Archive for the ‘Poetry on Blogfinger’ Category
Posted in Photograph by Paul Goldfinger, Photographic Gallery France, Photographic Gallery, Black and White, Photography Gallery France, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged A poem by Charles Pierre on Blogfinger on April 23, 2016| 2 Comments »
Greetings from Manhattan. Over fifty years ago, my grandmother said a few things to me shortly before she died that I knew would eventually find their way into a poem. Here is “Grandmother’s Note” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.
By Charles Pierre
Looking for less with each added year,
I’ve begun to live in the small space
that surrounds me now, in the shadows
that gather at my feet and follow
as I walk along, and in the breezes
that take my shape for an instant,
leaving nothing but gentle creases
in my hair and a cool ripple
over my skin. Expecting little,
I go where my handwriting leads me –
become just a sound, a word, a phrase,
part of the impression on the page
for a moment, not an old woman
with the obvious lines of age, but
a clear thought in this surrounding space
CAL TJADER: “The Night We Called it a Day”
Greetings from Manhattan. It is surprising how far you can travel, just by sitting quietly at home in a favorite room, surrounded by familiar objects. Here is the poem, “A Room in New York,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.
A Room in New York
As I sit at my desk, the morning sun begins
to fill this room with slow-moving planes
and angles of light. They glitter my windows
with Atlantic waters and whiten the shades
with New England snow, brightening
my blue sofa to a field of wild asters
in Nova Scotia, and my varnished table
to a forest of yellow pines in the Carolinas.
Rays skim the spines of a thousand books,
where peaks of an Alpine mountain range
shimmer on my shelves. When beams reach
my oriental rugs, the colors of Central Asia
shine up at me. As I write, city and wilderness
move in unison with the sun’s slow passage
through this room: each flame-suffused image,
each act of attention to the way light works,
leading outward to a world beyond walls.
Max Raabe and Das Palast Orchestra
Live at Carnegie Hall 2007
Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Photograph by Paul Goldfinger, Photographic Gallery: Ocean Grove, Photography at The Jersey Shore, Photography in New Jersey, Photography: Jersey Shore Gallery, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged Charles Pierre poem Listener on January 1, 2016| Leave a Comment »
Greetings from Manhattan. In winter, one can walk the empty beach at Ocean Grove and, at any time of day or night, listen to the various natural sounds of sea and shore. Here is the poem, “Listener,” from my book-in-progress, Circle of Time.
Happy New Year,
By Charles Pierre
At the easternmost end of town, where nothing
but empty coastline greets the incoming waves,
I follow a path through the dunes to this beach
and listen long as the ocean discloses its moods:
just past sunrise, when whispers of Atlantic wind
crease my hair and lift sea straw against my legs;
at sun-sharp noon, when rushing tides roll and build
to high-arcing breakers that pound the rough sand;
late in the day, when slant light and muffled breezes
cover the surface of water with glittering shingles;
through the evening, when currents run black
on whistling gusts, and a violet haze mutes the sky;
at midnight, when the air is still and low surf
rustles onshore; and afterward, in the hour
before dawn, when the ocean shares a deep silence
with the land that slopes down to its rippling edge,
as the waning moon leads me back from the beach
to the shadowed dunes and narrow path inland.
SLOVENIA SYMPHONIC ORCHESTRA. Xerxes Act 1, George Frederic Handel
Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Photograph by Bob Bowné, Photographic Gallery: Ocean Grove, Photographs presented on Blogfinger, Photography at The Jersey Shore, Photography by Bob Bowne, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged A poem by Charles Pierre on Blogfinger, Dawn by Charles Pierre on November 22, 2015| Leave a Comment »
Greetings from Manhattan. I was struck by your quietly beautiful photo, “Beachfront Sunrise,” (posted recently on Blogfinger*), and your statement that you preferred sunrises to sunsets because “beginnings are happier than endings.” Here is the poem, “Dawn,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.
By Charles Pierre
The first hint of morning on the ocean
is a trembling of shadows,
a dark hovering of muted tones
that moves with imperceptible pace,
a vanishing medium through which
the day brightens and widens,
the new light going on for miles and miles
in the shine of emerging surf.
LONDON PHILHARMONIC ORCHESTRA. Peer Gynt Suite #1, Op 46 “Morning” by Edvard Grieg
*See the post “Fishing Pier at Sunrise “by scrolling down to Nov. 21 where it has been brought closer to Charles Pierre’s wonderful sunrise poem, “Dawn” where he makes reference to the image in his introduction. *
Posted in Blogfinger Presents, Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged A poem by Charles Pierre on Blogfinger, Civil War statues, Statue in the Park by Charles Pierre on May 20, 2015| Leave a Comment »
Greetings from Manhattan. In almost every town and city of the country, one can see a Civil War monument, usually with a lone soldier in uniform at the top, his rifle by his side. Now, one hundred and fifty years after the end of that war, many of these statues show signs of deterioration from long exposure to the elements. Here, for Memorial Day, is the poem “Statue in the Park,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.
Statue in the Park
The stone hero is becoming mortal again.
