Saturday, July 31, 2010

~~~Luncheon Date With Elwood Groover and Harry on THE POETRY BUS~~~(!)free ADMIT ONE per feckin

This is a On The Poetry Bus Insert as per ....the boss FECkineejit!The host today being...OH DAMN I GOT TO CATCH THE BUS! I'LL TELL YA WHO'S HOSTIN' ONCE I GET ONBOARD OK SWEETIES? LOVE yA! Chat soon!!!(Warning: the following rebroadcast is 'SKETCHY')...ON WITH THE SHOE!

Luncheon Date Chat with Harry and THE Elwood Groover!!!

Elwood: Good morning Saturday morning hang-outs! What you're not watching the fishing channel? Waiting for the "shore lunch" to come in! Oh, there he is now! Looks like the catch of the day will go into my boiled fish with veggies lunch today! Darryl Choronsy gave me this recipe today and it is from Mannesee MI I believe (Harry, check the spelling on that MI town please! Thanks Harry!).

Harry: Mmmmm that fish looks delicious Elwood!Fresh!

Elwood: Fresh as Fresh Can be...So what's the chat on that professional website like:

Harry: Well I caught some chatter.

Elwood: You caught some chowder?

Harry: No, Elwood! Chatter...about the "Zapruter film" you know Oliver Stone's "JFK"? HOT HOT HOT discussion from or with a Doctor!

Elwood: Dr. Stone? Dr. Who?

Harry: A doctor; a real live doctor!

Elwood: Not the kind you find online!

Harry: Well you check out the brilliant jANE jONES (YES her IQ is ABOVE 100!!!) There is something to say for the INTELLECTUALLY ADVANCED...that's for sure!!!

Elwood: Wow! I'm really looking forward to hearing what jANE jONES has to say!

Harry: Here is a repost for your enjoyment!

Elwood: Thanks a lot, Harry!!!

Harry: You're most welcome. Any further comments please check below. Plus, I have been given word by Ms jANE jONES that she will resume her Ms Emily Dickinson Poem-A-Day after she checks in with the Dr. Apparently there was some emotional upset over a critique! She just needs a few days! is the post regarding "Black Ops and the Zapruter film" (taken from the professional archives!)RE; THE ZAPRUTER FILM etc...Just watched Oliver

jANE jONES excerpts from a "Professional Discussion": Stone's JFK last evening on AMC. It came down to "black ops". There are how many agencies (37?)

like the CIA that we never hear too much about due to their secret designation. Should not all

government agencies be accountable, to the public's best interests? Who guarantees that the

people's best interest will happen? Perhaps there are a small amount of persons making the life

and death decisions for the people without a referendum. Should not the people have a say as to

their destiny? How did black ops begin in the first place and how can we make black ops more

accountable to the people? Or am I only pipe dreaming? This is the accepted curse of society to

be run by cloak and dagger outfits that have no regard for our well-being and may have

(obviously) a hidden agenda? My question; how would these unlawful groups happen and how do we

(as a people) stop them? (If they exist at all!):) jANE jONES

The Shallows~~~In The Bag~~~70th Anniversary of The Shadow!!!

The Shallows haunt my waking thoughts Taught naught the golden rule which should have been a big thing shiny and bright all around As light goes the preamble not able to penetrate the depths of the organism we have become not able to become the light we've obviously been Scrounging around on the ground with all fours now bipedal as I pedal around town on all fours in my car without doors closed in from being the one thing the one light that was once or maybe never given me The Shallows knows the way of the gene pool that innocuous place where the black ops seem to operate That bog that boggles the mind-set set at what? what is it now? a measly 0.35? Who's to live? Who's to die? Who's going the way o' the dodo bird today? As Secret smiles and ad hock winks makes one think... sure they got this in the bag? They do friend... One day...not too long a time they too, just like us... will bite the dust and rot! jj
and (video option not working; sorry!)jj

Friday, July 30, 2010

~~~Magpie #25~~~The Stubborn Lock~~~

"On where'd I put that darn key?" asked the Sargeant Major somewhat distracted.

"What do you mean you haven't a spare?" Ellen looked dumbfounded her mouth as
frozen in time as the great northern tundra.

"Don't give me that look Ellen, I implore you! Keep it together, Ellen, I need you to be put together now...Ellen!

"What...?" asked Ellen her voice trailing off and with a vague wimper, soon becoming sequentially louder.

"How dare you Ellen...stop your crying right now... this is an order! Ellen...stop crying this minute!". The Sargeant Major could not stand to hear Ellen cry.

"I'll try..." Ellen struggled to quell her hiccup-like cries and whimpers.

"Quick fetch me that piece of metal by the fence over there" the Sargaent sounded in his usual take-charge kind of way.

"Maybe I can jimmy the lock" the Sargeant's voice frozen hands were showing signs of hypothermia, his skin turning a pale blue.

"Damn! Tt's stuck! The Sargaent swore a nasty cuss word under his breath.

"Ellen, could you please see if you can do this, my hands don't seem to be...well they aren't working properly at all." The Sargeant for the first time in his life finally asked a woman to help him to do something, anything. As the Sargeant had never before done, not in this way. The Sargeant felt for the first time in his life a tinge of vulnerability. He did not like it at all and was starting to feel angry. He knew this was a clue; he was loosing control over the situation.

At this moment. the Sargeant stuggled for his once commanding place in the world. He tried to distance himself from this desperate situation. For the first time in his life he felt himself praying outloud and this time not only for swearing purposes;

"Oh dear God, please help us!" the Sargeant said at the top of his voice.

"What's that you sayin', are you swearing or praying? Ellen looked even more puzzled than her usual permanent furled question mark wrinkle on her forehead.

"I should have taught her more survival tactics" the Sargeant thought to himself in hindsight. He was hoping, praying for a miracle; that the better half would come to his aid and save him.

"I'll try, Sir...What do you want me to do exactly?" Ellen sounded shy and unsure of herself and of the required task to come. Ellen was puzzled by The Sargeant's request.

"Ellen, I want you to put the metal bar under the lock and pull up, can you do that?"
Ellen started to whimper again.

"Now what, Ellen?" the Sargaent said in an exasperated tone.

"Oh, darn, I broke my fingernail!" Ellen's startled and muffled wimpers than started to cry again.

"Don't worry Ellen, it's not that bad, we'll try something else...". There was a slight hint of subtle desperation in the Sargaent's voice.

"Well, I guess there is only one other thing I can do Ellen..." the Sargeant said point blank expression.

"What's that, Sir?" Ellen asked in an innocent way.

"Give me your bobbypin from your hair, Ellen" the Sargeant with much concentration grabbed and struggled to hold the bobbypin with his numb, bluish tinged fingers.

"I'm going to see if I can unscrew this infernal lock from the outside this time" the Sargeant said with much aplumb and determined focus.

"Good thing nobody is watching!" Ellen said with much child-like naivety her way of dealing with the emergent situation.

"Who is going to be watching us Ellen, really? We're in the back forty on some long- forgotten outpost to nowhere by an isolated cabin this side of north of Tete de Ha-Ha near some off-season tourist town, I believe near Roden Quebec in the middle of a snowstorm in January. "Don't worry Ellen, nobody gives a damn!". The Sargeant sounded humourous if it were not for the dire consequences of their plight.

"Where's Tete de Ha-Ha?" Ellen asked in a child-like way.

"Sorry, I should have said "Saint Tete de Ha-Ha! Obviously this place is blessed!"the Sargeant said sarcastically to Ellen who never understood his jokes.

"What a truly great and Wonderful Winter Wonderland it is" said the Sargaent slowly loosing his grip on reality, started to dance around the cabin the size of an outhouse.

The Sargeant's sarcastic intonation did not phase Ellen at all and as she continued to fumble in her purse for her lipstick. The subzero cold was taunting his resolve and his regular of dealing with this situation. The situation tested the Sargeant's usual determined and resolute moxy.

"Well I just thought we might get into trouble, breaking in like this" Ellen's blue lips muttered incoherently, still pursing her lips as was her usual habit.

"Never mind Ellen! Not to worry, the Sargaent has solved the stubborn lock problem!Oh, look! The darn thing is finally, I don't believe this; the lock is loosening! Ah there, now I've got the lock off and the door is opening, Voila! We can finally get some warmth" the Sargaent replied with satisfied earnestness in his voice.

"Oh Sargaent..." Ellen quered.

"Yes, Ellen..." The Sargeant sounding defensive.

"It doesn't look to be too warm in there, Sir" Ellen said in matter-of-fact manner.

"What do you mean?" the Sargaent glanced sideways unaware of Ellen's findings.

"See that on the bed? Ellen stated plainly.

"Yes, Ellen..." the Sargaent tried to coax Ellen as if she were a five year old child.

"Well they look sort of frozen to death, Sir, those two frozen carcasses on the bed". Ellen continued to regress into a child-like if not baby-like intelligence, unaware of the immediate danger she and the Sargeant were facing, and the horrible consequences of her illogical reactions to her circumstances.

"Well that doesn't mean we will! I'll just light a match, we'll get warm in no time!" the Sargaent sounding very relieved and confident.

"Damn, where did I put my damn matches...Ellen..." the Sargaent's eyes started to bug out of his head like a fly.

"Sorry. No matches, Sir, I just used the last one for a cigarette by the river" Ellen stated calmly.

"Ellen!!!" the Sargaent sounded incredulously.

"We'll I hear it is a good way to go" Ellen said bashfully.

"What's that Ellen?" the Sargaent asked as if he could not hear a thing she was saying, all blurry and incoherent to his newly dumbfounded mind.

