Thursday, August 19, 2010

~~~CHICCOREAL'S DRIVIN'!!!On The Poetry Bus~~~ HOLA!!!HOOKUP!!!NOW!!!~~~

From the obtuse desk of Chiccoreal:


IF you want a ticket you have to perform A TASK! AND NOT JUST ANY TASK!!!A task which may be interesting. Would you please write a poem for a free ticket TODAY?

On The Poetry Bus by including ONE of TWO possible tasks. Here they are;



2. Write a poem about the first song that POPS INTO YOUR HEAD IN THE MORNING. It could be your favourite song, or your least favourite song, or a song that keeps replaying over and over again in the breadbox. This is called an all-day EARWORM and you need to find a good dewormer. It is music in the making and over ripe for writing a poem about.

you may choose;

3. Something off the top of your head, I wont complain a bit. What ever turns your crank, makes your toast pop, gives zing to your zang. I dont feekin care (well maybe feekin might, if Paedar sees this he'll flip me the finger.). Ne'er you mind. Do your own thing, man!

And Remember:

AND don't grouse
All over the house
Or treat Your missus by yawnin'
You'll find it worth your while
To Give Her a Smile
When Gettin' Up in the Mornin'

Anonymous (unless you know who wrote this all time kitch art fav poem)

All On the Poetry Buses Passengers! Because this is an OLD BUS, I am afraid the Linky thingy is not invented as yet!


~~~Magpie#28~~~The Day of Sol-i-Mi-Oh~~~Dedicated To The Sparkling and Glowing Willow!!!

She languished in the luxury
Her bath her ardent desire
as heart covered in foamy jets of suds
As her Greek god poured forth nectar sweet

She Glistened with moist ambient energies
her radiance shone like stars through the cosmos
little drops of dew kissed her innoncent forehead
sparks flying fire alighting her ancient desire

Her langour inclined and propped now
His presence felt her mounted feet upon the tiled wall
to receive his waiting gift of aloes
as cupid drew the bath

She knew no other craving like this
His magic power of intent melded her resolve
every hollow in her being overflowed with heaven's opening
This secret chamber of bath and beyond all earthly bliss

upon her forehead like an unguent oil
His words drawn upon her soul
This vessel full of Love
She surrendered Cupid Languid tongue

Oh Sole Mio by the greats! video by Plácido Domingo, Luciano Pavarotti, José Carreras, Orchestra del Teatro dell'Opera di Roma, Orchestra del Maggio Musicale Fiorentino, Zubin Mehta performing O Sole Mio. (C) 1990 Decca Music Group Limited

Sunday, August 15, 2010

~~~EMILY!!!Poem-A-Day~~~"Adrift! A little boat adrift!" 30/1175

Adrift! A little boat adrift!
And night is coming down!
Will no one guide a little boat
Unto the nearest town?

So Sailors say — on yesterday —
Just as the dusk was brown
One little boat gave up its strife
And gurgled down and down.

So angels say — on yesterday —
Just as the dawn was red
One little boat — o'erspent with gales —
Retrimmed its masts — redecked its sails —
And shot — exultant on!

Poetry by Emily Dickinson

Dear Patient friends of Emily A Day Poetry analysis and creative (hopefully!) much deep and meaningful enjoyment!

Today's poem is in the topic of the nautical theme of crossing over the river Styx to get to the far shore to eternal life. The Greek myth motif mixed with Christian themes seem to be a constant source of inspiration for Emily Dickinson.

Adrift! A little boat adrift!
And night is coming down!
Will no one guide a little boat
Unto the nearest town?

In the first stanza Emily is discussing a little boat which is lost seemingly adrift. And there is a storm coming "night is coming down" and no one to "guide" the little boat. The little boat being an analogy to the human soul once departed trying to find the narrow gate to heaven. No one to guide the boat to the nearest town, which is an analogous to the pearly gates of heaven.

So Sailors say — on yesterday —
Just as the dusk was brown
One little boat gave up its strife
And gurgled down and down.

So yesterday sailors noted a "little boat" give up its "strife" or life and succumb to the ocean to be "gurgled down and down" maybe to the other way, not towards the glory of the dusk sunset. Yesterday when the soul was alive and not transmuted to pure spirit through death, dying, and transforming or transfiguring to Spirit.

So angels say — on yesterday —
Just as the dawn was red
One little boat — o'erspent with gales —
Retrimmed its masts — redecked its sails —
And shot — exultant on!

Now in the last stanza there are angels instead of sailors yet it is still yesterday, so the living with the spirit angels. Emily is telling us that angels live amongst us while we live, just as the sailors also live. The analogy to angels and sailors is interesting here. Maybe Emily means that we are being guided by those who "entertain angels unawares" (Bible).

The living sailors replaced with the spiritual counterparts, angels of infinity. The dawn of one's life is an analogy for being alive while the sunset is an analogy to death and dying. The dawn is red, as is the dusk, the repeating patterns are the same just as birth and death although opposite are very similar in the opposite ends of beginning from end being tied together in the middle.

As always, another red imagery in the dusk and dawn which is always employed by Miss Emily. As she does use red in pertetuity by Ms Emily! Emily obviously loves the drama of red, crimson, basically anything red, be it leaves or scarves, etc. as noted in her previous poems.

Red could be representing the precious blood of Jesus, and indeed a colour with great metaphysical and spiritual meaning for this ethereal Transdentalist. (not sure if Emily is studying Transcendalism at this time, however, here symbols do have the same images as the Transcendalist school I believe. It will be interesting to note the connections here as we progress.)

So when the boat "retrimmed its mast and redected its sails" because of the gales of life trying to drown the boat or mortal soul (all analogy here folks). As well we realize that Emily is really talking about how a sinner can clean up his/her act and progress to heaven (after saying the sinner's prayer perhaps?). Heaven, which seems to be only entered at dusk or dawn for Ms Emily. That hour of our death; the sunset.
And "shot - exultant on!" as the little boat clearly sails right through to eternity. Those narrow gates being open for a brief setting moment of splendour and glory. A smart poem, very brilliant as usual Miss Emily!!_A_little_boat_adrift!

Chiccoreal's take on "Adrift a little boat adrift!"

Small boat is drifting
drifting away
haplessly lost
without direction
as the final curtain calls
the red encroaching sunset
gales whipped up to swallow
the small soul tolls await
the small boat life begins
at sunset
the small life boat bobs aimlessly
as we like boats adrift
Wait to for the Capn
to come aboard this
soon to be night
with intent and purpose
by retrim of mast
by redeck of sail
Onward Sunset Soldier
Shoot through to Skyward Ho!


~~~OTPBus~~~As The 52 Canoe Lay

Welcome to On The Poetry Bus! Yes Paeder aka Totalbleepin'(you know the rest!). I really think that Paedy was trying the long shot on this one. I'm not goin' on that blinkin' ferris wheel, I dont care how drunk Paedy gets me or if he says "Watch me pee from the top!" Forget it. Somethings just aint worth the risk Peady. Paedy? Yep he's peeing again! Paedy get down from there right this instant. What do you do with boys like Paedy? Really!

