Tag Archives: seeing

Photo Shoot :: dance of innocents

If I could see with the eyes
I See with ~ the wonder and gravity
Of What Is would be deeply evident yet
Needing no evidence nor questioning

And yet the power of those eyes
Is that they don’t see in the plainest
Of ways, but as the ordinarily extraordinary
Depth of field without f-stops

Nothing captured for posterity, contrasting
All sense of judgment with the luminosity
Of vibrancy such that even the Camera
Obscura lays wait, no pin prick necessary

As bubbles burst upon forming, projections
Simply do not arise, people do not gather for or against
And even places do not serve as some kind of Dominion
Nor as shoving off, point of departure

How odd that our lives seem to balance
Between a collection of events and things
As we surround ourselves with tangible markers
Of the intangible. What a task

We ask of the humble traces of earth and sky
When their very nature is just to be
No claim on anything, but abiding and giving
Nonetheless. Purpose perhaps but no need.

for James Wheeler (in asking to take photos) and Peter Kater (for Dance of the Innocents)

20131117-114003.jpg

Stir The Pot (taste the life)

With each veil, whether opaque or transparent
There you are, such that the phenomenon
Of ‘behind’ a veil takes on a new slant.
You’ve redefined it for me in the juxtapositions
You carry, heavily, awkwardly, and some tenderly.

For ‘behind’ becomes ‘out in front,’ the evening drunkenness
Marries with the sober mess of another day
Creating one breathtaking yet somber step
In the choreography of this life, the life
You have surreptitiously invited me to witness.

Which of these veils lay, in their transparency,
Across your heart? How do you know
Your own heart when that which obscures lends
Its fashioning to nearly every breath you take?
What, in your own private ken, can take your breath away?

Why not let it be so even here, even now.
Regardless of what it could bring, what could
Be said of you, of the other. Melt, like the snows,
That brick of larder sheltered in the walk-in
Of the kitchen of your existence. Taste.

What is here. Taste. Join me in the life that is yours.
Join me in taking in the smells, the fragrances.
Yes, you may suffer immunity from those. Walk
Anew into your own life through my eyes,
Landing there in a freshness that is Timeless.

May these words beckon to you in the way
Your touch has softened something in me,
Even in your withholding. For touch is beyond
Flesh, includes flesh, is the origins of flesh,
Something more than the senses that sees, hears, and listens yet.

iNotice

Incoming

I notice there are things
that
people
tend to notice

There is what I notice
almost
too subtle
to take note

Is there something we notice
possibly
other than
what seems to be

Departure

Walking
everything stays in one place
eyes toes nose
back hand

Notice(?)

How you don’t leave
anything
behind
everything comes with

When orientation is fixed
things return to
the same
the same

Again and again

How often do I agree
even in writing
gross holds
over subtle

Otherwise

Flame light of fire
Musical tonality
Aspiration
Synergy

 

 

Re: Point of Reference*

.

There comes a point

It’s coming into focus

Scanning it, seeing

What it is, might be

.

Reference points all

Around outside inside

Cascading the senses

What to measure or

.

Score

Nothing

No need

Or is there

.

There comes a point

When seeing is seeing

Not a tool to shape

Reality map-out frame

.

Barter coordinate banter

Store hold hand-hold

Tether tie keep

Sure secure free

.

Advantage to what

Who pays the piper

What lock to key

Surveyor’s level rod

.

There comes a point

When no point is

True measure in the

Long or the short of it

.

Seeing

Only

Only

Seeing

.

And as that reference

One to another as

Other to one

We are

.

Searching

The crosshairs

Behold beyond

That I Am

.

.

* new title and layout of an earlier poem

land cloud earth air water and photography

slope ridge line light

Photography –a medium I first explored over three decades ago and now find myself coming back to again, is compelling. It is the appearance or illusion of what was seen –not seen by the naked eye but by the camera, as Garry Winogrand so aptly noted as he discussed photography while being filmed himself for a documentary on photography.

We can look at photography in another way, not the way the camera ‘looks’ at the world in that split second aperture opening, but the way the human being and the human eye explores and glances, focusing or not focusing at something. Each photograph I take asks, if it can be said that way, to be looked at differently. In the photo above, for the body/brain there is a gestalt here. There are worlds within worlds in this image in the way I experience it. There is abstract beauty, there is light, dance, majesty, tenderness, softness, a deep relax. I love what seems to me the visitors, the trees high up on the ridge drawing my attention and intersecting the ridge line, riding the slope of this arid mountainside.

I love the scale shift in detail from the foreground to the very distant space of the ridge on into the sky. The feel of the day that drew me out into its changeability is touched here in this photograph, for me. Something breathes more easily within me in the presence of this light and shadow illusion of a land and cloud scape. So where might we say this landscape exists?

As invisible

as an updraft, the eye soars

as the osprey’s flight

Moisture Burns Off

A heaviness on waking

burns off like dew

moisture of the morning

dream trails left by some

unsuspecting wish to be

or to love or have love

only forgetting no possession

brings such things

no accomplishment

weighs in as favor

making any wish true

 

There is something here

at work       abiding

more brilliant even

than the sun

for it shines always

and looking beyond

the eyes yes yes yes

yeses reveal what is

eyes possibly of heart

beyond breath even

You are what is

 

Neither moist nor arid

distressed or elated

lost or remembered

virtuous or awry

engaged or foot-dragging

each and all of these

burn off in the sun

of their own making

like the dew

of this morning

a morning of night

 

What is

has

no

equal

force

= or ≠

cannot

be measured

and left

whole

simultaneously

 

Instead unfold within

ourselves resplendent

beyond the fascination

with things that break

only to be

rebuilt oncemore

trimming satisfaction

from something

that can only

be diminished

by its very nature