"Sweet death fresh or frozen like a Lobster Newburg entre? What's your preference tonight Ellen?" the Sargaent sounded like a sous chef pretending to cook up a fantastic feast.

"Oh I think I'll go for Sweet death, Sargeant, it's always best to go out on a happy note!".
Ellen suggested with much sophistication, finding her own brand of stark profund reality.

The Sargaent casually shoved the frozen bodies nonchalantly from the bed like unwanted baggage. As the two ancient and frozen solid carcasses slid onto the plain plywood floor of the trapper's cabin with a loud "thud". The Sargeant let out a huge sigh, resounding into the deep dark night and embraced the silence. Then the Sargaent proceeded to pat the dilapidated bed.

"Come here Ellen" he said solemnly.



Thursday, July 29, 2010

Walking With Sylvia ~~~An Analysis of The Poetry Of Sylvia Plath~~


After reading on Willow's blog regarding Ted Hughes, Sylvia Plath's husband and poet laureate, I've decided to do my own study of Sylvia Plath (and maybe abit of Ted) and present in a poem by poem format. When I find poems to be cross-referencing other poems I will attempt to do a comparitive poem study plus other comparitive works which may have been an influence in Ms Plath's short (she live to only age 30)and depressed (clinically) life.

Realizing now that Sylvia was extremely co-dependent, which may have been due to her father being cruel to her as well as other tragic life events. Undoubtledly Ted would have known that Sylvia was institutionalized yet married her anyway. He could have gotten an easy annulment. However, I am not sure how much Sylvia's depression created an effect on those around her and how they would have reacted. Oh course I am on a learning curve here.

I first recall my eldest sister bringing home the book The Bell Jar in the early 60's and I recall trying to read it as a mere child. Too over my head! Thank goodness.
I also have heard that Sylvia committed suicide by turning the stove on in her gas stove and sticking her head in the oven; basically aphixiating herself. Synchronistically I recall seeing a Natalie Wood production with the character Natalie portrayed as doing the same darn thing but then the phone would ring and she would have to answer it. Eventually Natalie's character blows up her house and walks away (great scene). Enpowering. I wish that Sylvia would have done the same thing; that a phone would have rung, maybe Ted calling to see if she was ok. He did not. So poor Sylvia became the thing she probably feared the most; to be alone with her demons. Poor dear Sylvia.

"And here you come, with a cup of tea
Wreathed in steam.
The blood jet is poetry,
There is no stopping it.
You hand me two children, two roses."

Once I find Emily Plath's complete works (this may take awhile) I will get back on board and do an analysis. As far as the study today is concerned, I thought these points were highly fascinating. I cannot wait to get into the meat and potatoes of Plath's poetry, plus I cannot wait to see the films and personal interviews with Plath (hopefully on Youtube). Until then; go easy my fellow writers, as the potential for depression is great amongst our ranks. Peace. OUt!

“”from Kindness, written 1 February 1963. Ariel
Plath wrote poetry from the age of eight. At Smith College she majored in English and won all the major prizes in writing and scholarship. She edited the college magazine Mademoiselle and on her graduation in 1955, she won the Glascock Prize for Two Lovers and a Beachcomber by the Real Sea. Later at Newnham, Cambridge, she wrote for the Varsity magazine. By the time Heinmann published her first collection, Collosus and other poems in the UK in late in 1960, Plath had been short-listed several times in the Yale Younger Poets book competition and had had work printed in Harper's, The Spectator and the Times Literary Supplement. All the poems in Collosus had already been printed in major US and British journals and she had a contract with The New Yorker.[42]

Colossus received largely positive UK reviews, highlighting her voice as new and strong, individual and American in tone. Peter Dickinson***(SYNCHRONICITY???) at Punch called the collection "a real find" and "exhilarating to read", full of "clean, easy verse".[42] Bernard Bergonzi at the Manchester Guardian said the book was an "outstanding technical accomplishment" with a "virtuoso' quality". [42] From the point of publication she became a presence on the poetry scene. The book went on to be published America in 1962 to less glowing reviews. Whilst her craft was generally praised her writing was viewed as more derivative of other poets.[42] Some later critics have described the first book as somewhat young, staid or conventional in comparison to the more free-flowing imagery and intensity of her later work.

Here is the first poem of Sylvia Plath presented today: Sylvia Plath (October 27, 1932 – February 11, 1963) was an American poet, novelist and short story writer. Born in Massachusetts, she studied at Smith College and Newnham College Cambridge before receiving acclaim as a professional poet and writer. She married fellow poet Ted Hughes in 1956 and they lived together first in the United States and then England, having two children together: Frieda and Nicholas. Following a long struggle with depression and a marital separation, Plath committed suicide in 1963.[4] Controversy continues to surround the events of her life and death, as well as her writing and legacy.

Plath is credited with advancing the genre of confessional poetry and is best known for her two collections The Colossus and Other Poems and Ariel. In 1982, she became the first poet to win a Pulitzer Prize posthumously for The Collected Poems. She was also the author of one semi-autobiographical novel, The Bell Jar, which was published shortly before her death.Confessional writing
The poems in Ariel mark a departure from her earlier work into a more personal arena of poetry. It is a possibility Robert Lowell's poetry played a part in this shift as she cited Lowell's poem Life Studies as a significant influence, in an interview just before her death.[43] Posthumously published in 1966, The impact of Ariel was dramatic, with its dark and potentially autobiographical descriptions of mental illness in poems such as Tulips, Daddy and Lady Lazarus. [43] Plath's work is often held within the genre of Confessional poetry and the style of her work compared to other confessional contemporaries, such as Robert Lowell and W.D. Snodgrass. Plath's close friend Al Alvarez, who has written about her extensively, writes of her later work:

Plath's case is complicated by the fact that, in her mature work, she deliberately used the details of her everyday life as raw material for her art. A casual visitor or unexpected telephone call, a cut, a bruise, a kitchen bowl, a candlestick - everything became usable, charged with meaning, transformed. Her poems are full of references and images that seem impenetrable at this distance but which could mostly be explained in footnotes by a scholar with full access to the details of her life. [44]

Frieda Plath subsequent decrying the throngs of Plath souvenir hunters;

Frieda Hughes, a poet, was angered by the making of the 2003 BBC biopic Ted and Sylvia. Hughes, who was two years old when her mother died, accused the "peanut crunching" public of wanting to be entertained by her mother's death. In 2003, she published her poem My Mother in Tatler. It reads:

Now they want to make a film
For anyone lacking the ability
To imagine the body, head in oven,
Orphaning children [...]

[...] they think
I should give them my mother's words
To fill the mouth of their monster,
Their Sylvia Suicide Doll

From My Mother, in The Book of Mirrors (2003) by Frieda Hughes [58][59]

Do you suffer, as a writer from the Plath EThe Sylvia Plath effect is a term coined by psychologist James C. Kaufman in 2001 to refer to the phenomenon that creative writers are more susceptible to mental illness. Kaufman's work demonstrated that female poets were more likely to suffer from mental illness than any other class of writers.[1] This finding has been discussed in many international newspapers, including the New York Times.[2] The finding is consistent with other psychological research studies.[3]

