t; it just came out that way. Time will tell if it’s worthy of doing a remake, with photorealistic illustration and crisp calligraphy. Intuition says it would have to wait in line behind hundreds of other images I wish I’d done more finessedly.

20190811_101229

This Sunday morning, August 11, 2019, I am the houseguest of my aunt Diane Norrbom and her roommate Priscilla. Another resident is their cockatiel Bunny.

Bunny and I have been whistle-talking to each other through the cage bars. Sometimes Bunny likes what I say and comes closer. Other times Bunny scuttles away, using talons and beak to grapple along the inside of the cage the way Tom Cruise geckoed on the outside glass of that Dubai skyscraper in one of the MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE movies.

And once  Bunny responded to my whistle with his plumage rising and falling like a bellows, or gills, then unloaded some digestive endproduct onto the newspaper below. Translation: STFU. So I stopped whistling and started drawing.

cockatiel

crank your plumage mon petit

own your cage of staid ennui

cackle grandly make a sale

knowing that you cannot fail

 

2019 0809 thought balloon

thought balloon

theory leads from a to b
hurricanes from gulf to sea
observations dig a well
ugliness has tales to tell
greek to us as tau or rho
halting notion sis boom bro
then comes fine Concepción

Speaking of Greek, the word Logos is alternately translated as “word” or “idea” according to something I read once. And Idea is a subset of Thought.

And Conception may mean both the starting of a Child or the starting of an Idea.

Just a thought, Friends. 🙂

2019 0805 mri finish

At long last “magnetic resonance imaging” is at that stage of completion where any further work on it would be as likely to do harm as good.

I am proud to have seen this tricky, demanding image/poem to its appropriate destination, but not so proud as to ignore its defects. It doesn’t have the visual impact that it could, if I’d done it in a larger scale than 7 inches by 10. (Would the two weeks or so be worth the finer polish I could put to it if I redid it at 20 inches by 30? Undoubtedly. Would I be willing to do it? Not for its own sake. I could make at least 10 new images in the same amount of time, and use the Idea part of my brain and not the Reporter part of my brain. I vastly prefer using the latter. But if I had a guaranteed sale at $2 per square inch,  which is what my friend Vivian Andersen was charging when we were gallery-space partners, that would be $1200 US gross, and good practice to boot. So, yes, if I were incentivized by a sure sale, I would get right to it, and it would be a bargain for the buyer at twice the price, because this is one of the more important image/ideas within my capability. (Friends, I am high now, not on drugs nor alcohol, but on having finished this ungainly thing, so forgive, please, my delusion of grandeur.)

Defective or not, delusion of grandeur or not, this acrostic image is a success. I fit an array of meaningful words into the straitjacket I’d built in its early stage, and it is definitely about both the Brain and the Soul, and for a bonus, its parsing and slicing is superbly analogous to Magnetic Resonance Imaging.

Please see my previous work-in-progress post for notes on the first four lines. As for the last four, three elements might need clarification, but I will point rather than blather on and on. “Dendritic” refers to Dendrites, and there is an excellent discussion of their form and function in Wikipedia. “Electrochemic nets” capture our thoughts and memories, per our current understanding of brainwork. And “bands for Gideon” refers (metaphorically) to Gideon’s Band, loyal stalwarts that may be found in the Bible. Many hotel rooms have had Bibles placed in them by a group of proselytizers known as…the Gideons.

Finally, the last three panels at lower right were done without looking at the MRI photo sources, but rather relying on my memory of them. When I reviewed the images, I saw that with a little exaggeration, a top-down view of the centermost cross-section of the brain could be made to resemble the stylized heart shape we use to symbolize Love.  I also remembered that one of the “with contrast” images had flared contrast-wings remindful of a butterfly. Brain, Butterfly, Heart: that is the best of us.

magnetic resonance imaging

mazes, spark plugs, forests, thruways make us cognoscenti
an arabesque or two or four comprise an idiom
gendarmic membranes won’t enshroud nor would they be placenta
nor would they glad participate in telepathic gleaning
eloquences wax dendritic make a foe effendi
then electrochemic nets bind bands for gideon
it’s all subject to indecency like stroke-lost meaning
confectionary at its best, though–to Divine we’re leaning

2019 0804 magresimg

With the meter/rhyme scheme established, but not too rigidly enforced, the construction of the poem is becoming easier. Here is how what has been written reads:

Mazes, spark plugs, forests, thruways make us cognoscenti
An arabesque or two or four comprise an idiom
Gendarmic membranes won’t enshroud nor would they be placenta
Nor would they glad participate in telepathic gleaning

It is kindasorta iambic septameter, but the first line is trochaic. Sonnets will sometimes tack a syllable on the end of a line, and if you do that, you are being “non-heroic” because landing right on the correct last syllable is called “heroic.” (Similarly, quantum physicists use terms like “charm” and “strange” and “spin.” Words ALWAYS fail, to some degree, to echo Reality.)

Line 1: the “mazes, spark plugs, forests, thruways” referred to are failing-badly approximations of brain structures. Probably the best of this sad lot is “spark plugs,” which analogizes the superstructure of the synapse.

Line 2: from the Merriam-Webster definition of Arabesque: “1 : an ornament or style that employs flower, foliage, or fruit and sometimes animal and figural outlines to produce an intricate pattern of interlaced lines. 2 : a posture (as in ballet) in which the body is bent forward from the hip on one leg with one arm extended forward and the other arm and leg backward.” Line 2 crudely describes brain-embroidery in the imagining of a more advanced form of expression than the starkly descriptive.

Line 3: I owe “Gendarmic” to Robert Heinlein: in his apocalyptic story “The Year of the Jackpot” he has Potiphar Breen refer to big rock pillars on a mountain as Gendarmes. Gendarme is a French noun meaning Guard. And the corpus callosum, the separator of the brain hemispheres, may be viewed as a guardian of electrical activity between the hemispheres. (I hope I’m not being TOTALLY inaccurate here, but I’m certain my analogy is off the mark to some degree. Poetic License!!)

Line 4 mentions Telepathy, a probably mythical phenomenon in the literal sense. It means Mind-Reading, that is, the ability to listen to thoughts. Some people can read body language so well that they have an idea of what a person is thinking, but there is no hard evidence that telepathy exists. Certainly there is a wealth of anecdotal accounts of alleged telepathy, but I for one don’t believe it exists.

Since all the principal drawing for this page has been done, all that remains before final cleanup is to finish the poem. It’s quite likely that the next stage will be the finished page. We can hope! 🙂