As the 52 canoe lay
on the banks those who choose to sweat
those lazy hazy dead daisies
caught just in time brown sepia

Groan Grunt Heave Ho Groan Grunt Heave Ho
Stirring up the mighty rusty
The Water looks like pea pea soup
accompanied by fine brinish wine

Sweat from the Oarsman mark my words
pincante blue cheese in Hollandaise
nade going faster power roar
Breeze of splashing wave from them thar

Now we're being pulled over by Bobby
Looking rather spiffy an ad
What's this then he demands answer
Nothing Officer but stinky cheese

Go ahead then we heard him croon
looked back let go and smiled
All on a lovely Summer day
Life Couldnt be better weather


Want to get really messed up? go here and dont say I didnt warn ya!

Saturday, August 14, 2010

~~Magpie#27~~~Knock Three Times On Da Pipes For Da Plumba

like a pipe-line to the heart
direct route don't stop
as multi-directional you may be
there aint nothin a pipe aint seen
so says the plumber that live next door
Three knocks on the pipe away!


And from the anoles of history; a mighty fine plumbing dictionary which proves to make an excellent summer plum of a plumb dang good love story without having to say I'm sorry I flushed the toidy when you were toying with the Back flow preventer. Thanks to Willow an excellent lesson, I'm all filled up in my blowbag so I'll shutup now. Love each week's Magpie-ing which never crimps my style or solders me silly whilst I melt my leaded ballcock with my Anode Rod! This sounds Freudian! Well at least I know I truly am of service and will have a lot a work ahead of me! A tenth career!

It was Anode Rod: Who was merely
A sacrificial rod installed in a water heater) by the bed

Her arched Back Pressure was enough to accomodate his
(Pressure that resists the flow of fluid in a piping system.)

Back Flow Preventer:
A device to prevent water from traveling from one system back into any part of the main distribution system

The fill valve that controls the flow of water from the water supply line into a gravity-operated toilet tank.

A drain-cleaning device consisting of a rubber bladder with a hose fitting on one end and a nozzle on the other.

Vent pipe hood, which protects it from the elements.

Female Fitting:
A fitting that receives a pipe or fitting.Hubless (No-Hub):
Cast iron drainage pipe with neoprene gaskets and clamps.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

~~~Theme Thursday~~~The Palm Tree Mini-Vacation

Palm Tree Mental Vacation

There Where
Hocus Pocus
Focus attention
Lush Tropical Fruit
Underneath those amazing
Serrated Palm Leaves
rocking gently
coconuts ripen slowly
there green juice
Anti-aging Elixir
The Fountain of Youth
As Forever
Relaxes on
Cool Beaches and
Calm Ocean Breezes

There On
Large wooden trunk anchored
in the sands
to Paradise by the Bay
so far away
only an imagination away
one sleep away
mesmerized today

Here They are
Coconut Pie In The Sky
Mighty and Glamourous
Dream Machine Meaning
blowing in the breeze
images of bentback
Hurricane Palm Trees
Take it
or leaf it

There Where They Are
Close enough to be touched
closer than a breath
snap! dreamin' only!
A fluttering silver palm tree
etched against sand and sea
Palm Trees I have seen
for many years
frame by frame
deeper than
REM sleep mysteries
Psychic Palmistry!

Then When the
Travelog Poster
quick! grab one!
on the corner
of my mind
there is a
treasure trove
a garden of lite up
Coconut Grove Gardens
of monkeylike magic
at my ready fingertips

Here Where
You try to stay
when caught in a dream
climb ever so high
hold me tight this fancy flight
before you scuttle any plans
and low to the ground
a rumble of my stomach
and much hope for the future
Coconuts for lunch!

There Where you be
in the Palm tree breeze
as the westerlies blow
this way and that
through the dream trees
fly away far away
up to the treetop
underneath the leaves
a lovely nest
seemingly so innocuous
as to be benign
the feathersoft touch
silky palm tree done in silver
don't leave
just leaf

When Then
is the Vacation Over?
not until they've all fallen
and awaken
far too often all fall down
and sleep it off
every now and then they stay
as the
that never could
why this happens
when this happens
I do not recount
no pattern of coconuts
were ever left
to find
except the Palm Tree
Wall Paper unravelling
on the walls
in your room
Where They never were
really and the
coconuts never really fall
to the ground
because they dont exist
except on the island
of Palm Trees
to get there
by the way of my sleepy head

jj Harry Nillson Put the Lime in the Coconut

~~~Emily Dickinson~~~Poem-A-Day~~~"If those I loved were lost",

Version 1
If those I loved were lost,
the crier's voice would tell me -
If those I loved were found,
the bells of Ghent would ring,

Did those I loved repose,
the Daisy would impel me -
Philip when bewildered -
bore his riddle in -

[edit] Version 2
If those I loved were lost
The Crier's voice w'd tell me -
If those I loved were found
The bells of Ghent w'd ring -
Did those I loved repose
The Daisy would impel me.
Philip - when bewildered
Bore his riddle in!

[edit] Version 3
If those I loved were lost
The Crier's voice would tell me —
If those I loved were found
The bells of Ghent would ring —

Did those I loved repose
The Daisy would impel me.
Philip — when bewildered
Bore his riddle in!

by Emily Dickinson

Dear Friends of Emily! Today's poem is frought with allergory, or should I say, "flowered" with allegorical atypical Dicksonian lexicon. Needless to say it did take a trip down discovery lane on Wikipedia to find out just what, exactly, is Emily referring to with "The Daisy", "The Crier", "Philip" and "The Bells of Ghent".

My research to date has only given me "The Belfry of Ghent" and it is a huge tower as illustrated above built in 1333. Strange tales abode with this bell tower! Many strange tales too strange to tell really, and one rather shocking as you will read on the last insert from Wikipedia below!

Perhaps Emily Dickinison is inspired by "Henry Wadsworth Longfellow" referred to Roland in one of his poems:

"Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand,
I am Roland! I am Roland! there is victory in the land!"HWL

If Emily is referring to herself as "The Daisy" in her poem here ("If those I loved were lost").I have found a short story called "The Daisy" by Hans Christian Andersen which I believe may be the reference to The Daisy (of course!). Emily is referring to the "lost" as those not found in the "sinner prayer" or who have not found Jesus Christ or God known as Yahweh, or Jevowah and are not saved.And so was HCA in The Daisy! Without sounding like I am proseltzing, which I am not since I am trying to discover Emily's Point of View or WWED(What Would Emily Do?) or WWES(What Would Emily Say?) or WWEM (What Would Emily Mean?) in reference to the new slogan WWJD (What Would Jesus Do?). To understand Emily's poem, beside our own subjective and blissful transcendental experience, we must understand Emily as the poet/artist's Point-of-View (POV) and understand her existence back then in the late 1800's and understand her mileu, her Victorian age, her religious attitude, her academic discoveries from her training at Amherst College, in Amherst MA.