The effect is named after the American poet Sylvia Plath, who committed suicide when she was thirty years old.


~~~Emily Dickinson~~~"She slept beneath a tree —" 25/1775

She slept beneath a tree —
Remembered but by me.
I touched her Cradle mute —
She recognized the foot —
Put on her carmine suit
And see!

Emily Dickinson

Today's poem by Emily Dickinson is short and sweet. Innocent. Pure. Like some friends I know, probably like you! Emily is venturing into another dreamscape; a land of magic and sublime enchantment.

In Emily's world today we see Emily looking at a "She" who "Slept beneath a tree". Right away I think of a cat. "Remembered by me" This line seems reflective, like a memory, is Emily dreaming of her "dream child" thinking, hoping, dreaming of the time she was to wed? In her last poem we see this "maids" and "men" in foreign lands and I have to wonder if Emily felt somehow the "subtle put-down" thus the "Cradle mute". She can not hear her dear baby girl's cry or the baby girl cannot be heard.
"She recognized the foot" Can be multi-meaning seeing that Emily has often discussed the foot in a way that is liken to a "frozen foot" in the pinion (see wagon wheel icon with the old photo of kids with 2 wagon wheels the emblem of Katherine, a martyred saint). So we can interpret or extrapolate many things here, but if we study Emily previous poems, and after, her poems to come we may realize the significance of these elusive statements and images.

Emily is dreaming here. The images are surreal. The images are usually full of angst from unresolved day time issues; aka "unfinished business". Emily is dreaming of her dream baby. Or maybe she is taking about a kitten she had placed under the tree the night before to sleep outside. Or maybe it is Emily herself since the "She" could be her and she is seeing herself and using a most unusual the third person narrative;

"Third-person narration provides the greatest flexibility to the author and thus is the most commonly used narrative mode in literature. In the third-person narrative mode, each and every character is referred to by the narrator as "he", "she", "it", or "they", but never as "I" or "we" (first-person), or "you" (second-person).
"The third-person modes are usually categorized along two axes. The first is the subjectivity/objectivity axis, with "subjective" narration describing one or more character's feelings and thoughts, while "objective" narration does not describe the feelings or thoughts of any characters. The second axis is between "omniscient" and "limited", a distinction that refers to the knowledge available to the narrator. An omniscient narrator has omniscient knowledge of time, people, places and events; a limited narrator, in contrast, may know absolutely everything about a single character and every piece of knowledge in that character's mind, but it is "limited" to that character—that is, it cannot describe things unknown to the focal character."

Excuse the long preamble, but I thought it important to refresh the memory regarding the various forms of narration. It can get complicated and is very complicated in Emily's poem "She slept beneath a tree". Moving in and out of various forms of narration. As if Emily is both narrator and all the characters in her poem.

There is no response from the other character; and the character "she" is muted in Emily's mind. She is confused as to persons individual entity; a separation of individualization. In this way, Emily is showing a bit of her cosmic consciousness and I am not sure if she, if Emily, at this time is involved in the reading and philosophy of the Transcendental writers of her day, like Emerson and others.

So her is the conundrum; what am I to understand from this somewhat "sketchy" poem. It is an experiment? Before surrealism? This is indeed a modern experiment! Emily is pre-Freud trying to grasp the concept of the dream state! Heavy stuff for a young lady from Amherst MA in the later part of the 1800's. How I'd love to get these poems date-stamped so I can see when exactly, in Emily's development did these poems occur, and what were the direct influences on Emily at that particular time. Of course much research is needed her before I can hazard to guess, but I will continue to decipher Emily's poems in the way I have been taught, to reconstruct the work after deconstructing it. Something akin to Russian Constructivism? Perhaps?

"I touched her Cradle mute —
She recognized the foot —
Put on her carmine suit
And see"

"I touched her Cradle mute (notice the capital C for cradle? An allegory? Is everything, almost a allegory to Ms Em? One has to wonder... The "I touched" is significant, very significant. Emily must have dream power of the hands in her dreams which means she can control her dreams. This may have been taught to her by some of the natives in her area. I see that she has an understanding of this. By "touching "her Cradle mute" Well a cradle for a hope a dream of a future with someone, to have children and now she realizes this will not happen, the cradle is "deaf" or not with sound so I would think this may imply a death to this dream she had been nursing for awhile in her hope chest of heart.

I believe Emily notived the same foot on her dream child as her own which may be mishappen or peronalized to some degree from being frozen, maybe she had a foot problem or Emily sees foot as a weekness or as a strength as Emily then mentions "Put on her carmine suit" which may be a significant colour "red" of which Emily has so frequently mentioned in the past and is a significant personal lexicon of imagery which Emily conveys to be representative of a feeling. In my mind anyway, it is a spiritual feeling, the regal robes of the shed blood or if you are not inclined to the Christ motifs that play a significant role in Emily's poems then you could say the red represents life blood and the life of Emily's, and the spiritual significance to Emily is deeply personal and may not perhaps be fully understood unless a significant spiritual awaken would happen in the reader or a transcendental experience.

"She recognized the foot" for me this would be the foot of sandalled one. And maybe yes or no Emily does emphathize with the tortured individual as she has been tortured. I sense great sadness in this poem, that Emily's dreams are dead, that the shed red blood is her coat of armour put on to handle this mantle she must bear; of the truth she must become but does not want to, but now who's dreams is inhabiting, and invading her sweet world of a day ago. Emily is indeed haunted here. By her religious uptight raising or by being shunned by a suitor. This is a worrisome dream. "The Cradle is mute". Yet at the end the strength is back with the brilliant red carmine. Could Carmine be a name of a friend of Emily? Or a made up friend to strengthen Emily against what must have been very tough times indeed. Everyone she loved was dying around her. We will investigate this as we gain more information.

Emily's work has significant and undeniable Christian overtones and undertones. Her it is muted and undertone. Emily does not come right out and say "Christ" or "Jesus" but it is implied most definitely. I think Emily wanted to show a personal relationship that goes into imagery rather than surface level. Emily is deeply spiritual but not as much claiming her religious Christian religion her. Which makes it an open type of spiritual kinship for all religions. Emily is maybe deliberately doing this as she is studying world religions, etc and wants to be inclusive.

Carmine definition;Carmine (pronounced /ˈkɑrmɪn/ or /ˈkɑrmaɪn/), also called Crimson Lake, Cochineal, Natural Red 4, C.I. 75470, or E120, is a pigment of a bright red color obtained from the carminic acid produced by some scale insects, such as the cochineal and the Polish cochineal, and is used as a general term for a particularly deep red color of the same name. Carmine is used in the manufacture of artificial flowers, paints, crimson ink, rouge, and other cosmetics, and is routinely added to food products such as yogurt and certain brands of juice, most notably those of the ruby-red variety."

Definitely the imagery recurs in Emily's poems. It is significant. With further reading of Emily's poems we may (if we are lucky) begin to form an understanding as to the deeply spiritual meaning in her poems. It should be a great adventure!

Chiccoreal On "She slept beneath a tree"

Oh Emily
What Dreams
When in Third Person
You see yourself
From a distance
A baby
who cannot peep
to say why you cry
Wake Up
And put on Your Spirit
Clothed in Brillance
Beyond Compare
Sweet Carmine!


Wednesday, July 28, 2010

~~~Visual Arts Wednesday~~"Dolorosa" by Oscar Ortiz

Today I would like to discuss the pastel on paper "Dolorosa" by Oscar Ortiz if that is ok with you? For those of you who would like just a Zen Like appreciation without the background story or my personal analysis please feel free to stop reading...NOW. For all others stay tuned and please enjoy my research into the fine Yucatan artist that produced this fine work of art.

The history about this work goes back for me to 1980. As a frequent visitor to the Forest City Art Gallery in London, Ontario, at that time on King Street and Queen next to Novak's Army Surplus store (which has also since moved) I happened upon this work and loved it. It called to me.

The emotionality of the piece and the subtle jungle-like colours are simply amazing. It is great to feel something from an art work, it means you are alive. Why this piece spoke to me is due to the fact it had such a dramatic feeling. It was the feeling that drew me (pardon the pun) to this piece of art.

What about you? Are you drawn to the feeling behind the image or just the image? Do you find that feelings get in the way of your life or are feeling an important and an intregal part of your life? Please let me know.

Since I have been critized (that's funny the critic being critized!)about over-analyzing a work of art, poetry etc and not appreciating the art for simply standing alone and being "art". I will leave the deciphering wholly up to you this week. Next I will try to educate my detractors if it is at all possible. I am proud to say (pride cometh before the fall) that I am University of Western Ontario Canada educated and I stand behind every bit of critism I make here on Chiccoreal blogsite. If you don't like it...take a hike to the next blog; would ya? Thanks!

As a student of Visual Arts at UWO I was in third year during the "Exposicion de Intercambio Trabajos en Papel" Gobierno Del Estado Fonapas Yucatan artist exchange from the Yucatan with the Forest City Gallery de London, Ontario Canada.

Here is a paper I kept from that time;

"Art exhibit completes exchange" by Dennis Kutcherawy of The Free Press

From the lush colours of Mexico's tropical vegetation to glamorous Hollywood starlets, the figurative images in the exchange of works on paper between the Forest City Galery in London and a group of Mexican artistsfrom Merida, Yucatan,span that country's past and present.

The idea for the exchange was born during Jamelie Hassan's painting trip to the Yucatan peninsula in March. Hassan is the former president of Forest City Gallery. While looking for paint supplies, she met Gildo Gonzalez, an artist and co-ordinator of exhibitions for the state government of Yucatan. They talked about London's artists cooperative and agreed they should do something together. With a limited budget they decided an exchange of works on paper would be the least expensive.

On June 6, a show of drawings, photographs and watercolors by Forest City Members Ron Benner, Bob Zarski, Jim Gillies, Chris Dewdne, Kerry Ferris, Sam Kirzan, Greg Curnoe, George Legrady and Jamie Lee Hassan opened for a month-long run. Now, with the show currently at the Forest City Gallery until July 30, the exchange is complete.

In comparison to the works by the London artists, which Hassan calls "conceptualizations of concepts" the Mexican works are conceptualizations of the human situation.

The pastels of Oscar Ortiz, for example, borrows many influences including the primitive masks and pattern designs of the Aztecs, the Catholic image of the Virgin, and American starlets in a flat drawing style reminiscent of art nouveau. His tropical colors of greens, reds and blues are not as vibrant one might expect, but his images in Red Dress and Dolorosa reflect the dichotomy of society's view of woman's role between Hoy Virgin and harlot."

Oh...harlot! Boy could I talk your ear off here, but I wont. Maybe next week.

