Monday, July 25, 2011

Gathering Moss

I've been asked to participate in a "night of music, art, dance, poetry, media and more" as part of Hollow Earth Conspiracy.

Some friends from college and my theater days at Utah Valley University (formerly Utah Valley State College) have put together a project/organization to help support artistic expression and creativity.  They want me to read/perform, and I am quite excited at the prospect of reading some poetry in front of a live audience.  I am beginning to put a set list together, but I would like to hear from you.

If you were going to be in the audience, what poems of mine would you like to hear me read?

I have been told I will have two 15 minute sets, and I think I am going to split them up by theme.  One being from my manuscript based upon the Telemachy, and the other on poems by Working in the Birdhouse or other poems like the book.  Why not any from my Town for the Trees?  Wrong crowd.  I have a real strong feeling I should read "Contemplating Diego Rivera's Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park" because I want to try and show how creativity and art begets creativity and art, that all artistic expression is essentially the same, no matter the medium or genre.

* * *

School is drawing nearer.  I am going to start working on all of my paperwork and lesson plans on the 1st of August.  I should be able to handle about two hours a day to get everything done in the couple of weeks before I have to be back at the school.  My biggest issue is trying to determine whether my honors English class should have its own content curriculum or the same curriculum as my other English classes but more in depth and a broader reach.  Any thoughts?

* * *

Contemplating Diego Rivera’s
Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park

It must have been something, to dream one’s self back into a boy,
to be in the wedding party for Death and her stern but oblivious groom,
each of you clutching a pale, boney hand, shaded by the wide brimmed feather hat
she wore—she smiling with two men in tow, of both present and past.

How else would an artist dream such a thing
except to bring along hot air balloons?  Laying in bed
you must have had more than the independence of the Mexican people
in mind.  You must have been thinking about freedom.
What it must be like to pause for a brief moment, only to be lost
within the anonymity of the crowd, each face a friend or demon from the past
who knew nothing of posing for a mural.

Not birds, but angels carry themselves down out of the trees.
Generalissimos all dress the part arguing the order of precedence
the grand parade through the city square to the high fountain,
while all the gringos and gringas turned away, not quite sure of themselves.

And because no dream is complete without a glimpse of mortality
you know you were thinking Death was as much your bride as Frida had been
so many years ago, and her appearance, standing behind you, giving you away
was maybe saying something about transition, about Death
having been your mistress far too long.

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