In the first stanza's four lines;

If those I loved were lost,
the crier's voice would tell me -
If those I loved were found,
the bells of Ghent would ring,

Back in the day, and returned to many cities everywhere is the Town Crier. The Town Crier yells the news on the street corner. Good and bad news. Usually. If Emily felt that if her "loved" ones were "lost" to Christ or going the way of Satan she would want to discuss it, how important it would be to save them and then "the bells of Ghent (Belgium) would ring.

This Belfry of Ghent is historic and discussed by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, a poetic inspiration to Emily in many ways similar to Emily, a contemporary who lived in Maine on the Eastern seaboard coast of the USA. Longfellow was a professor at Harvard and retired in Cambridge, MA. Emily must have had more than an affinity to this wonderful poet/professor.

"He became the most popular American poet of his day and also had success overseas. He has been criticized, however, for imitating European styles and writing specifically for the masses"

The next stanza, I must admit, totally confuses me. As I am not sure the reference to "Philip". Maybe the Biblical Philip, so I will go with that, maybe someone close to Emily named Philip as well, and I will check those references as well.

"Did those I loved repose,
the Daisy would impel me -
Philip when bewildered -
bore his riddle in -"

However, I have just had an ephithany! The last poem about the daisy, how the daisy died in the field barely noticed, well those she "loved repose" are dead too. And The Daisy reminds her of her mortality and to turn to the Bible for the answer which she finds in the Apostle Philip, Jesus' brother "bore his riddle in "Christ". The riddle being "bore his cross in Christ. This is how I believe Emily wanted this poem to be understood, although I still must do some more research on the exact meaning and reference to Apostle Philip in the Bible and where in particular, this poem would reference which particle event in Philip's life. Maybe just to spread The good news of Kingdom come? I'll have to get back on this!

Construction of the tower began in 1313 to the design of master mason Jan van Haelst, whose plans are still preserved in a museum. After continuing intermittently through wars, plagues and political turmoil, the work reached completion in 1380. It was near the end of this period that the gilded dragon, brought from Bruges,[1] assumed its place atop the tower. The uppermost parts of the building have been rebuilt several times, in part to accommodate the growing number of bells.

The primary bell in the tower, Roland, was the one used by citizens to warn of an enemy approaching or a battle won.[1] "Roland has become almost a person to the people of Belgium. He is a patriot, a hero, a leader in all rebellion against unrighteous authority."[1] Upon conquering Belgium, Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor ordered the removal of Roland. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow referred to Roland in one of his poems:

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and dike of sand,
I am Roland! I am Roland! there is victory in the land!

The belfry of Ghent, together with its attached buildings, belongs to the set of belfries of Belgium and France inscribed on UNESCO's World Heritage List.A small annex dating from 1741, called the Mammelokker, served as the entrance and guard's quarters of the city jail that occupied part of the old cloth hall from 1742 to 1902. The name refers to the sculpture of Roman Charity poised high above the front doorway. It depicts the Roman legend of a prisoner, Cimon, who is sentenced to death by starvation, but survives and ultimately gains his freedom thanks to his daughter Pero, a wet nurse who secretly breastfeeds him during her visits.

The Daisy
Hans Christian Andersen
OW listen! In the country, close by the high road, stood a farmhouse; perhaps you have passed by and seen it yourself. There was a little flower garden with painted wooden palings in front of it; close by was a ditch, on its fresh green bank grew a little daisy; the sun shone as warmly and brightly upon it as on the magnificent garden flowers, and therefore it thrived well. One morning it had quite opened, and its little snow-white petals stood round the yellow centre, like the rays of the sun. It did not mind that nobody saw it in the grass, and that it was a poor despised flower; on the contrary, it was quite happy, and turned towards the sun, looking upward and listening to the song of the lark high up in the air.

The little daisy was as happy as if the day had been a great holiday, but it was only Monday. All the children were at school, and while they were sitting on the forms and learning their lessons, it sat on its thin green stalk and learnt from the sun and from its surroundings how kind God is, and it rejoiced that the song of the little lark expressed so sweetly and distinctly its own feelings. With a sort of reverence the daisy looked up to the bird that could fly and sing, but it did not feel envious. “I can see and hear,” it thought; “the sun shines upon me, and the forest kisses me. How rich I am!”

In the garden close by grew many large and magnificent flowers, and, strange to say, the less fragrance they had the haughtier and prouder they were. The peonies puffed themselves up in order to be larger than the roses, but size is not everything! The tulips had the finest colours, and they knew it well, too, for they were standing bolt upright like candles, that one might see them the better. In their pride they did not see the little daisy, which looked over to them and thought, “How rich and beautiful they are! I am sure the pretty bird will fly down and call upon them. Thank God, that I stand so near and can at least see all the splendour.” And while the daisy was still thinking, the lark came flying down, crying “Tweet,” but not to the peonies and tulips—no, into the grass to the poor daisy. Its joy was so great that it did not know what to think. The little bird hopped round it and sang, “How beautifully soft the grass is, and what a lovely little flower with its golden heart and silver dress is growing here.” The yellow centre in the daisy did indeed look like gold, while the little petals shone as brightly as silver.

How happy the daisy was! No one has the least idea. The bird kissed it with its beak, sang to it, and then rose again up to the blue sky. It was certainly more than a quarter of an hour before the daisy recovered its senses. Half ashamed, yet glad at heart, it looked over to the other flowers in the garden; surely they had witnessed its pleasure and the honour that had been done to it; they understood its joy. But the tulips stood more stiffly than ever, their faces were pointed and red, because they were vexed. The peonies were sulky; it was well that they could not speak, otherwise they would have given the daisy a good lecture. The little flower could very well see that they were ill at ease, and pitied them sincerely.

Shortly after this a girl came into the garden, with a large sharp knife. She went to the tulips and began cutting them off, one after another. “Ugh!” sighed the daisy, “that is terrible; now they are done for.”

The girl carried the tulips away. The daisy was glad that it was outside, and only a small flower—it felt very grateful. At sunset it folded its petals, and fell asleep, and dreamt all night of the sun and the little bird.

On the following morning, when the flower once more stretched forth its tender petals, like little arms, towards the air and light, the daisy recognised the bird’s voice, but what it sang sounded so sad. Indeed the poor bird had good reason to be sad, for it had been caught and put into a cage close by the open window. It sang of the happy days when it could merrily fly about, of fresh green corn in the fields, and of the time when it could soar almost up to the clouds. The poor lark was most unhappy as a prisoner in a cage. The little daisy would have liked so much to help it, but what could be done? Indeed, that was very difficult for such a small flower to find out. It entirely forgot how beautiful everything around it was, how warmly the sun was shining, and how splendidly white its own petals were. It could only think of the poor captive bird, for which it could do nothing. Then two little boys came out of the garden; one of them had a large sharp knife, like that with which the girl had cut the tulips. They came straight towards the little daisy, which could not understand what they wanted.

“Here is a fine piece of turf for the lark,” said one of the boys, and began to cut out a square round the daisy, so that it remained in the centre of the grass.