Enjoi mon petites!


~~~Emily Dickinson A-Poem-A-Day~~~"There is a morn by men unseen -" 24/1775

"There is a morn by men unseen -"

"There is a morn by men unseen -
Whose maids opon remoter green
Keep their seraphic May -
And all day long, with dance and game,
And gambo! I may never name -
Employ their holiday.

Here to light measure, move the feet
Which walk no more the village street -
Nor by the wood are found -
Here are the birds that sought the sun
When last year's distaff idle hung
And summer's brows were bound.

Ne'er saw I such a wondrous scene -
Ne'er such a ring on such a green -
Nor so serene array -
As if the stars some summer night
Should swing their cups of Chrysolite -
And revel till the day -

Like thee to dance - like thee to sing -
People opon that mystic green -
I ask, each new May morn.
I wait thy far - fantastic bells -
Announcing me in other dells -
Unto the different dawn!

[edit] Version 2
There is a morn by men unseen —
Whose maids upon remoter green
Keep their Seraphic May —
And all day long, with dance and game,
And gambol I may never name —
Employ their holiday.

Here to light measure, move the feet
Which walk no more the village street —
Nor by the wood are found —
Here are the birds that sought the sun
When last year's distaff idle hung
And summer's brows were bound.

Ne'er saw I such a wondrous scene —
Ne'er such a ring on such a green —
Nor so serene array —
As if the stars some summer night
Should swing their cups of Chrysolite —
And revel till the day —

Like thee to dance — like thee to sing —
People upon the mystic green —
I ask, each new May Morn.
I wait thy far, fantastic bells —
Unto the different dawn!"

Poem by Emily Dickinson

Wow! Emily is in very ecryptic today! Lots of mystery here to unravel! Many words not in common usage must be defined. This will take some time!

"There is a morn by men unseen -
Whose maids opon remoter green
Keep their seraphic May -
And all day long, with dance and game
And gambo! I may never name -
Employ their holiday."

Emily's imagination is rampant in this poem. Setting up a fantasy world which is "unseen" by men in a "morn" unknown. There are "maids" there, women working but who are on a "holiday" in "seraphic" or angelic "May". All day long they "dance" and "game" and "gambo". After trying diligently to research the word "gambo" I am stuck (again!). Gambo has multiple references. Gambo could refer to a place in Newfoundland (this I doubt was Emily's intent for this word) or lately, and I have not found a reference for "gambo" during Emily's time. In contemporary times a "gambo" was found in the sea. It is a cryptozoological being, a sea monster that looks like a combination alligator and dolphin. How would that happen? Here is the wikipedia reference'

"The carcass of the Gambo was reported to have been discovered by 15-year-old Owen Burnham and his family on the morning of June 12, 1983. Owen, a wildlife enthusiast, decided to take measurements and then make sketches". (wikipedia 'gambo').

Unlikely this would be Emily's source for this word. Maybe Emily was making merry and in gest, in her usual lively way with words, a gambol could be a homonymn for "gamble". So there was gambling happening at this "fete". I think, recently we had an Emily poem on Gambling. (not the Vegas icon). So Emily is a gambler, eh? Maybe? What else can one do in those stuffy Victorian parlours but play abit of poker? Emily IS game!

"Here to light measure, move the feet
Which walk no more the village street -
Nor by the wood are found -
Here are the birds that sought the sun
When last year's distaff idle hung
And summer's brows were bound."

This above stanza is quite vexing as well with a little bit of pre-feminist angst thrown in for measure by Ms Emily. Here Emily is saying that "light" will be the measure, like heavenly light in this far away place of seraphim (Emily has used seraphim reference in a previous poem). So no longer in the "village" (Emily referred to the "village" in a poem with the Bargemen. Emily's fantastic belief in this village with waiting angels like on the shore of Hades waiting for a boatride to the farshare almost a combination of ancient Greek myth and Christian belief systems.) Emily's birds play a part in this poem too, and the "distaff" is "idle hung". I didn't know what a "distaff" was either as it is not in common usage today. A distaff is;

"As a noun, a distaff (also called a rock[1]) is a tool used in spinning. It is designed to hold the unspun fibers, keeping them untangled and thus easing the spinning process. It is most commonly used to hold flax, and sometimes wool, but can be used for any type of fiber. Fiber is wrapped around the distaff, and tied in place with a piece of ribbon or string. The word comes from dis in Low German, meaning a bunch of flax, connected with staff. As an adjective the term distaff is used to describe the female side of a family."

a tool used to make wool into fabric, for spinning. However, there is a slang term for "distaff" that may be more on the bias for Emily. A "distaff" "is used to describe the female side of a family". How unusual! Unique Victorian dictums and idioms! How wide open can my eyes get today. There were slang secret codes! Maybe due to the fear of being "upfront" and "in the face" which was definitely NOT appreciated by strict Victorian standards. Emily may be poking fun at her "old maid" status here as it probably was the "talk of the town". Being that her father had such a prominent position in Amherst, MA, her own grandfather having started the college. Tongues must have been "a wagging" so Emily, undoubtledly capitalized on her own plight of the unwedded daughter. Maybe a slight poke at the way women were treated; for posterity; that someday, someone like me would come along and figure out her deepest heart-felt secrets kept hidden in her top drawer where she must have kept her bloomers!

"Ne'er saw I such a wondrous scene -
Ne'er such a ring on such a green -
Nor so serene array -
As if the stars some summer night
Should swing their cups of Chrysolite -
And revel till the day -"

Emily continues in the above stanza to revel in the "wondrous scene" to be ensconced with resounding merriment. The use of the old English "Ne'er" is amazing, repeated almost three times and then the "homonymn-type" "Nor" so close to "Ne'er". So never three times in chorus-like song rendering, giving a feeling of a medieval fair, like Camelot. So there was peace there in the merriment too "serene". I love the next lines "As if the stars some summer night Should swing their cups of Chrysollite and revel till the day". The stars would get drunk? Emily!!!

I love the word Chrysolite. Let's look that up!

"It is also called chrysolite, from the Greek words for gold and stone. Some of the finest gem-quality olivine has been obtained from a body of mantle rocks." (Wiki)

The mineral olivine (when gem-quality also called peridot) is a magnesium iron silicate with the formula (Mg,Fe)2SiO4. It is one of the most common minerals on Earth, and has also been identified in meteorites[4], the Moon, Mars[5], in the dust of comet Wild 2, and within the core of comet Tempel 1[6].

The ratio of magnesium and iron varies between the two endmembers of the solid solution series: forsterite (Mg-endmember) and fayalite (Fe-endmember). Compositions of olivine are commonly expressed as molar percentages of forsterite (Fo) and fayalite (Fa) (e.g., Fo70Fa30). Forsterite has an unusually high melting temperature at atmospheric pressure, almost 1900 °C, but the melting temperature of fayalite is much lower (about 1200 °C). The melting temperature varies smoothly between the two endmembers, as do other properties. Olivine incorporates only minor amounts of elements other than oxygen, silicon, magnesium, and iron. Manganese and nickel commonly are the additional elements present in highest concentrations.

Olivine gives its name to the group of minerals with a related structure (the olivine group) which includes tephroite (Mn2SiO4), monticellite (CaMgSiO4), and kirschsteinite (CaFeSiO4)". Wiki Olivine

Chrysolite is either one of two kinds of crystals either Olivine or Chrysoberyl. Chrysolite is actually the crystal Peridot. It has polymorphous qualities, is mainly magnesium and oxygen bonded. Not a mineralist, but I am sure Emily has found an interest in gemology. Peridot is the birthstone of August babies so I think maybe Emily has some interest in showing the stones of summer. Nonetheless Emily is creating a magic world of crystals here. And this is before Crystals were used as healing stones, although they may have been for centuries. Did Emily know this? Emily???

"Like thee to dance - like thee to sing -
People opon that mystic green -
I ask, each new May morn.
I wait thy far - fantastic bells -
Announcing me in other dells -
Unto the different dawn!"

Emily's vivid imagination is in full regalia in this poem. Emily's spirit is clearly viewed from the fantasy world she creates. The "mystic green" really emphasizing her magic kingdom to come and also alludes the peridot stone which has quite an interesting history being related to comets, Greek mythology, and from New Zealand where Lord of The Rings was filmed. It is pure magic that Emily has conjured in this poem. It was intentional reprieve for her state of mind in the last poem was vexing with those codger Robins betraying her. So in this poem Emily is imagining a world of comfort and fantasy to hide from the everyday world which may have been too "real" for her. Emily I believe, inhabits these her fantasy world, with their own speech and ways of seeing into these "otherworldlies". Amazing. Poor Emily having to create these fantasy worlds because hers was not with "bells" and "dells" and much revellery as would be a marriage feast. Did she think of herself like a nun or too spiritually "pure" for any brutish man with their cunning and "fly away" approach to her? Emily must have kept her sanity in the anti-feminist era by creating a rich fantasy life. Good for her!


Chiccoreal's Channel of Today's Poem brought to you by Dow Jones Chemical Peridots

Peridot Gazing

Seeing worlds
Green and New
Shining and Gleaming
Teaming with Happiness
and Good Times
Emily You are Right there Now
Looking Down from Your cloud
High above the Ne'er Heavens
As you drink from the Peridot
Goblet of Immortality
You find yourself
Caught in the Frivolity
Forever and Ever
This is my wish for you
Dear Emily!


Tuesday, July 27, 2010

~~~Emily Dickinson Poem A Day Plus~~~"I had a guinea golden" 23/1775

Version 1
I had a guinea golden -
I lost it in the sand -
And tho' the sum was simple
And pounds were in the land -
Still, had it such a value
Unto my frugal eye -
That when I could not find it-
I sat me down to sigh.

I had a crimson Robin -
Who sang full many a day
But when the woods were painted -
He - too - did fly away -
Time brought me other Robins -
Their ballads were the same -
Still, for my missing Troubadour
I kept the "house at hame".

I had a star in heaven -
One "Pleiad" was it's name -
And when I was not heeding,
It wandered from the same -
And tho' the skies are crowded -
And all the night ashine -
I do not care about it -
Since none of them are mine -

My story has a moral -
I have a missing friend -
"Pleiad" it's name - and Robin -
And guinea in the sand -
And when this mournful ditty
Accompanied with tear -
Shall meet the eye of traitor
In country far from here -
Grant that repentance solemn
May seize opon his mind -
And he no consolation
Beneath the sun may find.

[edit] Version 2
I had a guinea golden —
I lost it in the sand —
And tho' the sum was simple
And pounds were in the land —
Still, had it such a value
Unto my frugal eye —
That when I could not find it —
I sat me down to sigh.

I had a crimson Robin —
Who sang full many a day
But when the woods were painted,
He, too, did fly away —

Time brought me other Robins —
Their ballads were the same —
Still, for my missing Troubador
I kept the "house at hame."

I had a star in heaven —
One "Pleiad" was its name —
And when I was not heeding,
It wandered from the same.
And tho' the skies are crowded —
And all the night ashine —
I do not care about it —
Since none of them are mine.

