Music House

After an unthinkable calamity befell him
the forest closed in.
Animals stared through his windows.
Turkey, woodchuck, raccoon, squirrels, deer.
A bear.

To avoid their black-eyed gaze
he shifted every inside wall.
He spread the hidden space—
the house's vacant shell.
He boxed the windows,
made a hatch,
installed a ladder.
His headlamp darted
as he scrambled up and down.

Between the walls he wired a squad of speakers
to fill the place with Berlioz and Bach
On the outside of the inner wall
he penciled a chronology of fire, fuel, physics—
a labyrinth in cursive,
vine-like strands of science,
weapons, transportation.

His branching maze of technological advance
reached the time in which he wrote
and proceeded on past digital
into a holographic future he foresaw
in which meaning is set down in patterns
like vast arrays of crescent shadows on a pebble beach
or galaxies of stars.


As music floated that idea
he painted, on the inner surface of the outer wall,
hungry people at an endless table—
it went all around the house and joined itself.
His characters compared their histories of love—
the strongest agitations of their hearts
                crushes and rejections,
                lust and fear.
He drew, year after year,
gestures and expressions
and laid on color
until, somehow, he found his labor done.

He returned the inner walls to their original positions.
He looked out his windows
                addressed the animals
                repelled the forest
                invited visitors
                listened to them talk
                listened to music
                listened to rain.
As visitors talked, he watched and listened.


-Ron McAdow

Introducing: Ron McAdow

I went to a Montessori Junior High school, and Ron McAdow was my teacher. I remember him as a guy who liked nature, wrote and was generally friendly. Back then, I read this novel he wrote/was writing, called "Good Medicine". The only thing I recall about it now is that there was the discovery of popcorn in it.

These days Ron is a poet, and conserving land via the Sudbury Valley Trustees. I learned those things through the internet. Also, we are friends on Facebook.

I think it's funny how time and life work, like these streams that divide and sometimes come back together and sometimes don't, but it's really hard to say where they will or won't end up. And one day a piece of the past comes flowing back to you, and the thing that was hard to realize until that moment is that the piece has been on its own adventure, and moving forward, just as you have.

Links:
Ron McAdow Poems
Sudbury Valley Trustees

In the Winter, I Saw Ducks

I hear the unceasing hum
of the traffic in the distance;

Everyone is rushing to get somewhere
and not spending much time
being anywhere.

In the winter, I saw ducks
swimming on an icy stream,
dipping their heads down into the water
to eat, like they always do.

I imagine the people turning off their cars
and placidly floating along like ducks
on the currents of life,
not controlled by those currents
and not resisting them either.


-Jim DuBois

Three short poems by John Bauman

1)
It’s an all out, blow out, blitz!
Consumer bonanza extravaganza!
Come on in, we got some great deals!

Um…later.
Like never.


2)
The freezing rain tapped gently on the ground in the night.
I thought it was the cat.


3)
Bad hair day.
Fuckin’ wind.


-John Bauman

Introducing: Stephanie Gerolimatos

I was in the Forbes Library one day, looking for a video to watch, and I walked through the Hosmer Gallery. I was attracted and inspired by these bright paintings which looked like they had been ripped in the middle, maybe by wolverine claws, or some alien encounter or something. They were very cool because they were a combination of paint and other things like cloth that added a 3D effect. I looked at the artitst's name, and became friends on Facebook, because I liked her art so much.

From her website:

First and foremost, I love the materials I use. Whether it's paint, wax, twine, nails, eggshells, feathers, or plexiglass, each is chosen for a particular sensory response it provides. Sometimes the response is due to visual cues. Often, it is the tactile quality of the substance or object that appeals to me: plastic, flexible, rough, smooth, cold, hard, soft. These sensations elicit associations and memories. The reaction is personal, based on an individual's history. Familiarity has the power to make us feel. It can bring comfort as easily as it can cause pain. Nails are cold, hard and sharp. Their primary function is to hold things together, but they also puncture, tear and scratch. Notches cut into a surface signify the passing of time, ageing, damage, a record of occurrence.

Her website

World Time

"Contemporary environmental art wall work, made from found plastic objects, assembled behind perspex. Semi-abstract/landscape, recycled art created from plastics collected from Australian beaches."

Website

- John Dahlsen

Introducing: Karen Dolmanisth & "Immanent and Transcending Circles of Time"

I went down to The Canal Gallery in Holyoke a bunch of years ago, and there was this incredible, world-like installation on a large open floor. It was like wandering in a dream made of bits of glass and sand and old wooden things and lots of stuff hanging from the ceiling. Really. I was awed. I felt that I wanted to know who lived there, like they were a wise alien race from a science fiction story. No description or picture really can convey enough, but they show a little bit what it was like. The installation was called "Immanent and Transcending Circles of Time" and it was by Karen Dolmanisth. I was so impressed and inspired I and will always remember it. It was the kind of art you wish you could make, and are really glad that someone did. If you can go see an installation of hers, go see it.

Now I am Facebook friends with her, and she said I could post some pictures here. The ones shown are of "Immanent and Transcending Circles of Time".

Links:
Her website
Her bio and another website
More photos of "Immanent and Transcending Circles of Time" from her Flickr stream