“Pluck the flower off” said the other boy, and the daisy trembled for fear, for to be pulled off meant death to it; and it wished so much to live, as it was to go with the square of turf into the poor captive lark’s cage.

“No let it stay,” said the other boy, “it looks so pretty.”

And so it stayed, and was brought into the lark’s cage. The poor bird was lamenting its lost liberty, and beating its wings against the wires; and the little daisy could not speak or utter a consoling word, much as it would have liked to do so. So the forenoon passed.

“I have no water,” said the captive lark, “they have all gone out, and forgotten to give me anything to drink. My throat is dry and burning. I feel as if I had fire and ice within me, and the air is so oppressive. Alas! I must die, and part with the warm sunshine, the fresh green meadows, and all the beauty that God has created.” And it thrust its beak into the piece of grass, to refresh itself a little. Then it noticed the little daisy, and nodded to it, and kissed it with its beak and said: “You must also fade in here, poor little flower. You and the piece of grass are all they have given me in exchange for the whole world, which I enjoyed outside. Each little blade of grass shall be a green tree for me, each of your white petals a fragrant flower. Alas! you only remind me of what I have lost.”

“I wish I could console the poor lark,” thought the daisy. It could not move one of its leaves, but the fragrance of its delicate petals streamed forth, and was much stronger than such flowers usually have: the bird noticed it, although it was dying with thirst, and in its pain tore up the green blades of grass, but did not touch the flower.

The evening came, and nobody appeared to bring the poor bird a drop of water; it opened its beautiful wings, and fluttered about in its anguish; a faint and mournful “Tweet, tweet,” was all it could utter, then it bent its little head towards the flower, and its heart broke for want and longing. The flower could not, as on the previous evening, fold up its petals and sleep; it dropped sorrowfully. The boys only came the next morning; when they saw the dead bird, they began to cry bitterly, dug a nice grave for it, and adorned it with flowers. The bird’s body was placed in a pretty red box; they wished to bury it with royal honours. While it was alive and sang they forgot it, and let it suffer want in the cage; now, they cried over it and covered it with flowers. The piece of turf, with the little daisy in it, was thrown out on the dusty highway. Nobody thought of the flower which had felt so much for the bird and had so greatly desired to comfort it.
Copyright © Zvi Har’El
$Date: 2007/12/13 20:45:27 $

[show]Rembrandt (1606–1669)

Alternative names Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn
Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn
Description Dutch painter, printmaker and draughtsman
Date of birth/death 15 July 1606(1606-07-15) 4 October 1669(1669-10-04)
Location of birth/death Leiden Amsterdam
Work period from 1625(1625) until 1669(1669)
Work location Leiden, Amsterdam

Title The baptism of the eunuch.
Year 1626(1626)
Technique Oil on panel
Dimensions 64 × 47.5 cm (25.20 × 18.70 in)
Current location Museum Catharijneconvent Utrecht
Notes Signed and dated bottom right: RH 1626


ca. 1900(1900): bought in Utrecht by a private collector
Date unknown: inherited by his granddaughter
1976(1976): bought by the Aartsbisschoppelijk Museum (since 1979 Museum Catharijneconvent), Utrecht

Source postcard
ID Inventory number: RMCC s380


The Daisy

We know the reference now
To Ms Emily's wonder-full
Verse so Fine
And the Lost Found
Now are Found
Because of Martyr'd Saints
Like Philip the Evangelist
with his 4 daughters
Preached on the Cross
While he was dying
He never gave up hope
for the lost
like us
Did Emily or me!
We Are Found!

Sinner's Prayer! (to be found and not lost!)

Heavenly Father, I know that I have sinned against you and that my sins separate me from you. I am truly sorry. I now want to turn away from my sinful past and turn to you for forgiveness. Please forgive me, and help me avoid sinning again. I believe that your Son, Jesus Christ, died for my sins, that He was raised from the dead, is alive, and hears my prayer. I invite Jesus to become my Savior and the Lord of my life, to rule and reign in my heart from this day forward. Please send your Holy Spirit to help me obey You and to convict me when I sin. I pledge to grow in grace and knowledge of you. My greatest purpose in life is to follow your example and do Your will for the rest of my life. In Jesus' name I pray, Amen.[2]

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

~~~Emily Dickinson Poem-A-Day "So has a Daisy vanished" 28/1775

Version 1
So has a Daisy vanished
From the fields today -
So tiptoed many a slipper
To Paradise away -
Oozed so, in crimson bubbles
Day's departing tide -
Blooming - tripping - flowing -
Are ye then with God?

[edit] Version 2
So has a Daisy vanished
From the fields today —
So tiptoed many a slipper
To Paradise away —

Oozed so in crimson bubbles
Day's departing tide —
Blooming — tripping — flowing
Are ye then with God

Good morning fans of Emily Dickinson! Today I have prepondered this poem's two versions. In "So Has A Daisy Vanished" Emily is philosophizing metaphysically upon a daisy's death.

As fact like as a daisy dies within our view of a field or field of view. We are alive and yet within our view is all this death and dying. But it is part of nature even though we cannot always accept in our minds this kind of thought.

So has a Daisy vanished
From the fields today -
So tiptoed many a slipper
To Paradise away -
Oozed so, in crimson bubbles
Day's departing tide -
Blooming - tripping - flowing -
Are ye then with God?

The poem is not long, only having 8 small lines, yet there is so much passing through this poem, so much vision, that it is much larger than it's appearance. It is "oozing" consciousness.

"So tiptoed many a slipper" is Emily referring to a lady's slipper flower? Or is Emily discussing every human being or every living thing? A flower or a person, or both, deliberately considered? Such simplicity, yet such depth!

So we all go to "Paradise away", as our blood "oozed so" in these "crimson bubbles" or life which is viewed upon the surface of the ocean at sunset. Emily may have viewed this image, caught her eye and she wanted to write about it, and wrote a poem.

The "Day's departing tide" can refer to life itself as it is "blooming", "tripping" and "flowing" all very alive going to a place like the daisy soon to be removed from the alive "field".

Emily's perrenial question we all ask ourselves "are we right with God" or as Emily says "Are ye then with God" the way someone in the 1800's would have asked the same question.

Truly a remarkable poem, with much philosophic pondering and enlightened vision of the natural world as it pertains to the here and now living in the world, alive, only an ocean away from eternity and what secrets will be revealed then, when we have "crossed over" from the otherside of life.

Chiccoreal's back! To make a Take; an understanding of "So Has A Daisy Vanished"
(sung to "I'll Give You a Daisy A Day Dear")

Life is Like A Bubbling Ocean
Clean tide at dusk
waiting to take us
like the daisy of the field
as well all will
to know
that one day
young or old
one day
our flowing tide
of Life!
will go
back to
our Maker!
return via
the circle route
sooner or later
be prayed up with
light rays of Love
Be Right With God
Your Maker
Whomever that May Be
To You
To Emily
It Definitely Was God
her time in
her Poetic Visions
and Philosophic
Of Deep Understanding
How You Love Red
How You Love to Tiptoe
How You Love Life!
And Of All This
That Is
And Is not
And Of All That we can actually
Even though
We do not as yet Fully GRasp
This Something Called Life
In All Her Majesty
Something we cannot ever
Hold Unto
WE cannot grasp
the ESSENCE of LIfe
and ABSENCE of Death
Until that time
As we know
all our prayers
all your prayers
cover the multitudes
of multi-tides
Until that day comes
and my daisy dies
We're all going Home
One day soon
We are Resplendent
Made Complete
When we are Completed!


image courtesy of free google images;


Saturday, August 7, 2010