My story has a moral —
I have a missing friend —
"Pleiad" its name, and Robin,
And guinea in the sand.
And when this mournful ditty
Accompanied with tear —
Shall meet the eye of traitor
In country far from here —
Grant that repentance solemn
May seize upon his mind —
And he no consolation
Beneath the sun may find.

Dear Readers of Emily Dickinson! Greetings! It makes one want to write simple poetry, given the vast amounts of required hours in the research stacks. Warning; Emily's poem today is going to be long.
And you know that to be warned is to be forearmed. So get out yer guns and let's get at her! The poetry; of course!

Two Versions; mostly the same; I shall be commenting on the first version and when and if I get through all 1775 poems, then I will go back an attack the altered versions of the same thing; c'est la meme choice! It is the same thing! Really! Really? We'll see...later alligators! Here goes today's Emily offerings;

Version 1
I had a guinea golden -
I lost it in the sand -
And tho' the sum was simple
And pounds were in the land

Emily has a gold coin, a guinea. What is a guinea in Emily's time; what did it mean. Google that guinea!

"The guinea is a coin that was minted in the Kingdom of England and later in the Kingdom of Great Britain and the United Kingdom between 1663 and 1813.[1] It was the first English machine-struck gold coin, originally worth one English Pound sterling,[1] equal to twenty shillings; but rises in the price of gold caused the value of the guinea to increase, at times to as high as thirty shillings; from 1717 onwards its value was officially fixed at twenty-one shillings, after Great Britain adopted the gold standard."(Wikipedia)

"and though the sum was simple" meaning to quote a popular quote; "he knows the worth of everything and the value of nothing". (not sure who said this; anyone know? I'll insert into google later). The fact is, Emily is talking about money; the value of money, the worth of objects, things, in particular, spiritual worth over-riding any type of mere monetary offerings. Since that is the way the world works, and did back then, Emily is commenting on how shallow the loss to her of this "valued" piece of material worth.

"And pounds were in the land". This could be a "double entendre" or double meaning here. The pounds or the value was in the "land", meaning this is "our land" we will fight for it "lock stock and barrel". Land being quintessential part of a persons worth back then, in the pioneer days. Land meant survival. Growing one's food, making one's shelter. It was to be fought and died over, over and over again. The value almost the same if not moreso at time than a human soul.

"Still, had it such a value
Unto my frugal eye -
That when I could not find it-
I sat me down to sigh."

In the above stanza Emily is talking about how the value of the land, of the worth of the coin (since the value of the coin is indicative of how well a country's resources aka "the land and it's resources" than the value of the coin and land is intrically interwoven here.

Emily's "frugal eye"; is important to note here. Most were frugal then, the pioneers had to be frugal for survival sake. Learn to make the most of what you have. This is something of a feather in Emily's cap. A truly good asset.

When Emily could not find the coin (the gold guinea) in the sand she became sad and "sigh"ed, if not cried.

Now as if an abrupt change of topic Emily is discussing birds, in particular, Robins.

I had a crimson Robin -
Who sang full many a day
But when the woods were painted -
He - too - did fly away -

Here the allegorical analogies come into play with Emily's personal lexicon fully deployed. "I had a crimson Robin". Remember how Emily loves crimson? It is a lively colour, representative too, of Christ shed blood. The Robin may be in reference to Sue Gilbert or maybe just a friendly bird Emily befriended in the woods...or something else entirely different. Come fall the bird flew away when it became "painted" (undoubtley crimson with the turn of the genetian. (Maybe?).

"Time brought me other Robins -
Their ballads were the same -
Still, for my missing Troubadour
I kept the "house at hame"."

So know Emily has more friends but she still pines for her original Robin. "Still, for my missing Troubadour I kept the "house at hame". I shall google "hame". I have to believe this "hame" is a typo. Maybe it should read "house at home". Anyone know any differently?

In other words; Emily kept the homefires burning. That's what I believe she meant; "house at home".

"I had a star in heaven -
One "Pleiad" was it's name -
And when I was not heeding,
It wandered from the same -
And tho' the skies are crowded -
And all the night ashine -
I do not care about it -
Since none of them are mine "

Emily is feeling loveloss again. The feeling that her Robin "troubadour" has taken off and now the "star" in the Heavens, in the Pleiad (Emily is showing her astronomy classes at Amherst College in Amherst MA. Emily does want love to be constant and does not want her "one star" Troubadour Robin missing in action, gone the way of nature, following due course across the sky. But Emily wants him at home. Must be reference to her own personal experience with an actual person.

"My story has a moral -
I have a missing friend -
"Pleiad" it's name - and Robin -
And guinea in the sand -
And when this mournful ditty
Accompanied with tear -
Shall meet the eye of traitor
In country far from here -
Grant that repentance solemn
May seize opon his mind -
And he no consolation
Beneath the sun may find

In the above stanza Emily puts together all the loose ends of the poem. We have the "missing friend moral". The missing friend should I say fiend is a "traitor" to Emily leaving her in her need of that firend. Emily feels the pain of this loss. The firend was a "golden guinea" to her, as well as a Crimson Robin" and a "star" from the Pleide" constellation (apparently that is where Heaven throne is, in the Constellation Cassieopia"

The traitor (maybe suitor?) is a man as reference "his". So Emily is only going to accept "repentance solemn" or sincere apology of the profuse kind and that she will dole out her retributive justice "he no consolation beneath the sun may find". So Emily was indeed a jilted lover! I wonder whom did that to Emily, that sod!


Chiccoreal's Take on the Above Emily DIckinson Poem "I had a guinea golden";

Emily's Jilted Lover's Lament

That Sod
Who once stood for
Something to you
As you placed him
Far too high
on your unmountable
You should have known
your soul too good for him
that piece of crap metal
worse than a guinea lost in the sand
he wasnt really worth a dime
that star that fell from your heavens
in the Pleide zone
That Cock Robin so sure of himself
Thank Gosh he blew you off
as he blew away
May he burn from his banishment
in a place we like to call
That dog has none!
(no conscience)
So dont fret Emily
There are better Robins
Even though this dude
was a dude
The imprint he left
kept your hope for love fresh
in the home fires
yet burning with passion
he was not
you should have tested his guinea metal
He must have been mettling with someone else!
The Cad!


