The Art of Wonder

A Brown University/Rhode Island School of Design Dual-Degree student (BRDD, 2017), artist, writer, scientist, and explorer of the world dedicated to finding Wondrous things. Art, design, science, literature and the connections between them. For my original artwork see http://arianamakesart.tumblr.com/

Posts tagged poetry

Aug 4

States of Matter

Glass is a fluid disguised as a solid

As it sits pretty in window frames

And is molded into bottles and vases

And animal figurines

It is slowly settling. Over years and years

It is called by gravity’s sirens.

Downward silent teardrops moving at glacial pace.

Knowing this,

We traded ice for water—

The same two elements

And hydrogen bonds

Warmer to the touch

But harder to grasp.

We reasoned

The sensation of water

Was worth

Letting it slip through cupped hands.


“It’s not humankind after all
nor is it culture
that limits us.
It is the vastness
we do not enter.
It is the stars
we do not let own us.”
Culture and the Universe, Simon J. Ortiz 

“A pinwheel in the heart spins off oxygen like sparks
people singing anthems try to cover with their hands.
A pure Indonesia under my pillow opens its markets
every night to music, caged birds bought to be released.”
Fragile Acts, Allan Peterson 

“In spite of the overwhelming reliability of things,
the wind making rivulets on my sleeve same as window glass,
the same rocks shaped by the same reasons on Mars,
I am like a cricket singing to another sore voice. I hear it,
but faithful to symmetry, I don’t move closer.
It may not be singing to me. Movement may lead to dissolution.
Stars could make up new animals. The dragonfly
might chase the swallow as it did today in warning.
I am living at the edge of light looking out
over water that touches Mexico. The edge of the continent
holds hands with inlets and I mention them over and over
as if no one listened the last time. The common insists.
Lynx and orchids for some. Underwinter life below the ice.
From here I wave to you like polishing the air.”
“The Common Insists”, from Fragile Acts by Allan Peterson 


Jul 16

Matches

Your mother’s house

Is bigger than it looks

From the outside.

In it, you’ve built cities

From matchboxes

And drawn maps

With what you thought

Was your father’s fountain pen.

The matches─

For years you lit candles

With them, flames

That I would one day

Find and follow.

For years

I smelled faint smoke drifting

And somehow

Heard the sound of ashes falling.

At first

I walked into wildfires

And arrived, uninvited,

At campfire songs, not knowing,

But looking for you.

When I found you

You were reading from the book

Of the only stories I knew.


Jul 7
“There were times we thought the ocean was the silent world
despite miles of snow quenched by touch, exchanges of oxygen
and temperature, despite a trillion trillion clattering glass hands
There were times we could hardly hear anything over the sound of day breaking
…how many times red and green lights changed places
how we moved and some of the loose stars moved”
Allan Peterson, Fragile Acts 

Jul 6
“We put up with gravity
We worshipped the beautiful among us
We had books of angels They were in them
We misspelled the marvelous from disbelief in spelling
We tried to make permanence out of shoddy materials
We unmade permanece by disavowing history
We said there were nine planets
We took one back for not being big enough
We rethought the decision
We felt partial to buffalo grass
We renamed places for things no longer there
We brought out the worst
We refused in spite of evidence
We spoke too soon.”
Allan Peterson, Fragile Acts

May 31

poetsorg:

<3 WW


Feb 6

Published on Jun 10, 2012

Catalina Ferro performs “Anxiety Group” as part of NYC Urbana Poetry Slam. The Bowery Poetry Club, 5/12


Aug 14
poetsorg:

Would he like it if I told him Gertrude Stein, 1923.
I think he would like it.

poetsorg:

Would he like it if I told him Gertrude Stein, 1923.

I think he would like it.


Jul 31
“WHEN I heard the learn’d astronomer;
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;
Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.”
Walt Whitman, lamenting a failure of scientific communication.

Jul 26
nypl:

Walt Whitman manuscript, “Go, said his soul to a poet.”
The manuscript is comprised of two unequal-sized sheets of paper pasted together. Note in ink in Whitman’s hand running along upper left says: “Scrap of Rough Draft / W Whitman.” Additional note in Whitman’s hand written in red ink along seam where the two sheets are joined: “inscription on title page last edition Leaves of Grass.”
From the Berg Collection of English and American Literature.

nypl:

Walt Whitman manuscript, “Go, said his soul to a poet.”

The manuscript is comprised of two unequal-sized sheets of paper pasted together. Note in ink in Whitman’s hand running along upper left says: “Scrap of Rough Draft / W Whitman.” Additional note in Whitman’s hand written in red ink along seam where the two sheets are joined: “inscription on title page last edition Leaves of Grass.”

From the Berg Collection of English and American Literature.

(via poetsorg)


Jul 18

poetsorg:

Levi’s ad quoting Walt Whitman

I don’t know how I feel about this. On the one hand, I love Walt Whitman so much that I can’t resist loving anything in which he is featured. On the other hand, I don’t know how I feel about using Whitman’s words (which are so full and large and encompassing, which mean so much more than blue jeans, which speak of souls and hearts and the American identity) to sell blue jeans. I get what Levi’s wants us to feel: they want us to equate their brand with the American identity and, to do that, they’ve employed the words of the man who knew the soul of America best. I am struggling with whether it is a fair thing for a brand to do. Maybe no one else cares. Maybe few people are as affected by Whitman as I am. I am sure many people would say that the American identity is up for grabs, open to any individual or company to claim and to shape. I can’t say that I disagree with any of these view points in their entirety. I do feel, however, that Whitman should have been given credit. Just a thought. 


Jun 28

Walt Whitman Appreciation

This summer, I have made it my goal to read both the original and “death-bed” editions of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass in their entirety and to study them deeply. I have done this with only one Whitman poem (arguably Whitman’s most famous), “Song of Myself”. This sublime treatise details the power of Nature, of People, of the American Spirt, of Work, of Suffering, of Joy, and of the Self. It is written in plain, honest language and can be read and understood on different levels by all people. “Song of Myself” transcends history, class, and culture, and speaks on a level more universal and primeval than all of these. Although I have casually read many of the other poems in Leaves of Grass, “Song of Myself” has been the only one I’ve delved into and from which I’ve gained true understanding. 

Last year, as part of a school assignment, I spent about two months with “Song of Myself”, taking it apart and putting it back together in the context of American history and Whitman’s personal narrative, and finally, in the context of my own life and understanding of the world. From that point on, Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself” became, for me, a kind of sacred text. I gained and continue to gain from “Song of Myself” what people of faith gain from the holy books of their faiths: guidance, comfort, resolve, solace, mystery, visions of the past, present, future. I subscribe to no faith and do not mean to say I have become a disciple of sorts of  Walt Whitman. I mean only to say that I know, from personal experience, that written words (even those which are not divinely inspired) have the power to transform and enrich one’s life. 

Now I wish to expand that transformative experience. In reading the rest of Walt Whitman’s poems the way I read “Song of Myself”, I hope to know more intimately the language Walt Whitman spoke. I wish to understand the conversations Walt Whitman had with the Universe in its own tongue. 


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