I first read the poem "The Red Wheel Barrel," by William Carlos in my Intro to Poetry class. It's simple, yet beautiful. I always seem to come back to this poem, because it has stood the test of time in its popularity and has blogged many writers, including myself.
A wheel barrow is just an ordinary object on a farm, but is a symbol of the struggle and hard work that goes into toiling the land. Rain gives life to all living things, and as for the white chickens, I have no idea why they are emphasised. But maybe this was just a moment in time, when Williams questioned his life, and why life depends on simple tasks and objects: mirrors, money, coffee, cellphones. We allow these objects to run our lives; what would happen to us if they did not exist?
I know I'm going off the deep end here, but Williams' poem makes me question the world around me. His poem might be considered awesome, dumb, or pointless, to some people but if makes you look within yourself and think outside the box we build for ourselves.
For info and poems of Williams Carlos Williams check this out:
The woman's hazel eyes pierces you with their look of pride and defiance. Crowning her lips and chin with all its glory is a moko tattoo. These tattoo designs have been created by the Maori, people of Polynesian descant who live in New Zealand. The moko tattoo tradition have been preformed for thousands of years by the Maori; the designs express not only the owners personality, but their tribe, and ancestors. For men, their mokos cover their arms, backs, or face with fish scales, whales, spirals, and other symbols and words of the Polynesian culture. For women is either their arms, legs or chin. The Moko is a window, a key to a person's spirit and mana (meaning strength, power).
Before the Europeans took over the island, the Maori used ink made of different plants, making chisels of fish or whale bones to cut the skin, literally craving the image into their flesh. Today regular tattoo needles are used. Only warriors, Chiefs, and high ranking Maori men were able to have them. For women mokos was like a rite of passage, usually done when they reached womanhood. Men stopped tattooing themselves in the 19th century, trading their tribal traditions for European clothing and customs. But the women stood their ground, protesting the invasion by keeping up the moko tradition, thus saving their entire culture and language from disappearing. In the late 20th and now 21st century men have picked up the old ways, by wearing their mokos, showing their connection with the past and the struggles they face in their communities: racism, domestic violence, alcoholism.
Mokos represent the spirit of the Maori, a sign of hope and fight against oppression, keeping the traditions alive for younger generations.
For more information about the Maori culture check this website out: www.pbs.org/skinstories
Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand
Jesus freaks out in the street Handing tickets out for God Turning back she just laughs The boulevard is not that bad
Piano man he makes his stand In the auditorium Looking on she sings the songs The words she knows, the tune she hums
But oh how it feels so real Lying here with no one near Only you and you can hear me When I say softly, slowly
Hold me closer, tiny dancer Count the headlights on the highway Lay me down in sheets of linen You had a busy day today
Hold me closer, tiny dancer Count the headlights on the highway Lay me down in sheets of linen You had a busy day today
Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand And now she's in me, always with me, tiny dancer in my hand
But oh how it feels so real Lying here with no one near Only you and you can hear me When I say softly, slowly
Hold me closer, tiny dancer Count the headlights on the highway Lay me down in sheets of linen You had a busy day today
Hold me closer, tiny dancer Count the headlights on the highway Lay me down in sheets of linen You had a busy day today
I have always loved the song "Tiny Dancer," sung by Elton John. The song has vivid imaginary, with words that flow like the waves of an ocean. When I was a kid I would imagine myself dancing in the sand like the girl in the lyrics, creating pictures with my feet in the rough sand. My favorite stanza is: Jesus freaks out in the street/ Handing tickets out for God/Turning back she just laughs/The boulevard is not that bad. I think that the girl smiles because she has found her own heaven, a Paradise through music. But I have have always wondered what is the message behind the song? Who is the tiny dancer?
After surfing the web, I found the answer on lyricinterpretations.com. The lyrics are about Maxine Feibelmen, who was a seamstress on Elton Johns tour, creating his elborate costumes. She was the wife of Bernie Taupin who was Elton's friend,a lyricist who helped write and collaborate on songs such as: Rocketman, Candle In the Wind, and Your Song. Tiny Dancer was written to express the love Taupin had for Maxine, who was not only his lover, but muse as well.