Monday, July 26, 2010

~~~Emily Dickinson Poem A Day Plus~~~"All these my banners be." 22/1775

All these my banners be.
I sow my pageantry
In May —
It rises train by train —
Then sleeps in state again —
My chancel — all the plain

To lose — if one can find again —
To miss — if one shall meet —
The Burglar cannot rob — then —
The Broker cannot cheat.
So build the hillocks gaily
Thou little spade of mine
Leaving nooks for Daisy
And for Columbine —
You and I the secret
Of the Crocus know —
Let us chant it softly —
"There is no more snow!"

To him who keeps an Orchis' heart —
The swamps are pink with June.
by Emily Dickinson

Here I believe (you may have another interpretation; please comment below!)Emily is discussing the act of writing poetry.

"All these my banners be.
I sow my pageantry
In May —
It rises train by train —
Then sleeps in state again —
My chancel — all the plain

It is All about flowers for Emily!

If you look at this premise; that this poem is about the art of writing poetry; Emily writing her poetry, then it makes sense. "All these" meaning all of Emily's poetic "offerings" are her "banners" or "scrolls" maybe heaven unfurled from above inspiration. As a farmer (most in the 1800's were farmers, Emily an inspired Botanist, etc.). Emily sows her "pageantry". The word pageantry is interesting here, maybe the flowers are the pageantry as well! Four flowers are mentioned in this poem, daisy, columbine, crocus and orchis (orchid). So this is what is meant by "Flowery Verse". Hahah! I get it!

"pag·eant (pjnt)
1. An elaborate public dramatic presentation that usually depicts a historical or traditional event.
2. A spectacular procession or celebration.
3. Colorful showy display; pageantry or pomp."
[Middle English pagin, pagent, moveable stage for a mystery play, mystery play, alteration of Medieval Latin pgina, probably from Latin, page; see pag- in Indo-European roots."

Since Emily is "sowing" her pageantry in May like a seed, where it "rises" or grows like a seedling, we understand this imagery of the spring budding of a flower or plant.

Now what about it "rises train by train"? What is meant by this line? Well we know contrain is a verse used and made popular by Nostradamus, for example. So little by little this poetry takes form, in the "con'train' verse of Emily's. Notice the pun-like take on train here. Also Emily in the next line refers to a Presidential train, the Americana bit of trivia whereby famous deceased are paraded (or pageanted?sp?wd?)
through the country on a train. Train could be the months that go by while the flowers seeds "sleep". Dream train perhaps?

I believe the famous President Abe Lincoln, a contemporary of Ms Emily's did have his coffin aboard a famous train (called? check this later). Here again, Emily's and most of her time had a preoccupation with death as it was all around them, people, great masses dying like flies at times. So we see this preoccupation as a part of Emily's world and mindset and the mindset of the Victorian age. For example please not mourning rites, etc of the Victorians. Most amazing eye-opener here!

"and then lies in state again" or becomes dormant after the flowering of verse; a rest. Like music here. Again referring to the presidential funerary rites, etc. "lies in state". We all know this reference.

"My chancel all the plain today". Chancel is part of the architecture of a church; it is defined below. It is part of the altar. Where flowers are placed, I believe, or where candles are lit and flowers are placed for the dead, usually. Correct me if I am incorrect. Thanks! "all the plain today". Emily must consider herself "plain" which was, with her Puritan background, an ideal way to be. A plain person, like the Mennonites (German) or the Amish (Dutch) did not fixate on the ornate which was "sinful".


"To lose — if one can find again —
To miss — if one shall meet —
The Burglar cannot rob — then —
The Broker cannot cheat."

I think here Emily is feeling lonely, the "lose" or loss of a loved one, maybe even unrequitted love, possibly from Sue Gilbert or her brother Will. I think it may have been one of two suitors which Emily had never completely meshed with, or married, but had, due to her obsessive poetic offerings, suggests. Emily does feel cheated in love I believe thus the "burglar" reference. Had Emily been cheated by a "broker"? Now that would be an interesting study for the historians out in the blogosphere! Where you'd find this would probably be a trip to Amherst College archives. Good luck!

"So build the hillocks gaily
Thou little spade of mine
Leaving nooks for Daisy
And for Columbine —"

In the above Stanzas Emily is enpowering herself from her unrequitted slump of the previous stanza, where she was most mournful of loss of love or person. Here Emily is busy working the earth with her poetry, planting more "seeds" hoping to grow more...need we say..."Love"? And for Emily love is found in the earth and the products grown from the earth like the "Daisy" (notice the capitalization here, I am sure "Daisy" is her friend, and "Columbine". Could Emily be talking in code here? Let's see what these flowers may represent other than just being simple flowers.

"dai·sy (dz)
n. pl. dai·sies
1. Any of several plants of the composite family, especially a widely naturalized Eurasian plant (Chrysanthemum leucanthemum) having flower heads with a yellow center and white rays. Also called oxeye daisy, white daisy.
2. A low-growing European plant (Bellis perennis) having flower heads with pink or white rays. Also called English daisy.
3. The flower head of any of these plants.
4. Slang One that is deemed excellent or notable."
[Middle English daisie, from Old English dæges age : dæges, genitive of dæg, day; see agh- in Indo-European roots + age, eye; see okw- in Indo-European roots."

"col·um·bine (klm-bn)
Any of various perennial herbs of the genus Aquilegia native to north temperate regions, cultivated for their showy, variously colored flowers that have petals with long hollow spurs. Also called aquilegia.
[Middle English, from Medieval Latin columbna, from feminine of Latin columbnus, dovelike (from the resemblance of the inverted flower to a cluster of doves), from columba, dove.]
The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition copyright ©2000 by Houghton Mifflin Company. Updated in 2009. Published by Houghton Mifflin Company." All rights reserved."

So we see some other possible connotation to the flowers. A daisy's slang reference is "one that is deemed excellent or notable". Emily did see herself as an excellent person of note, even though she was not recognized during her day. (see previous Poem A Day for the earlier poem reference to Emily's critics.) The columbine also has a very spiritual significance as "doves". Emily sees herself as the Pentecost dove or Spirit of God descending on people's heads. This reference also gives further credence to Emily as Christ figure. Whether or not deliberate, I think so, many poets, writers had taken on this mantle of servitude. Emily is serving people, in her mind, with her poetry because it is from her pure Spirit, and it blesses those that read it. There is some healing going on in these flower references too, maybe from a herbology point of view as well. the plants definitely have special significance to Emily and their appearance in her poems is not an accident.

"You and I the secret
Of the Crocus know —
Let us chant it softly —
"There is no more snow!"

Emily is referring to the Crocus in the stanza above as being the first flower of spring that valiantly pokes through the cold snow and survives in all it's beauty. Here, Emily is chanting like a child "There is no more snow". Emily has shown her disdain of cold, and snow in a previous poem so I wonder if there is abit of mockery here. Who doesn't like summer? Winters always being harsh to the Victorians who relied on a good wood supply to keep warm in their uninsulated Victorian homes.

"To him who keeps an Orchis' heart —
The swamps are pink with June."
by Emily Dickinson

"orchis [ˈɔːkɪs]n.
1. (Life Sciences & Allied Applications / Plants) any terrestrial orchid of the N temperate genus Orchis, having fleshy tubers and spikes of typically pink flowers
2. (Life Sciences & Allied Applications / Plants) any of various temperate or tropical orchids of the genus Habenaria, such as the fringed orchis
[via Latin from Greek orkhis testicle; so called from the shape of its roots]"

After receiving an orchid for my birthday, I have found how fussy and high maintenance they are to get them to flower each spring. I guess there are some hormones, etc to buy. I have to read more regarding their proper maintenance, etc. I have noticed a small leave coming through the middle so, maybe, some more beautiful orchid flowers. I found it strange that it is referred to as a "testicle" as an orchid looks like something completely different as per Georgia O'Keefe's works.
Tomato/Tomato..whatever! To each his own I suppose! We can see that this reference to an orchid in the Emily poem is about the fragility of life and the way this fragility is victorious over so many things that can harm us, because we build up or plant something to grow (like the Spirit) we are rich during the harvest time.

The last two line verse is a positive take on those who grow Orchids, however Orchids is spelled "Orchis" so now I will look up a possible Greek analogous name. No this is the Latin genus of an Orchid, no connection to a Greek god here, unless someone has found something different? We'll hold our breath on this one!
Maybe Emily grew indoor Orchids, in her greenhouse? It sure sounds like it. An Orchis' heart to me would be a tender, kind heart, which means they will survive and thrive the swamps of life and come back "pink" to life in June. I love the flower to human analogy here. Quite stunning, and soothing to the soul, actually!

Chiccorealo's take on Ms Emily today!

Every Word of Em's like Majestic Pagaentry:
Bespoken no longer broken

How the unfurling from the Heav'ns
Seem to evoke us to plant
To bring forth words that enliven
and keep us free to survive
another last winter
when all died of the bout
with the flowers strength
Notably some like Emily
Will Live On
(and on!)


In architecture, the chancel is the space around the altar at the liturgical east end of a traditional Christian church building. ...

What image is the heart of this poem? Planting of flowers (spiritual gifts). Need a pic (free pic) on planting please Mr. Google!


Sunday, July 25, 2010

~~~EMILY!!! POEM-A-DAY~~~"We lose — because we win —"21/1775

"We lose — because we win —
Gamblers — recollecting which
Toss their dice again"

Emily Dickinson

Ever the philosopher, Emily is evoking a tanku or haiku (almost) simplicity. Here knowledge of "losing to win" is deep and meaningful; formulated in a fomentive mind.

Is a Gambler a bird? Was Emily referring to a Warbler? Emily does like to play this game of "recognizable and cliche-type archetypical idiom with her own off-set play on a phrase which may be called a "pun-like phrase". Emily turns us on our ear to serve us her own brand of seeing the world in a fun, frolicking way.

No there are no "Gambler" birds. This poem is simple so I shall be as well. I think this poem is very straight-forward so I won't go into lengths today regarding possible analysis. I just found it odd that Emily would be speaking about Gambling. Maybe Emily is showing her independent spirit and trying to pull away from the religious attitude of the day regarding gambling, which, as we know, was the fact that "gambling" is evil.

However, if Emily has felt her soul saved maybe she thought that gambling would not have an effect if one is already saved or victorious. Maybe Emily is reflecting on a close-family member's gambling problem; maybe her brother Will. She may be trying to philosphize his seeming immoral behaviour. Again this is sited as an example, only!

We can see how Emily's mind churns through various problem areas and comes up with life on her own terms. I admire greatly Emily's independent spirit and vive!

Maybe Emily was reading materials which had a gambling theme; maybe native themed work like below. (This is an amazing site of Native American folk-lore). Some of these stories have been recorded by Native elders years ago and are in the Smithsonian files.(at bottom of page).


