EARTH ~

...the other day





















































photos © bob arnold


After four months of woods life snow ice and mud we took a car trip in the right direction for almost a summer day. Same earth.

EARTH ~

PLANETARY



Every father is old —

Bad news has him

Cry for his children







Every mother is young —

Her old earth is born

Every day








photo © bob arnold

EARTH ~

http://www.sacred-texts.com/bud/gbf/index.htm










Lafcadio Hearn, one of the truly exotic lives (27 June 1850-26 Sept 1904) wrote some of his greatest work from years living in New Orleans, and later Japan, where his reputation grew legendary. His many books of supernatural, folk tales and wonder include Glimpses of Unfamiliar (1894), Gleanings in Buddha-fields (1897), Kwaidan (1903)...years later transferred into the classic film.

EARTH ~






JULES SUPERVIELLE




PROPHECY


One day the Earth will be
just a blind space turning,
night confused with day.
Under the vast Andean sky
there'll be no more mountains,
not a rock or ravine.


Only one balcony will remain
of all the world's buildings,
and of the human mappa mundi,
limitless sorrow.
In place of the Atlantic Ocean,
a little saltiness in the air,
and a fish, flying and magical
with no knowledge of the sea.


In a car of the 1900s (no road
for its wheels) three girls
of that time, pressing onwards
like ghosts in the fog.
They'll peer through the door
thinking they're nearing Paris
when the odor of the sky
grips them by the throat.


Instead of a forest
there'll be one bird singing,
which nobody will ever place,
or prefer, or even hear.
Except for God, who listening out,
proclaims it a goldfinch.






translated from the French by Monica Alvi

katsushika-hokusai


Jules Supervielle (16 Jan 1884 ~ 17 May 1960) was a French poet and writer born in Uruguay.

GOOD NEIGHBOR ~

Good neighbor ~ Bernie Sanders :

(click here)

http://sanders.senate.gov/newsroom/news/?id=fdb3afb5-c1f9-4c71-add0-e8c06d2ad18a







phoo : a-jabbar.blogspot.com

EARTH ~

WHERE



down along


slipped moss


dark hollow


never too wide


so we can leap


back & forth


I like to see


your hair brighten


through the


hemlocks stream











Bob Arnold
where, tel-let



photo 'starburst' © bob arnold

DAYDREAM ~

Right now is as good time as any to set sail with the great composer, arranger and pianist Billy Strayhorn, now already gone from us almost a half century and having left behind a legacy of standards like Take the A Train and Lush Life...just to mention two giants...here's Daydream.

photo: jazztimes.com
billy strayhorn (1915-1965)

EARTH ~

Fire at the Oil Refinery in Ichinara City, Chiba prefecture, Japan. Caused by the Earthquake in March 2011

read more

JAPAN ~

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/03/16/world/asia/16contain.html?ref=global-home













VERMONT ~


http://www.democracynow.org/2011/3/15/vermont_gov_fights_to_close_vermont














photo : usatoday / Fire at the Oil Refinery in Ichinara City, Chiba prefecture, Japan. Caused by the Earthquake in March 2011
photo: smh.com.au

EARTH BUILDERS ~

Clarence Schmidt, Woodstock, NY.
the legendary House of Mirrors, vastly spread by hundreds of window frames and tinsel-covered trees, was wickedly destroyed by arsons in 1968






Niki de Saint Phalle, Tuscany hills, Italy
colossal architectural sculptures inspired by Dubuffet, Gaudi, a wild mind, and the 22 Major Arcana of the Tarot; the Tarot Garden in Tuscany was started in 1979






Rolling Mountain Thunder, Imlay, Nevada
sacred site and memorial to Native Americans — the large 'handle' rising above the frame of the house is there so the Great Spirit can carry it away







Chomo (Roger Chomeaux), France
retiring to a reclusive life in the sixties, on a plot of land howling and happy with thousands of sculptures and assemblages, buildings filled with paintings, everything reclaimed







Danielle Jacqui, Pont-de-l'Etoile, France
mirror & ceramic fragments, tiles, paintings all attached to a village house near Marseille







Robert Vasseur, Louviers, France
former milkman had a deal with the local dump to set aside broken crockery for him, and with the help of his wife, they set to work, inside & out, doghouse included







Vollis Simpson, whirlijigs, Lucama, N.C.
handyman deluxe Vollis Simpson started on his first of 30 whirlijig sculptures in 1986







Simon Rodia's working hands







Simon Rodia, Watts Towers, Los Angeles, CA.
started in 1921, 33 years in construction, no plans drawn, no bolts or welds used, and when done, Rodia ceded the towers to a neighbor and walked away







Karl Junker, Lemgo, Germany
cabinet-maker and woodcarver has hand-made this many storied home piece furniture — the interior is as marvelous as the exterior






Richard Greaves, Beauce, Canada
out in the countryside, constructed around a central woodstove, Richard Greaves and associates create their assemblage sculptures, homes






Tyree Guyton, Detroit, MI.
since 1986 Tyree Guyton has been decorating abandoned buildings with you name it







Antoni Gaudi, Spain
maybe the best way to see the great Gaudi's imagination is as a bird

thank you to all photographers far & wide

EARTH ~

WALK TO THE BARN


All of life, even the mountains
Around him are changing.