~~~Magpie 26~~~"The dog-gone dog-earred days of summer"

The dog-gone dog-earred days of summer
too hot to read a book
swat a fly
catch some zee's(zeed's in Canada!hint: Canadians say Zeed not Zee!)
Sweltering now
never surrendering ever
beach bum bleach of impenetratable heat
burns skin so raw so crow raw red
freckles and pickles to follow
as sun bears down like a hammer
As the doldrums has not winded down
anytime soon and clocks hum rather than tick
in a sychronizatized tinnitis-like cicadas in polyphonic drone
reminding one of time and how long it took to make the loam
come back home from it's coccooning state under Lake Nippising
Red motif palm trees heat up the day on Bermuda shorts
Heats the Psyche to with go with everything hot like a religion
in the triangle area
sizzles hot penetrations of aloe vera (usually Noxema in the 60's)
to allay
to delay
to put-off at the putt putt the burn when you ouch
that peel which would pass the time seeing how
large a patch would be left of my dead snake skin
to play a game like Clue with a real rope and pewter
pieces smelling of ancient summers with Colonel Mustard
in the Drawing Room where the sun don't shine
drawn and shuttered in like heat is deadly
it can be
there seeing some boys eat their sunburned skin
as if they felt that gave them bragging rights
made me heave boys why are boys so like that
as so
slowly going like backwards in time
counterclock spin of the summer sun
keeping summer forever as a wish made in heaven
but wise to know how defying time itself
makes one live forever too
as passing cars to the cottage sound like locked in forever
in this swish swish of recall time
as only noticing the grass grow silently
watching the grass grow back when in the
back 40
or the unwanted hair growing precipitously
As the hazy ripple of a mirage
out of nowhere pops into view
as row on row bikini'd beach dwellers dwell
like immortal sun gods
past the bumper to bumper
Traffic in Toronto is Terrific
as to have stored energy in the tarmac of time
single engines planes of existence must float too
as time and heat gather to make everything go slow
to backward to recall those fun times
like a glitch a witch made one day for a stitch
groans like an all-day A/C left on electrical over-load
we only had fans to cool us down
or take a hike
or walk in the woods
or jump in the lake
stuns the status non-Einsteinean brains into this way
Genius for a Day!
of not thinking just being one breath away from feeling faint to
barely existing
and sweat in all the wrong places
as this melt-down of particle decay
in this unwanted but always expected
Bow Wow Bowser of a Summer 2010!!!
(remember Bowser from Sha Na Na?)

Midsummer Sweltering Sweat
caught in my Halter Top once wore now sworn
off String Bikinis and
purple speedos teenagers
on the beach of way back then
cruisin' The Bend or doin' the Bend not quite the same
Hoping to cool down to Rollerskate to Brown Sugar
glistening like Hawaiian Tropics in Cancer
dumbed-down we submit our earliest submissions
prostate and praying for a wiff of a breeze
a cool down from the cooler that is soon to be
another melted down casualty
and the coconut-smelling cuties walking by
Radio's blaring, french fries smelling
you've just got to "do the Bend" at least
one time round when
you can
can you?

