Poems in Progress: #15–April 15, 2016

Number 15

Roma: Foro Romano

Someone else bought this,
maybe from a little shop,
with jingling lire,
and brought it home,
to the Midwest,
long ago.

You can’t find these postcards
anymore: photographs printed
after hand-painting, mass-produced,
yet so delicately pre-digital.

A jumbled scene, this.
Splintered bones of ancient buildings,
draped by vines, ringed
by younger marble, stucco, brick—
honey-combed with sunlight,
standing only a thousand years so far—
where the business of life
flows on.

Clouds float.
Campaniles point heavenward.
A silent bell is set against the blue sky.

In the undone heart
of this storied city,
cypress and drifts
of red bougainvillea.
Long, silvered rectangles
of silvered water, reflecting.

And a circle
of tiny men in black trousers,
hands in their pockets, agreeing,
deciding something
there, where broken
statues gleam white
as dangerous water
or all those broken promises
littering the river of time.

Leslie Schultz

Some years ago, when Julia and I began studying history and geography in earnest, our dear friends and neighbors gave us a cache of old postcards. They were well-traveled, and so were their own parents, and so Julia and I spent hours sorting, dreaming, discussing, and wondering sparked by these tiny windows on the wider world.

Today, when elections and taxes and the warring needs between gardens and buildings are much on my mind, I was drawn to an image of a city I have never visited, Rome, that was printed before I was born. After years of studying history and literature in the United States with Julia (and she just reminded me last night of how we read Shakespeare’s play, Julius Caesar, here on our living room couch) I am keenly aware of how the ideals and flaws of a Republic were first grappled with in Rome, and how they inspired the thoughts–progressive and sometimes repressive–of Franklin, Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Hamilton, and so many others. The bones of all that talk and theory affect how I live my life today, and that amazes me. I will never understand it fully, but I want to know more.

To that end, as my resident classics scholar moves on to other areas of inquiry, Tim and I are investing in — yes! — new DVDs from the Teaching Company. We’ll be able to supplement our desultory and highly satisfying ongoing study of Latin and Greek through books with hearing these ancient tongues read aloud. They should arrive today. College tuition is superseding our (already meager) travel budget for the foreseeable future, but we’re embarking on what I am sure is a lifelong learning adventure.  “Amo, amas, amat, amamus, amatis, amant…”!

Until tomorrow!

Leslie

A Poem in Progress: #14–April 14, 2016

Number 14

Wisteria and Lattice Motif

Here is what I remember:
hanging scallops of bloom,
articulated purple bells,
shook warnings we did not hear;

floral rattlesnakes,
shaking so slightly
when we trod the board floors
of the rotting shotgun house.

So frail and decorative
they appeared, blanched
in moonlight, even as they
knocked ghostly knuckles,

even as they crushed
with their lush growth
the lattice supporting them.
I can hear them now,

sliding insistently
between frame and windowpane,
prising up nails, delicate
vegetal marauders.

Leslie Schultz

This morning, I spent more time with the Handbook from the Philadelphia Museum of Art. I was quite struck by this image of a Noh robe from their textile collection:

Noh Robe Wisteria and Lattice Motif

As I gazed on the attractive and orderly depiction of this plant, I suddenly and vividly recalled a wisteria vine I contended with long ago in Lake Charles. I delighted in its beauty, but only gradually realized its destructive power.

Wisteria-sinensis-Wisteria-Glicina

Then I looked up “destructive wisteria” . Hmmmm…rather well documented, as a matter of fact, and compared to unbalanced power in human relationships. Is the Noh robe, worn by a man in the Edo period (1750-1850) when depicting a female role, commenting on gender politics?

Here is another wisteria image from contemporary Japan, an example of strict civic pruning.

Wisteria Tunnel

Until tomorrow!

Leslie

A Poem in Progress: #13– April 13, 2016

Number 13

For My Sister, On Her Birthday

Though I’ve known you my whole life long,
my life cannot be not long enough
to know you well enough. This song,
though rhyme and measures are quite rough—
a little choppy, off-the-cuff—
could not be off-key, cannot be wrong.

I can’t count how many times you
have helped me, all unasked, true heart.
A thousand miles away, still you knew
if I were sad, mad, enthralled by art—
or pierced by remorse or conscience’s dart—
you’re always there to talk me through.

Your peerless art inspires me,
shows how to frame a quiet scene,
from orange dawn to turquoise sea
to forest’s heart of tender green.
Karla, you pour luck into “13”
like most pour a cup of tea—

routinely and effortlessly—
This morning, I want to say
I hope that everything you see,
everything chance brings your way,
gives sparkle and shine to your birthday,
as knowing you does, every day, to me.

Love, Leslie

happy-birthday-cake-picture-wallpaper-1050x700

Until Tomorrow!

Leslie

A Poem in Progress: #12– April 12, 2016

 

Twelve

Kelmscott Manor, Attics
(platinum print, Frederick H. Evans, 1896)

So these inverted rafters and ghostly glow,
these soft-lit rough-hewn beams like
internal buttresses, and this empty space
with it twin invitations leading out—
on the left, the five white stairs ascending
to a blackened door; on the right, sunlight
over five shadowed steps inviting you in—
this is the enchanted land of echo and dust motes
that sheltered, like a silent Orphic chorus,
the fervent, fertile brain of William Morris.

Leslie Schultz

On our recent trip to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, I bought a copy of their beautifully produced Handbook detailing highlights of their collections. This morning, I was idly leafing through it and became mesmerized by the photograph that inspired this poem. And I learned that this photograph, one of the very first of the museum’s now extensive holdings in photography, was the thin end of the wedge in winning “art” status for photography in Philadelphia.

gm_04609501-web

Even more intriguing, Arts and Crafts Movement luminary William Morris (painter, poet, textile designer, philosopher, socialist, publisher, an early establisher of the modern fantasy genre) rather disliked photography. Yet, he invited this photographer, Frederick H. Evans, to photograph his home and the home base for his publishing arm, Kelmscott Press. I have long been attracted to his personal motto: “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” William Morris (1834-1986) I have yet to live up to it. This photograph makes me wonder what my limestone basement, now brimming with this and that, would look like empty.

Kelmscott_Manor_News_from_Nowhere

(Images from Morris and Evans in the public domain.)

Until tomorrow!

Leslie

A Poem in Progress: #11–April 11, 2016

Number 11

Uncaging the Bas

It’s a grey-again Sunday
after mere hours of honeyed sun,
two weeks of rain and wind,
three sudden squalls of snow.

Donning my long, grey coat,
taking up my shears,
I see what is emerging
and wish to help it grow.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
known at home as “Ba”,
had to escape her girlhood
in foggy London,

where she slept like
Sleeping Beauty,
to flower fully
in sun-kissed Italy.

You, tiny daffodils,
you bring her name each year
up from the winter snow,
and I must cut away

these dead stalks holding you
down, help you proclaim
openly, openly
your fragments of sun.

Leslie Schultz

Yesterday was the first day I have been able to be out in the garden. It has been very cool here, though the grass is green and the scilla are ahead of schedule. I could see that the little daffodils are almost ready to bloom but they were overshadowed by the dried walnut leaves and the stalks of last season’s cone flowers. So I spent a few moments uncovering them–and I am hoping hard they don’t get hit by new snow.

Ba One

Ba Two

If all goes well, they will bloom exuberantly, as in past years!

Ba Daffodil Six

Until tomorrow!

Leslie