Yet he walks twice each day
To the barn up the wide gravel drive,

No more cattle inside.
His slow and steady pace

Pays respect to the surrounding pasture,
The ring of woodland and evening birds.

What once made him prosperous
Is now gone, except for what he loves —
His wife, old dog, farm buildings and land.
He leans open the heavy sliding barn door,

Steps out of view.

HUNTER

Late in the afternoon
This farmer drove his tractor
Across the river, broke open the thin ice,
Put out salt in the bare ground mowing
And if you looked, you could find his
Red jacket working behind the trees.

That night edges of the river froze again.
Big bright stars burned cold over the hills.
I was carrying in cookstove wood
For the next morning
When the gunshot shook down valley,
Then back up.

Two days later a farm dog
Held the deer’s head
Where he lay down
Chained to the barn.

SENIOR CITIZEN


Probably 1,000 carpenters
Live in the southern part
Of this state, a lot of them
Hip and young with a brand new
Leather apron, heavy duty
Trucks, wives or companions
That are weavers or potters
Or dancers, and of course they
All have a story to tell.
Though yesterday I was in
An old woman’s house high off
From the back road, and she
Lived alone and missed all
Her grandchildren and braided
Rugs in the back of the house
With hand needle and years
And years of wool, and the
Story she had to tell was
Already written in her choice
Of words, the rope of her hands,
And the scar above her left eye
Made thirty-five years ago
By the shuttle of a textile loom.

BACK ROAD CALLER


I came to have my chain saw fixed
And he did that, but
A half hour job
Stretched to three hours
Because he had to show me
All his new tools,
Plus his 75lb. bow
And the antlers from the buck
He shot last fall —
“Arrow went clean through”
Never mind the drawer
Of chewing tobacco
He offered me, and then
To his father, and we both
Politely declined a dip,
And as if that wasn’t enough —
He pulled out the flat
Enveloped reeds he used
For turkey hunting —
Tucked one up on the roof
Of his mouth and cupping
His hands chucked out a
Perfect few syllables
Which would have turned any
Bird’s head, and depending
On how he rolled his body
With a call he could make
It sound horny, but he
Only saved that one for
The summertime, when the
Weekend neighbor’s daughter
Came to visit all alone.




MARSH HAWK


Only 10 yards
Away, and I
Didn’t see her

Fly there, and
I won’t see
Her fly off —

Feathers matching
Down into the
Gray rain
Cedar post

Eyes looking
Straight ahead
Staring me down




GHOSTS


March comes and water moves,
The river, ponds, brooks open.
On snowshoes this is the last week
You’ll hike down these banks of
Rotten snow, the last week bridges
Of ice will be there to criss-cross
Down stream, the last week a
Deer carcass will be pinned between
Rocks and white water spray through
The white of her skull — the runoff
Will let her go, or break her to pieces —
You’re aware of this where you step.
Pools of water swirl five feet deep,
Maybe her bones will lay down in the
Sand and white pebbles here, it is
The last week to think of any of this.
Beneath your feet of oblong ashwood
And softened leather you sense the newness
Of life — hide has slipped all winter off
The body, it is time to go places.

NO TOOL OR ROPE OR PAIL


It hardly mattered what time of year
We passed by their farmhouse,
They never waved,
This old farm couple
Usually bent over in the vegetable garden
Or walking the muddy dooryard
Between house and red-weathered barn.
They would look up, see who was passing,
Then look back down, ignorant to the event.
We would always wave nonetheless,
Before you dropped me off at work
Further up on the hill,
Toolbox rattling in the backseat,
And then again on the way home
Later in the day, the pale sunlight
High up in their pasture,
Our arms out the window
Cooling ourselves.
And it was that one midsummer evening
We drove past and caught them sitting
Together on the front porch
At ease, chores done,
The tangle of cats and kittens
Cleaning themselves of fresh spilled milk
On the barn door ramp;
We drove by and they looked up —
The first time I’ve ever seen their
Hands free of any work,
No tool or rope or pail —
And they waved.






© Bob Arnold
from Where Rivers Meet
(Mad River Press)



photos © bob arnold

EARTH ~ BUILDER

Said & Done