Ordinary weather has undone the work
of Civil War. Sun and cold, rain and snow
strike his head, as brothers once struck
each other, in a climate beyond season.
Below the folds of his coat, two lovers
walk in a trance, far from history’s maw,
their cadence owing nothing to the slog
of soldiers or the slash of glinting swords
on a ravaged farmstead in Virginia.
Earth is recalling her boy from service.
Granules flake from the featureless face,
blending with dirt around the pedestal,
a wind from the river scattering him
throughout the park, sending him back
to his people on a Sunday afternoon,
his final sacrifice now part of the leisure
they have worked all week to secure,
his dust dispersed, in silent ceremony,
around the gentle steps of the lovers.
THE BUDAPEST STRINGS “Lullaby”
The cities of America went through tumultuous times during the 1960’s and 1970’s. Many experienced social upheaval and riots. Asbury Park had riots over the July 4, 1970 holiday which practically destroyed the west side of the city along with a famous tourist industry and a thriving shopping district. It is only now coming back.
This exhibit at the Princeton University Art Museum is about New York City, Chicago, and Los Angeles. The works are mostly still photographs by eminent artists who “made their bones” photographing these cities during very hard times. There also are some powerful videos of race riots and violent demonstrations in Chicago during the Democratic Convention in 1968. It is a superb photography exhibit which is being shown all over the country. It will be shown at Princeton until June 7, 2015
Bruce Davidson is one of the most famous of these photographers. He is well know for his NYC work including his 2 year project called “East 100th Street” where he followed residents of one block in Spanish Harlem during the late 1960’s.
Here is a link to one of Charles Pierre’s poems in Blogfinger where we used a photograph by Bruce Davidson in New York.
Posted in Poems by Charles Pierre, Poetry on Blogfinger, tagged A poem by Charles Pierre on Blogfinger, Bill Frisell plays "Across the Universe.", Poetry on Blogfinger, Tuning Forks by Charles Pierre on April 27, 2015| 1 Comment »
Greetings from Manhattan. At this time of year, as temperatures warm along the coast, one can see sailboats being moved from winter storage on land to their berths at marinas. And as the wind picks up, one can hear their rigging striking the masts. Here is the poem “Tuning Forks,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.
It is past midnight, and the sailboats
float side by side at a sheltered marina,
in stillness so complete that not even
a lapping against the hulls can be heard.
Yet high above the water, at the tops
of the mastheads, the rigging of each craft
starts to ring aloud in a rising wind,
the ropes and cables striking the masts,
sounding possible routes to new lands.
The musical tones, in random clusters,
sailing out from the crowded harbor
toward an uncharted ocean of dark.
JESSICA MOLASKEY with Stephen Foster’s “Beautiful Dreamer.” From Jessica’s album Pentimento
By Billy Collins
United States Poet Laureate from 2001 to 2003.
This morning as I walked along the lakeshore,
I fell in love with a wren
and later in the day with a mouse
the cat had dropped under the dining room table.
In the shadows of an autumn evening,
I fell for a seamstress
still at her machine in the tailor’s window,
and later for a bowl of broth,
steam rising like smoke from a naval battle.
This is the best kind of love, I thought,
without recompense, without gifts,
or unkind words, without suspicion,
or silence on the telephone.
The love of the chestnut,
the jazz cap and one hand on the wheel.
No lust, no slam of the door—
the love of the miniature orange tree,
the clean white shirt, the hot evening shower,
the highway that cuts across Florida.
No waiting, no huffiness, or rancor—
just a twinge every now and then
for the wren who had built her nest
on a low branch overhanging the water
and for the dead mouse,
still dressed in its light brown suit.
But my heart is always propped up
in a field on its tripod,
ready for the next arrow.
After I carried the mouse by the tail
to a pile of leaves in the woods,
I found myself standing at the bathroom sink
gazing down affectionately at the soap,
so patient and soluble,
so at home in its pale green soap dish.
I could feel myself falling again
as I felt its turning in my wet hands
and caught the scent of lavender and stone.
Commentary by Lee Morgan: Someone shared this poem with me recently. It pierced my being. This poem opens us to be close and personal with the “ordinary.”
CHARLES HADEN, PAUL MOTIAN, and featuring GERI ALLEN: “Sandino” The album is Etudes. (Musical selection by Lee Morgan )
Greetings from Manhattan. At this in-between time of year, when winter slowly becomes spring, nature reveals itself in the starkest of terms. Here is the poem “Hickories,” from my 2008 collection, Father of Water.
Best to see them bare, in earliest spring,
at the end of March, when the uncertain
drift from winter shows them in bark only,
standing and branching in jets of wind
over the cold soil. At this unadorned time,
with neither snow nor foliage to hide
their rough wiry forms, they move
in routines severe yet clear, as if
ingrained in their fiber is the sense
of making do, making beauty with the least
costume and fewest movements, making do
in rhythmic turns from shade to sun,
from night to dawn, from winter to spring,
in the uncertain drift through minutes
and days and months, in space
as bare as the trees themselves, in silence
as bare as the trees themselves.