The beach who's sand is too hot to touch
burning the bottom of unsandalled feet in 2.5 seconds
on the 1/4 mile strip of lava rock walkers
So too the dogs look more like me as shaken
A whole lot of shakin' goin' on!
nothing left to shake but what's left is fine
as those dogs of summer with their
limp wet fur rags with sandy spread between toes
and oh how they love to roll
in dead seagulls reeking dead fish
sandflies coverage and sticky everything beside
dirty all day draggy diapers at the beach
and my baby's dirty face from the day at the beach
once free floating from their water weight gain
only on fur
they should try carrying this weight around all the time
at least til I get back to the cottage for a snack
they cake you with a gift as a pleasant present
as the four-legged thought you'd like
on your birthday that waterlogged sand bath
as rippled sand from the bottom of the sandbar
under feet only a few feet the sandbars go on and on
seemingly well almost forever too and then so
warm like someone just had a hot spot
but it really gets like soupy hot water because of the heat
the only lake in Canada that get like bathwater
the lake is now hotter than the black dog fur
we've just played tag
with the Beach ball that blew out from shore
"Im not getting that!"
watch out
boy with squirt gun grins
"got cha!"
as you turned to run
back to get that long lost ball
which turns into the next game
beach volley ball in the water
blurp blurp, water up my nose!
diving driving dolphin like game
and rubberized smelling plaid air mattress
as I must have fallen asleep
Hold on! The water's cold now
I'm out to far! Hold on!!!
it's ok I'll just paddle back to shore
Phew even though I'm
all petered out not even the latent-most energy left
and feet dangling over the side of the air-mattress
mimic kicking I dont care if I ever get back
undulate into the canvas'd hammock of the rented
cedar-smelling cottage of the Reynold's
a dream cottage really in my mind now only
and so by the Bay as to fall in
and so I
wait under the shade of the ol' pine tree
hoping beyond hope
you'd wait for me
that this two oclock oven on roast will stop
Everything moist from happening
yet this drenching humidity hangs
it's sombrero hat on my world today
loose, flopping, flatlined
like a dead dog's tongue hangs
out of my dry empty mouth I search for water
maybe the snow we melted from winter
to drink as the birds to weak to peep
siesta for the rest of the day in the treetops
and I'm too lethargic to eat or do much else
to hot to sleep!
but suck on a mr freezie or a
popsicle of Red White and Blue
chocolate always a favourite
and dream of you
my friend I'm going to invite you
to the cottage and give you a treat
maybe whatever you want I'm having a
Cremesicle dream today
or a Jet(which I only have in my mind now; they don't make those anymore)
Eskimo Pie (good mix of chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream) or
swig back a Tahitian Treat or Mountain Dew or some other sticky drink
Hoping it'd be a Margarita version of the same next year and I did yes we did
and then when I got older I could without stearn look when I'd grab a rye and coke
with crushed ice to quench my thirst.
water I should have water; glacial ice water!
as an older version of self just the same
to feel it's time to take a trip to the corner store
and buy a 25 cent Archie comic book or graperoo gum
25 cents a day I could live!Shopkeeper always new my schedule!
but it's not time yet as the sweat keeps me pasted like silly glue
which isnt so silly when it's stuck on you!
Sweat drips from every pour and on you slide down the waterslide
and sit you wet self on the
massive executive now kind of stucky chair but you wouldnt care
if it made a pass at you unless it was a 2500 watt fan
that took the beaded pearls of salted crystaline-form liquid dna
that umbrous fluid retention that makes me
feel like Jabba the Hut on a saltine diet in this heat
sand in the crackers not a pretty sight or crunchy when eaten
better than nothing
when's dinner?
Or Graham Greene's wife in some southern clime novel
I'll never drown! Like a whale today I'd be like a boat
and do the
bloat float and I'd still be alive could float all day!
to save your skinny soul I'd teach you to float too!
if it hadn't been for the incessant heat
and the melted sticky soft ice cream cone
melted all to hell
that does a Country Playhouse summer rendition
returning yearly for your pleasure as Bobby Melrose
Summer Stock Theatre of the Surrealistically Absurd
As all that Salvador Dali melting of things
The rain in Spain must be hot like it is
in the summer when it pelts wet in your face after this heat
and as the cones and left in the backwindow
of the 64 Chevy our favourite records sounds wind down as they
melted into one incongruitous heap of plastic melt down
I've ever seen
I'm I ever gonna get it
Sis says so anyway
left in your Mom and Dad's Chevrolet Impala
in this heat what was I thinkin? oh yah, I wasn't it was too hot to think
and from way back when to then to now
you remember Allenwood Beach, Wasaga's part-time Girlfriend
this summer as every other
for one more thing
A jump into the Lake
from the old gray spotted rock with seagull droppings on it
like my mother told me to do
"Jump in the Lake" literally! and figuratively!
I just got my Poetic License!
and then when it got too hot
i'd look for coral shells to make into a necklace
or colour with crayons that would also melt
and I felt fine looking back now
loved the sweat, sweating and to be sweaty
because we were all together like that
heap of 45's in the back window
these memories help cool me down
when the going got tough
Even in this moment of never ending
summer on summer melted as one in the hot summer midday sun
There is a time to quiet reflect upon
yesterdays lazy hazy crazy days of summer
and outdoor BBQ's with all our old friends
in my mind they are there so it must be real
not a mirage
not an illusion
not a fantasy brunch
and a whole jar of cherry's I admit now I did in fact eat (yup I ate 'em all up!)
(got into trouble for that too!)
way back in the 60's you'd think I'd be sprung by now
How long is life anyway?
the ever dull haze that left us glassy eyed
On the opposite side of the poles
past the black and white
and fantasy colours
this day the earth
with all those wallabees, and kangaroos
Kawala's got it too, yes they've got eucalptus to eat
maybe like Vicks Vaporub they like thatsmell
but why would they need the rub
they haven't a winter's cold
hey, wait a minute...
it's way too cool down there
way too cold, Aussieland down under this heat
are you kiddin'? In Australia it's mid-winter
and they've got "The cat-gone cat-earred days of winter"
Now, which weather, do you think, is better?


~~~Emily Today~~~"Morns like these - we parted" 27/1775

Version 1
Morns like these - we parted
Noons like these - she rose!
Fluttering first - then firmer
To her fair repose -
Never did she lisp it
And 'twas not for me -
She was mute for transport
I, for agony!
Till the evening nearing
One the shutters drew -
Quick! a sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!

[edit] Version 2
Morns like these - we parted.
Noons like these - she rose
Fluttering first - then firmer -
To her fair repose.
Never did she lisp it -
And 'twas not for me -
She was mute from transport -
I - from agony -
Till - the evening nearing -
One the Curtains drew -
Quick! A sharper rustling!
And this Linnet flew!

[edit] Version 3
Morns like these - we parted -
Noons like these - she rose -
Fluttering first - then firmer
To her fair repose.

Never did she lisp it -
It was not for me -
She - was mute from transport -
I - from agony -

Till - the evening nearing
One the curtains drew -
Quick! A sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!

[edit] Version 4
Morns like these — we parted —
Noons like these — she rose —
Fluttering first — then firmer
To her fair repose.
Never did she lisp it —
It was not for me —
She — was mute from transport —
I — from agony —
Till — the evening nearing
One the curtains drew —
Quick! A Sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!

by Emily Dickinson


Emily Dickinson has given a huge repository of four verses for "Morns like these - we parted". To me this poem is about Emily's mother who became bedridden as she aged and Emily and her sister Lucieta had to be the caregivers for their "Mom's" care.

This is a very touching poem because it is dealing with Emily relating not only to flowers, bees etc but actual human beings in all their complicated splendour. Emily is besides herself, and you can tell that she is trying to "philosophize" away the pain she feels with her mother's chronic ailment;

I do believe that Emily sees her Mom as a Linnet bird. As Emily searches for this bird she is trying to hear it's sound but it flew away "mute". (Was Emily's mother also mute? good question!). If Emily compares birds to people maybe we have unlocked an interesting development in a further understanding of her poetry.

As simple as this poem comes across, Emily's whole fatuation with bird-watching, I think it goes one step beyond; analogous to Emily relating on a personification-type way to "birds as persons of interest". Since Emily is relating to birds in this personification way anyway. Noted before the "Robin" standing in for her friendship to Sue Gilbert. Now we have a Linnet as Emily's mother.

"I, for agony!"

Maybe said sardonically, sarcastically, Emily is trying to convey how frustrating it is in her mother's "mute" or maybe dementia-like state found in the aging process and how difficult it is to communicate with her.

"Morns like these - we parted
Noons like these - she rose!
Fluttering first - then firmer
To her fair repose -
Never did she lisp it
And 'twas not for me -"

Did her mother rise at noon, or is this simply the bird (Linnet) that rose at noon. How many birds do you know that "rise" at noon? They are all very quiet at noon usually, the midday sun making them sophoric, most birds take a siesta at noon. Notice this; hardly any peeps from birds at noon. So of what is Emily describing her? Birds or her MOther who rises at noon because she is elderly and frail?

She was mute for transport
I, for agony!
Till the evening nearing
One the shutters drew -
Quick! a sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!

The fact that the bird flew at the end of the verse is amazing, like once the bird is up she flies away, and is fine, but until that time, she is quiet.
Also reference to "shutters' gives away a Victorian decor, not necessary a bird's sanctuary in the woods.

And "this linnet flew", Emily describing her mother rising from her bed once noon has come and then a slight rustling and then up and about.

The fact that Emily wrote four versions of this poem is also amazing, and this is due to the fact it meant something to her, of perhaps, a greater significance than watching a bird at noon rustling in the trees. Although this poem could simply be about bird watching. Intuitively, I am getting the feeling this is about Emily's mother, and the Linnet is the way Emily sees people as birds. Is this theory for the "birds"? We'll find out as we investigate more of Emily's poems-a-day! It is fun to note all the rare birds and birds of the MA area listed in Emily's poems; quite an education re: the Natural World via Emily Dickinson's poems.


"The Linnet, Carduelis cannabina, is a small passerine bird in the finch family Fringillidae.

The Linnet derives its scientific name from its fondness for hemp and its English name from its liking for seeds of flax, from which linen is made."

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

~~~~Fine Art Wednesday~~~RON MARTIN~~~

Baroque Black: Twenty-five Imperial Gallons
©Ron Martin
Date made: 1976
Materials: acrylic on canvas, mounted on wood panel
Measurements: 72 x 54 in.; 183 x 137 cm
Collection: Mailhot, Montreal

Myself with Top, Miss McPhee
©Ron Martin

Click on the image to view a larger version of the work.