I came up with my poem "Words of Love," after reading Zora Neale Hurston's book Their Eyes Were WatchingGod, a story about a biracial woman named Janie Crawford who goes on a journey to discovery her own identity in the 1930's. My poem is about her relationship with a man named Tea Cake, who inspires her sexually, spiritually; creating feelings of love she never expressed in her two former husbands.
All the next day in the house and store she thought resisting Tea Cake. She even ridiculed him in her mind and she was a little ashamed of the association. But every hour or two the battle had to be fought all over again. She couldn't make him look just like any other man to her, He looked like the thoughts of love for women. He could be a bee to a blossom, a pear tree blossom in the spring. He seemed to be crushing scent out of the world with his footsteps. Crushing aromatic herbs every step he took. Spices hung about him. He was a glance from God. (pg. 106)
Here's my poem:
I want us to peel off our mammal skin and be birds in the sky.
You're the milky way, the constellations that burst with sliver fire.
Me, I'm just relaxing in your orbit.
Words of Love don't come easy for me.
My throat closes up, and I drift away.
You're the anchor that keeps me grounded, soothing
The painting above is called "Dark Sphinx," which was created by the talented artist Michael Parkes. He is one of my favorite artists; his work is of unearthly beauty, the images seem to jump of the canvas. Many of his pieces reflect the magical realism and fantasy genres. Parkes breaths life into his artwork, molding stories for each creature with a stroke of his brush.
Parkes not only paints but makes sculptures and Stone Lithograph pieces, which are drawings sketched on a metal plates or smooth limestone. He inspires me in my writing; I have created poems and short stories based on some of his images: Swans, Gargoyle, and the Sphinx. I wonder if his dreams play a role in his work? Parkes had created a whole world, with its own rulers, animals, and a race of fantastical people.
Michael Parkes has his own unique style that no artist can duplicate. I can spot a Parkes painting from miles away by abstract shapes of his people: curvy like the waves of the ocean, birdlike shoulders, or round as a peach. The humans he draws don't represent our society's idea of beauty: Thin, blond hair, White. Some are are fat, skin a bluish or brown coloring, and others have voluptuous bodies. People come in all shapes, sizes, and facial structures, Parkes empathises them with his mixture of surreal colors, making his creatures beautiful.
To see more of Michael Parkes work check out: www.worldofmichaelparkes.com
Last weekend I went to a Pow Wow, which is a Native American Celebration of unity, friendship, and family. It's was a beautiful and magical experience, with delicious food, music, and dancing. I loved the atmosphere; it was warm and welcoming. Everyone was asked to join in the celebration. The whole audience seemed to become a part of this large family. The drums had sent an electric shock through me, which is why during the "Blanket Dance", I decided to dance to the song of Little Thunder one of the drum groups. It felt freeing dancing along side the surreal dancers. I was scary at first, yet exhilarating to step out of my comfort zone.I have some Indian blood in me (Métis)so I felt deeply moved by this ceremony that's apart of my own heritage.
The dances are breathtaking and have been performed for centuries by tribes such as the Navajo, Fox, Sioux, Cree, and so many others. The drum groups are powerful, with each beat they are communicating with their ancestors.The singers voices will pierce through your own soul. The dancers themselves represent their own nations, wearing awesome colorful regalia that expresses their own personalities.
The first image below is the women's Fancy Shawl Dance. In the past women had used robes made of animal fur or blankets. It was a new style of dance, first started by Native American women in the 1900's, who made their own shawls and wanted to show them off to the world. The shawls are covered with bright flowers and sometimes even beads. As they dance the shawls look like wings; the women's moccasin covered feet seem to not touch the ground. The moves and steps are graceful; the women twirl and prance on their toes reminding me of ballerinas. Fancy Shawl dances are taught at a young age, and I bet they really feel like their paying homage to their grandmothers.
The men's Fancy Dance is spectacular; it's a true test of strength and endurance. The men's headdresses are covered in eagle feathers, and float as they dance. At the pow wow I had attended the men were powerful and some were in the "zone". One guy, maybe about eighteen years old was dressed all in red, his foot work could have burned a hole in the floor. He cried out as he stomped his feet; while twirling he looked like one huge flame. In a fancy dance, the drum groups might play tricks on the dancers, like stopping in mid-beat to see if they can keep up with the song's rhythm.
I wish everyone in America could attend at least one Pow Wow, to see and understand that Native Americans don’t just exist in history books, but are still among us, keeping their traditions intact for future generations.
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