Saturday, July 24, 2010

~~~Magpie 24~~~Love Remains~~~

No matter if the Olympics were a "has been" affair last week. This week the launching site for a guided missile was abruptly cancelled; S. Kitten was missing.

The only thing fogging was the pinhole camera. Due to the left-over humidity from the wedded bed bliss. Someone had said Love was an Unique Energy field; previously unknown by anyone previously known as an annoying anonymous. The depths of the contours enfolded their bodies' skin against skin contact. Somehow struggling against the sheets that would confine or claim them. Like a Michelangelo sculpture of the prisoners enslaved forever in marble; these immortal soul proved victorious. Once winning the battle of the emphemeral vs the earthen vessel; the material world lost the battler as those embattled souls wrestled for more abundant life. Much was up for grabs, the stakes were high and the tomatoes were tasty.

Recalling the tug on the covers; feet slightly slipping, trying to hold onto something, anything for more than a while. As all these senses percolate, humming silently through these soft dreamworlds. Evocative of touching nubby pompoms, recounting those imprints left over years ago on rough nogahide. Touch being an end-unit; a sensory feeling of being. Thus
making the connection; a collection of contact with the Creator to which all tends to be a culmative thing.

In the heated sparks of the moment that is desire; flown with reckless abandon the flow is released. The last remenants of the captured energy field. Left only one highly energized blue star dormant waiting to pounce. That which had fed the lovers in the background then did hang dismally low on the horizon. Blue Star is ready to explode and catapult us into the next wave of Love energy field. Are you ready? So am I!

The full moon's esoteric energies claiming the remainder of the evening's pleasure.

As left-over static electricity heard the last zap zap in progression slowly diminished by the echo-chamber process. Replaced by those air-cleansing negative ions filters. Their love nest remain as it had appeared on a calmer day when their love had taken all during the last round. And after all was said and done, love always wins and love never dies; it just changes form. So where is that form now? In the centre of the blue star hanging over the lover's bed.

Their bodies, once radiated extreme energies, pumping, grinding, writhing to nothing, bone on bone, made mush or mushy. As soothing into this fold, the cool burgundy silk sheets which made the slip in the fabric of time. Those entwined like contorted prezels in this unusual electromagnetic pulse-like dance of neurons.

A purposefullness in this surrender; this letting-go. Sweet death my Love. Emily's "breathless bees" to forever circle overhead. Overhead at the centre of the Humanity's the next sequence; a sequel to the sequellae or the known universe's re-Creational activity unravelling tale. This heady spin producing heartfelt sighs on the last still night remembered. Recounting all the good times had by all. And heard within listening distance; still manifest upon the vanishing breeze. A hiccup or blip; found at last; the missing gap; it did not matter now.

As the g-men sprayed the g-spot; that special chemical formerly known as Viagara on Niagara; it was the spot for Lovers. And of the stained carpet, a handsome hand-held florescent black-light invisible man showed the exact place on earth where these good times had happened and with regularity like some cosmic clock on the timing when the love rang the door over and over again like a never-ending symphony.

And yes, where all was had until this that came along going this way, through the opening door to arrive at this portal gate it all did seem to accumulate or come about so suddenly, so unknowingly as we like rabbits succumbed to breathlessness; a sigh.

This unknown substance maybe left-over tachyon energy from time immemorial when mother cell first appeared. Now Appearing regularly with much frequency as to admit that after 50 no ones fades away they just dry up and go the way of the dingo. Quite evident now on the pricey berber carpeting. The after-glow; the field of love left on the material world transcended by float plane to the Heavenly realms in the Pleiades. Fait incomplete.

Once so easily dismissed now a missive. Holy and sacred love filled the gaps, the cavities left behind by missing time and spent bodily fluids. These fine residuals of Love remain behind; a will and testiment to the fufilling of dream-centred Love feelings of the entire Universe.

Now released these latent exotic energies accumulate on the peripherial grid. With each coupling reaching a maximal meridian. This flowing velvet night takes us to the farthest reaches of our Love. Let naked mind opens up to our cojoining energies on this rare atmosphere; our forever blogosphere.


Are you an unmade bed? Write about it! A poem, a story; whatever; and MAKE THAT BED!

Friday, July 23, 2010

Desert by Request: More To Come Later; Soon Enough; Wait Til Monday; Fireworks MontagneCCopalomine

What crow flies counter-clockwise
Don Juan?

Turquoise held to find
missing gaps in the energy field

Hopi's Dream Dancer Hoops and Whoops!
Shiny white teeth
illuninate his expansive eyes
Like deepest jet black ink
like Dark Fire
dont think
hewlett packard print out
come to mind
takes time
Groom Lake
my relatives?

Mayan Blue
Russet Potatoes
Here there are
Petuns to Saskachewan
Now in Kansas Spin
Can you imagine?
Iowa corn growers
Travelling Man

Wolf Bane
Full Moon Time
Lizards scatter
to gather The
and The Ravens to gather Eagles
Coursing Energies Now
Release the Solar Plexus'
All Those Amongst Us
silly strings gatherers to
One Star Pupil
Don Juan
and His Friend
Don Genero the funny one
The Night's Music of Romance Has Just Begun

in the beginning along with
Hasnt been a time that has come along
in a very long time

and then and yet
the sand-dialed number
Ringing forever
reaches epogee
Now WoW Moment Pivotal Nano Second
recalls the old man hair
always his hair and dark beary eyes
flowing white robes and hair
like angels hair float in the desert breeze
and brooks evoke these subtle energies
capturing magic like breathless bees

these energies abound in the desert
surface to air
air to surface
the ascension throne room
The Robed One sits
to Gather His place
Amongst the STars
The Pleiades
Cassopeia's Necklace
Her King Returned

brought some flowers
the other day
magic 8 disco ball
dance for the first time
make the lame dance walk float
the blind
see clear through to eternity

to make such Nav magic sand circles
healing stones
Sierra the sun stood still
and we gathered
the needed energies
the universe enfolds us
it is told

everyday phenomenal
even in the menial
to make our daily world
better with prayerful intent
of a Love that is Our Universe
Grace has Given Us
cactus says STAY focused
eyes rooted on the ground
as around you
unfocused energies abound
my ancient friend
the best is yet to come
Let go
Fly High
Star Fire Starter
Home Fires'
Watch and Keeper

Our Souls remember
Enter by the pearly gate
the endlessness
of our limitless twilight
our forever sunset


electric lightening!
Did you see that flash
baja banshee waving upon
the approach

Holy Hot Tamales
Bannock Bread and Maple Syrup Survivors
Voyageurs on the road to Shanghai
Spicy Old Yak
The Yaqui tried it!
Echoes from Tomoroows
Gong Show
Key of G
stored away
In Hiding
by the Nagual's
Magic sand vials
the first trial
in the comfort of our
earthen adobe
lights out
see the night
more clearly

Hit the lights
Eyes open wide
to the lights fantastic
Reaching to you
to touch you
through this screen
does seem possible
imagination is not impossible
txs 2 carlos


~~~Emily!~~~A Poem A Day!~~~"Distrustful of the Gentian" 20/1775

Distrustful of the Gentian —
And just to turn away,
The fluttering of her fringes
Child my perfidy —
Weary for my —————
I will singing go —
I shall not feel the sleet — then —
I shall not fear the snow.

Flees so the phantom meadow
Before the breathless Bee —
So bubble brooks in deserts
On Ears that dying lie —
Burn so the Evening Spires
To Eyes that Closing go —
Hangs so distant Heaven —
To a hand below.

Emily Dickinson

Dear Fans Of Emily: Please excuse my being able to post an Emily Dickinson insert yesterday but, for some reason, I was in a state of "Confusion" (see poem from On The Poetry Bus" and today (well yesterday) a new insert for a Mappie. Not to worry. Today is "ketchup" day!

In this beatuiful "Gentian" poem (you remember what a genetian is? It is a thorny plant with has beautiful flowers that produce an edible food product; capers. Yes I have had capers. Only once in Sault Ste Marie Inn. I thought they were a fish product like caviar originally. Why? Because I ate them with, I believe, a type of fish. My favourite eating fish is white fish or wild BC red salmon. I think they remind me of fishy chick peas. I guess they are high in protein. They were ok. I wasn't overtly impressed but went "ayh" so this is capers, huh. I can take or leave capers. As a substitute I much prefer chickpeas. Wonders if there are quality capers that will "knock yer Willie socks off". This is, too, indeterminable at this time. Nonetheless. Anyway on with the show! End of silly story. OOps that was another poem and another plant. Gentians have NOTHING whatsoever to do with capers. I messed up BIG TIME. "Sorry"! Back to the poem!

As I read through this AMAZING poem the first time I was immediately STRUCK by something rather odd. Emily appears to me to be using a reworked idiom to her benefit and creative parleyance. Here is the line that wholly WOWed me.

"Child my perfidy" should it be; "chide my profoundity"? I don't know this just hit me like a iron skillet full of capers!

Whatever literary device Emily employs wholly serves up an excellent poetry on a platter. I really enjoyed diving in to this gastronomic literary feast.

Now let's go step-by-step and read all that is in these perky worded verses;

Distrustful of the Gentian —
And just to turn away,
The fluttering of her fringes
Child my perfidy —
Weary for my —————
I will singing go —
I shall not feel the sleet — then —
I shall not fear the snow.

Emily the great gamester become the modern ages heavy gamers. Amazing. The "gamey" part of this verse is of course, the missing "word" let deliberately _______ Mel Blanc. Blank. Ok. You got got it! Now I am thinking it could be "friend or foe" but Emily did not want anyone to think (no, not even herself) that Sue could ever be considered a "foe" or "enemy" for not surrendering (maybe her physical presence here; to Emily). Emily has complicated the relationship which is indeed, a spiritual deep and enriched relationship we may not understand in it's complexity.).

What is that missing "word"? Let's read through again! I think it would be "weary for my "friend". I just think it could be "Sue" again. Emily does enjoy company! Especially her best friend "Sue".

Just like the Gentian plants' leaves turn or coil I believe upon the first indication of cooler fall weather, so does Emily's feelings turn hoping for her friend (perhaps Sue, most definitely Sue's swift return from some coastal summer playground).

Now why would she say "Distrustful of the gentian"? Emily would say this because she is distrustful of the "turn in the weather" just the same to Emily as "a turn in fair-weather friendship". Emily feels abandoned in this poem. It maybe a case of physically missing someone special's presence or it could be a tiff that the two have had, at this point I am not sure exactly, but I believe Sue will return.

"Perfidy" definition makes us aware that this poem is about "surrender". Please see definition below. Emily is almost saying an "aside" to Sue, calling her "Child". So it would read "Child, my surrender". I am certain Sue Gilbert-Dickinson would have known exactly what Emily meant here. Emily appears to be an obsessed fan of Sue's. I still believe (until proved otherwise; yes I'll read those essays)their relationship bespeaks of platonic love.

Indeed Emily will not fear "snow" or "sleet" (sounds like the US postal service) because....she is...SINGING! I think Sue and Emily had a duet. They must have made up songs and sung PROFUSELY! I can totally see this now! Wow! It is like a birds-eye camera Emily's poems, decipherable in all their emotional complexity! Simply amazing. I have something more amazing to tell you folks so please stay tuned

"Flees so the phantom meadow
Before the breathless Bee —
So bubble brooks in deserts
On Ears that dying lie —
Burn so the Evening Spires
To Eyes that Closing go —
Hangs so distant Heaven —
To a hand below!"

The next and last stanza of "Distrustful of the Gentian" is so beautiful! I can see why Emily is the consumate poet now! This is incredible!

"Phantom Meadow" the place in our minds which is covered with reality so often it is barely visited; like a ghost meadow of the mind. This image is phenomenal!