Date made: 1964
Materials: oil on plywood
Measurements: 48 x 48 in.; 122 x 122 cm

Ron Martin is a friend of mine and one of my favourite Canadian artists. He was a local artist in London Ontario for a number of years and has recently travelled to Texas and I believe he may be back in Canada (hopefully!).
Since I was an art student, I use to frequent the local art galleries. I believe during an opening I met Ron and he invited me to his atelier (studio).
Often we use to have coffee together and scene and was helpful during my many questions I had about art in general. Being a painter is not an easy life, Ron would always be on the phone during the day. At night he'd paint most of the night. Although Ron did not want me to write a thesis on his art (why I do not know), I did in 3rd year anyway, in regards to his Black Paintings. Luckily I got an amazing mark for my Contemporary Canadian Art History class at Western by Professor William Hart. The Black Paintings photocopied incredibly well. Remember this was the early 1980's. Needless to say, I still have the essay to reprint here eventually.
Remembering the time Ron Martin took me to Toronto to see his opening at the Gallery there, was it Leo Castelli's or AGO (Art Gallery of Ontario)? It was his huge black paintings with the huge, thick black paint on huge canvas.
The paintings were so thick and heavy I had wondered how he hung them and if the walls would collapse under their weight. To be honest, I was in total awe of Ron and his work. I held Ron in high esteem.
When I did visit Ron in his artist studio near Talbot Street, I was amazed to see exactly how professional artists live and work. Ron lived alone in his studio and often worked long into the night on his paintings. The time I visited him he was working on the most amazing palette value paintings, and completely concentrated on the exacting art. His quality of the painted surface was impeccable; he reminded me of a surgeon; how precise!
The near impossible task of matching exacting values of various colours always amazed me as I remembered the colour wheel and colour value charts we had to make in first year art studio. Ron was master at this game and he just knew instinctively through years of practice the exacting amount of each colour. (tone is a colours white value and tint is a colour's black value). Tone was always more appreciated at the Art Studio at Western I remember. We were not encourage to use non-colour values or colours that were "muddied". Fresh colours did appear a vibrant part of creating "tres beaux arts".
Ron did paint in an Old Cigar factory in the early sixties with Greg Curnoe, Murray Favro and others on King Street. I remember the stories told to me by one of the artists who shared a studio in the building during the 60's (you know who you are). It was a pretty crazy place to be, and at times, I imagine, a bit wild being an artist's coop in the sixties, are you kidding? Wild would be an understatement. I heard someone had been repairing his Knucklehead Harley in the studio next to the old Coke machine when Pie In The Sky parties were the rule rather than the exception.
Next week I will feature the London Ontario artist Greg Curnoe who I had the privledge of knowing albeit briefly, also an amazing talent.
Hoping to also discuss my photography professor George LeGrady who is now in Southern California! Must be nice George!
Ron Martin did encourage me to meet other artists and musicians like saxophonist Eric Stach. Eric did go to L.A. but was not that impressed with the scene there. Maybe it has changed again, but the 80's was called the "Yuppie" generation (Young Upperwardly Mobile) which did not have the same feel as the Hippie generation of the 60's. With the new age, yoga movement I have to wonder if that feeling of togetherness is coming back? One always has this dream, especially if altruistic and a dreamer, as most artists usually are, most definitely are, dreamers. Today artists have to be dreamers practitions to be successful. There is a lot of trying to find a new niche within a stylist perimeter. Original and fitting into a studio niche. I still am in awe of how it happens, but talent always does promote itself, creativity being a vibrant life force. Ron Martin is definitely a tour de force on the Contemporary Art scene and I hope to purchase a painting or two in the future should I win the lottery or luck should deal me a lucky hand! "You just know when you are in the presence of art".jj

Ron Martin

Ron Martin was born in London, Ontario, in 1943. He attended Beal Tech between 1960 and 1964, emerging, as his contemporary Greg Curnoe later remarked, 'at a moment of high energy, moving into a community where the pressure was on to rent a downtown studio and do original, serious things.' Martin shared his first studio with fellow Beal Tech graduate, Murray Favro, for two years. Curnoe, slightly older, was a marked influence, for his own work in painting and collage, and through his interest in and promotion of artists such as Marcel Duchamp and Kurt Schwitters. His first solo show, of 'Pop Collages', was mounted at Toronto's Pollock Gallery in February of 1966. As Dennis Reid has written in his Concise History of Canadian Painting (2nd ed. 1988): 'The philosophical and theoretical nature of Martin's approach to art is apparent as early as 1967 when he began working on a series of pieces he called Conclusions and Transfers. In response to a remark of Marcel Duchamp's about the "gap" in representational painting between the subject (the thing painted) and the object (the painting itself), Martin sought to bridge this by making an abstract painting (always in homage to an artist he admired), creating an exact copy, and hanging the two together as a single work. The series continued through 1969, stimulating experiments in watercolour that began to reveal to him that the reality of a painting resided entirely in its material nature. Seeking to investigate that nature more closely, he developed a conceptual system of painting � dividing a canvas of fixed dimensions (all but one are 213.4 x 152.4 cm.) into one-inch squares, and filling each with three simple strokes of acrylic paint in the shape of an N, alternating the direction of the strokes between horizontal and vertical (N Z N), and choosing the colour of each stroke from eight basic hues (the spectrum and brown and black), according to a predetermined pattern. The "meaning" of these World Paintings, as he called them, resides in the viewer's experience of the perceptual phenomena they display. Each is a highly individualistic shimmer of optically blended colour that relaxes and contracts, shifts and ripples as we attempt to isolate parts or absorb larger areas.' Canadian Art Bibliography

Ron Martin
6 references found.
[Click on "View Text" to read full texts housed in the Art Writing Section]

Sort By Author / Sort By Date
Martin, Ron. "Bob Fones at 20/20." 20 Cents Magazine 3.1-2 (1969)
Fones, Robert. "Ron Martin at the Carmen Lamanna Gallery." Proof Only 1.4.February (1974)
View text
Fones, Robert. "Ron Martin at Carmen Lamanna Gallery." Proof Only 1.4.February (1974)
View text
Campbell, James D. "Object Relations: On Ron Martin's Recent Colour Paintings." C Magazine 27.Fall (1990)
View text
"Transformation in the Paintings and Objects of Ron Martin, 1991-1992." Toronto, 1993
Ron Martin: Two Essays on Art and Knowledge
View text
Lebredt, Gordon. "Forcing Pleasure (and the excess of vision): mourning ‘place’—Ron Martin’s All in Ones."
View text

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Ron Martin


1960–64 Commercial and fine art at H.B. Beal Secondary High School,


1993 Vintage Modernist Works on Paper: Jean-Marie Delavalle, Murray Favro, Richard Gorman,
Tom Hodgson, Ray Mead, Ron Martin, Kasuo Nakamura, Christopher Cutts Gallery Toronto, Ont.


1993 An Exhibition of the Original Members of Forest City Gallery, Forest City Gallery, London, Ont.
1993 C Magazine Silent Auction, C Magazine, Toronto, Ont.
1994 Monochrome. Exhibiting Artists: Delavalle, Martin, and Tousignant Christopher Cutts Gallery, Toronto, Ont.
1995 Milieu, Of The Order Of Presentation, Curated by Gordon Lebredt, S.L. Simpson Gallery, Main Gallery, Toronto, Ont.
1995 How Red Works, Group Show, Curated by Ihor Holubizky,Hamilton Art Gallery, Hamilton, Ont.
1996 Inaugural exhibition, gallery artists, Christopher Cutts GalleryToronto, Ont.
1997 Gallery Artists, Christopher Cutts Gallery, North/South Galleries, Toronto, Ont.
1997 Gallery Artists, Moore Gallery Limited, Toronto, Ont.
1997 Ten Years of Collecting, Mackenzie Art Gallery, Regina, Sask. Part 1, May 23 – August 17, 1997.
Part II, July 9 – September 1, 1997
1997-98 Repeated Gesture, Permanent Collection Installation, Vancouver Art Gallery, Vancouver, B.C.
1998 Bealart 80 Years of Experiment 1912-1992, London Regional Art & Historical Museums, London, Ont.
1998-99 Seven, Art Forum Berlin. Representing: Claus Carsten, Murray Favro, Cornelius Heesters Ron Martin, Kasuo Nakamara,
Becky Singleton, Ed Zelnack. Berlin, Germany. Christopher Cutts Gallery.
1998 The Texture of a Collection, Selections from the Permanent Collection. Oakville galleries, Centennial Gallery Oakville, Ont.
1998-99 Weal thought, two part exhibition. Curated by Grant Arnold, and Bruce Grenville.Vancouver Art Gallery Vancouver, B.C.
1999 Re-imagining Modernism, Works from the Permanent Collection, Curated by John Hartman. Maclaren Art Centre, Barrie, Ont.
1999 Art in Bloom, Mackenzie Art Gallery, Regina, Sask.
1999 Nature Rearranged. 150 years of Still-life at the National Gallery of Canada traveling exhibition,
National Gallery of Canada, Ottawa, Ont.
2000 Art Of Our Century, Part Ii, Modern Art At Millennium’s End Appleton Museum of At. Oscal, Florida.
2001 Pleasures Of Sight. States OF BEING. Radical Abstract Painting Since 1990.
Florida State University Museum of Fine Arts, Tallahassee, Florida.



1983 Established painting and sculpture studio in Toronto, Ont.
1964 Established painting and sculpture studio in London, Ont., with Murray Favro


1992- Christopher Cutts, Christopher Cutts Gallery, Toronto, Ont.
1992- Collection of Ron Moore, Moore Gallery Ltd., Toronto, Ont.
1992- Carmen Lamanna Gallery (Estate), Toronto, Ont.
1965-66 Jack Pollock, Jack Pollock Gallery,
1965-66 Carmen Lamanna, Carmen Lamanna Gallery, 1971-1991

Copyright ©1997, 2010. Centre for Contemporary Ca

The Centre for Contemporary Canadian Art
The Canadian Art Database

"It's all I have to bring today —
This, and my heart beside —
This, and my heart, and all the fields —
And all the meadows wide —
Be sure you count — should I forget
Some one the sum could tell —
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell."
by Emily Dickinson

A wonderful poem of sweet simplicity and joy. Emily is a heart-felt person who's soul lives on through her poetry.

Emily is undoubtly counting all the various flowers of the fields, and all the meadows in her pastoral expanse of a world in Amherst MA.

Emily referring to the "Bees" and the "Clover" show a perpetuity of heart-felt love she has for her world and her environment. "Bees" and "Clover" in an Emily Dickinson poem is significant of a resounding happiness in the poet today.

As an early naturalist Emily is wholly focused on the spiritual world by way of (via) the natural world of her surrounds. Emily exudes spiritual happiness and oneness with nature; a transcendentalist's quality and state of mind; living in the moment; zen-like here and now which is her intended meditation. A complete "joie de vivre" or joy of life is Emily's resounding feeling in "It's all I have to bring today" and it is so much more than the "sum" total and so much more than enough. Thank-you Emily for this flower of a poem!

A truly happy poem; in fact, a honey of a poem!


Sunday, August 1, 2010



Before the poem an apology preamble!

A most humble and most sincere form of humility as well as a deep-seated apology to all and whoeverso is listening in bloggyland. If you are reading this (can you get this in my voice too? where?).

Anyway I was all feek'd up slightly and I finally realized it was all my fault. Dang I got on the WRONG BUS!! and going THE WRONG WAY!!! Wrong Way Corrigan!!! Again!!! No more!!!

But, I'm HERE now thank the tender mercies!!! pHEW! I was lost and now I am found it is Sunday too!

Finally I won't miss those important tea and biscuits ON nanU's POETRY BUS this week and no more, not anymore!

I am with the IN crowd! and LOVIN' IT (taken from a McDee's commericial tm) and all those fries were baggin me arse and I just felt so HEAVY and sedated myself with my handy pint o pint on the bus's free bar.

Please allow to begin again at the beginning, give me another chance (I beg you) for the sake of your grandchildren I am getting on the next invisible bus and I want all of you to join us!!!

I promise; no more spinning my wheels, burning rubber or revving (reviving proalkaseltzering?)my engine that couldn't not it is a POETRY BUS THAT CAN!

I am so much up yer alley that you're all getting down! (I always mean in a nice way, down the street, you know?)Cheers!!!

Why do things always get mixed up in the VERIFICATION? DAmmmNimini!!! No insults ever were my intent...No way Jose!

The word I got from commenting on RF's nanU's prompt for a VERIFICATION that indeed these words are MORE REAL THAN REAL and have a POTENTIATE of INFORMATION to be gleamed like scyring or crystal balls. Here goes! (grinning and gritting teeth!)

Word Verification SESSEA

Sessea of the Sea
The Beauty of the Sea
The Mermaid Man
The Lady Fin de Siecle
You Flapper Wave Lappers
You Sensensation Seamen
You Penultimate Scaled Mate
Sirens Call your name
Come to me Sessea!!!
Gulectio awaits the Feast!!!

Chorus (you knew this would happen!) sung to the song "Come To Me Sessea")

Oh Sessea of The Sea
Come to Me
Come to Me
Gulectio awaits
In the Sea
In the Sea
Come to Me!!!

Repeat three times and await your own lovely Sessea!


Enjoi de vie en mere! TO nanU'S BLOG hence!!!