This ghost land has "breathless Bees". Have you ever heard of such a thing or imagined what a "breathless bee" would look like? Are they dead bees? Why not say "dead bees" because they are lifeless, maybe newly lifeless. Certain that Emily feels like a "breathless bee". She must have come upon one and decided to work it or weave it into her poem, being the ever-dutiful botanist; orithologist, bug doctor.

Emily does show much angst here. Death seems to get her goat or goad her coaxingly to the axis of annexed pain of the unknown. Seemingly, Emily conveys with great speed the immediacy of heaven and earth, spinning on our ear all our preformed images as she turns our thoughts to new VISIONS.

This stanza reminds me of a Salvador Dali painting with it's surrealistic imagery.
"Bubbling brooks in deserts" are not impossible, just not an image that most people have of deserts. When someone says deserts, if you've never been to one (I have not; only in my mind) than you know that you have a "stereo-typical image of the desert.

The imagery Emily conveys gives a richer, more meaningful emotion and full sensual experience to the images. She is capturing her imagination like a butterfly net (in this case a breathless bee net) and we are in AWE of the beingness of here works. Truly inspiring imagery. That is the art and the artist's domain to move the viewer, reader, etc to a fuller appreciation of experience than they had previous to the Emily Encounter. Ohoooohooo...Twilight Zone-ish? A bit! Emily certainly goes out on a phantom "limb" a place not many venture; she is, in my opinion, an amazing "sensitive". Wonders if she gifts of seeing or prophesy or premonitions; undoubtedly!

On deaf ears; emily turned this common idiom to "On ears that dying lie" giving a whole new context unearthed. To think that ears are dying to lie or that hear these "other worlds" of death and dying is like a John Edward-type of sensitive. I have to wonder Emily's is saying that the "bubbling brooks" in the desert are like ears that are dead people thus the "lie" or lying down or the lie of death; the great illusion since I believe Emily knows the soul once filled with the spirit, lives indeterminably in this non-dying of material world. Note in physics; matter does not cease to be or die, it just changes form. So to, Emily must realize this, somewhere in her Amberst College-trained mind.

Burn so the Evening Spires
To Eyes that Closing go —
Hangs so distant Heaven —
To a hand below!"

This poem is so good I am going to spend more time analysing it in more detail. This last 1/2 stanza; these last four lines speak volumes. The "Evening Spires" note the capitalization again, to allegorical figure in Emily's poetic device/design. I believe the "Evening Spires" are stars in the firmament. The night sky.

Stars being burning evening embers. Like a fire extinguished this contrast is nicely meted with the eyes closing (a dying person) and the stars "hang" in the desert like a screen unfolded or unfurled since time immemorial astronmers/astrologers gleaned the future from the stars. and Emily's hand catches these stars with her open hand. A dream/star catcher is Emily! However, she is her maudlin self, forever sad and wonton, brings forth such inspiring spires as her fine poetry! Amazing! Starry STarry night; did Emily have depression here? No, just a poetic sensibility that could give wide berth to such amazing potential of the potentiate.

Chiccoreal says; and much further inspiro from the spiral galaxy of our inspiration...dna spinning off these reams of gleamers. Of gentian fronds turn back to recoil; recall the time we share together; come away with me to another world close enough to touch..handing the universe out like a sheet in the wind gathering.our senses about us to awaken the breaching waves to surf-filled stars.

The Flaming InSpires; A Desert Evening Unfolds

Vast unwasteland
Desserted in the Desert
perifidy's Child
a new brand of old man
his white hair surfaces
fine-tuned and honing
pay attention to the 2nd coming!

for your home-fires Emily
Sue and you have not missed
abit from 1863
you're still here
sitting under the stars
I'm your biggest fan
flaming the fires
of ancient desires
opening truths
like a csn of sardines
packed in tight
like the stars tonight

Listen to the brook trout
away from ear-shot sound recoils
breathless as the bees
turning my feelings inside-out
Awaken to the dream
The magician's hand


Thursday, July 22, 2010

On The Confusing Poetry Bus: NIAMH!!!Where The Frigde Is It Now?

Confusion is a state of mind
a place never ever one has to find
frozen land in a stagnant time
all flakes made by ill design

Confusion never the intent
given reason we're never bent
win every battle score evermore
one big laugh evens the score

Confusion thought I'd break the mold
grab the tiger by the balls who let go
hold onto tomorrow before the windfalls
endless drone backstory never solid gold

Confusion one more wretched step in writhing pain
stewing too long in endless traffic back again lane
with wretched look "no compute" his ought naught fate
philosophy doesn't work here much, me sorry mate

Confusion blithering, blathering sort of mucked up
no sordid rattlin' we're all wiped out
like cakewalk teats up on the sidewalk
Cement says "all goin' down one more time" we're falked

Confusion reportedly transgressed the street
swirlin' trapeze artists on dope
seeming skunked by sink designers
Insych plays with the new old timers

Confusion Smokey playing Polker face
looking back in anger now it's way too late
in hindsight now 50 cent
this view bigger than life that is not

Confusion thought cats in the bag
brought many more along with our own
looking forward to lockdown or nothing
Kitty's Galore All Over Town!

Confusion where went the friggin summer
what a bummer, what a bummer
Look out for that badboy hammer
long overdue; it's time to come down

Confusion Time's Limpsy got no noodle I can tell
wet stocking feet dragging bout cold as hell
Got a Hole in one sock thought the schmuck
who's he kiddin'? is the other one for good luck?

Confusion is What knitwits do so well
did he have to always look forward to hell
Always so everyday priced what a ripped off
a pound of flesh for a sack of potatoes too tough

Confusion say Slam him back down man
dumb down the squelch riot
get up whipping poster boy
now your Squirmin' with the worms
and the rest of us

Confusion in The late night cafe
beat poet just quit the droning Rave
Endless Cripes all friggin' lost nothing to save
Ghetto Blaster The Biscuit had some fine style
Lording it over as King o' the Cookie Crap Pile

Confusion Blaring Aint that confusing enough sound
Back off man, I ain't backing down
aint I've already got enough
with one cold lonely foot
in the cold lonely grave?


hey you IS YOUR CONFUSION make your sapped your sappy? a littly Listless? Great out of your Confusion today and make way to On The Poetry Bus each week a new driver! And they know where there headed; and it could be right up your alley!!! In need of a reboot? If so please be our guest and why not(you say) try your gamey hand at this really wierd and freako comedyremedy called "On The Poetry Bus"...and guess what? You can do this you can DRIVE ON THE POETRY BUS too! Do watch out for the Confusion! It gets hectic in here! The Guest Double-Decker Driver and Concierge by Surgeo
The Originator of All Dis!


Wednesday, July 21, 2010

~~~Visual Arts COOL DOWN Wednesday~~~Joe Average and Graffiti Art

Joe Average

"This above mural is located at the south foot of Anderson Street at W. 4th Avenue, near Granville Island. The mural was painted by Larissa Healy (lead artist and Sauteaux native), Bill St-Jean (Coast Salish native from the Squamish Band), Corey Hunter (Haida native and Bill Reid's nephew) and Amie Milot. The mural is a Haidagwaii design depicting the raven"

Love this style of art...I once had a potato-sack bag given to me by my sister who had just taken their mgb midget out west on their honeymoon. It was an Eagle Haida. I love how the Haida paint the inside spirit of the creatures they paint, like a whale as well. The entire BC lifestyle is pretty laid back, Vancouver being the most popular and considered the best city to live in according to surveys. Joe Average grew up in BC born on Vancouver Island which is a pretty nice place to live. Temperate weather, art galleries, Victoria with it's Victorian ambiance.

I think it is the CP Hotel (another similar Hotel in Banff, on Lake Louise is the most incredible colour of blue (turquoise). The mountain goats and wild flowers. One day I want to take the train out there but not in the winter. The Kicking Horse Pass and the other Pass are amazing. I like the strong coffee that sells here. Nanaimo, BC makes really good Nanaimo bars; a little too sweet for my taste however. We shall have to go to Victoria and have a spot of tea on day. Duncan BC looked like a lovely place to live, and I was dreaming about an apple orchard there with an ancient house there. Pretty expensive however! One is allowed to dream!

"Rims" Graffiti Artist

I found out a little bit about the Graffitt Art culture. It is a street culture, of course sometimes (almost inevitably) gangbangers involved, but sometimes just the lone wolf artist. I feel I need to learn a lot more about this subject, and do know that "tag" art has to do with an artist who uses their name in an calligraphic/artistic way, almost marking their territory. There is much rivalry between graffitti artists and is a world wide phenomena. I couldn't believe the amount of available artist supplies. I was sort of turned off by the FCC's in the paint so I never got into it that much, like not at all. Although I remember "Dave Has Big Balls" underneath a bridge I passed each day. I think it is covered now. I remember of course, "Kilroy was here". Did anyone ever attribute this to an original "Kilroy" maybe the first Graffiti tag ever.

"Herezy" Graffiti Artist

This reminds me of the Flying Nun! I like this!

I have always thought Joe Average's art really cool, sort of like Peter Max. So I thought I post his work here for today's Visual Arts Wednesday. Joe is from Vancouver B.C. Yes, I am on the BC theme lately. There is some interesting mural art in Vancouver from the Haida,

Not sure of the copyright infringement of Grafitti art, however I am posting here anyway (hope no gangbers).

Some question the viability of Graffiti arts. Many famous artists started this way. Basquiat in NY and Joe Average in Vancouver who has a graffiti-like mural style and then the northwest native style mural art which I really enjoy. I think Graffiti Art can be grafted or drafted into the Visual ARts experience. There is a place for this stuff!