Chevy citation

With Chevrolet turning one hundred this year, we render a tribute to a little yellow Corvette, and the significant effect that these stupendous little sportscars have had on us over the years. Visions, commentary, and a song by Prince, as well as the ongoing plea for contributors and clickers on ads (we need your help, readers and viewers!) at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Showgirl

What could ever separate
the private love
for a color, or a fragment
of chrome or leather,
from the public enchantment
of having what others
do not dare to have?
Beauty, if it is stuck
forever in the eye of man,
sometimes takes shape
and becomes a vision
clad with a monster purpose --
to win a hundred years of hearts,
and be the only show in town.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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I am a rock

The poetic process of personification comes into play when we take a closer look at a series of photos featuring water running over rocks. Discussion of word and image, plus a poem by Emily Dickinson -- more thoughts, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Rock sequence

The effusion
rambling in the midst
of each calm center
refuses to overturn its firm
decree of solidity:
each forbears
and shifts no more than
a facet's breath,
hardly seeming to yield
but to fortify
in each burnished appeal
to the unrelenting
flow and course, the
mistress of its wear.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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With a little help from our friends

This post today marks the one year anniversary of the blog -- fitted out with some nostalgic photos and a poem commemorating the occasion. Looking back (and looking one day ahead to Amy and Andrew's two-year anniversary), we think about the nature of milestones. What makes that special day extra special? Plus: a request for readers and viewers! Please click on our ads and help support the blog! THX More info @blog.amynelsonhahn.info

A toute memoire

Dizzying days
sweep flickering like celluloid --
even time, even nature herself
fails to keep their pace.
It is as if the dreaming world
forgot us entirely.
We are languorous
and free to unlimit
the moments we allow
just searching one anothers' eyes,
just finding kindred fires
that yearn in earnest
no matter what the wind,
no matter what the hour --
we are proven
and sustained.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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To the purpose

Sometimes we question whether there is a purpose in life. But then a beautiful sunset will come along, and everything will suddenly fall into place. The sky aligns with the earth, and everything is made right, is suddenly correct in the world. A tribute -- of sorts -- to the Wisdom of the Mythtellers. In words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Symmetry
(for Sean Kane)

Purpose exists
between the blue of the air
and the blue of the surface --
a frozen edge of purpose,
open form in symmetry,
then as now.
Look at the way the ice
rises only enough
to extend itself
inch by inch as it cools
to the level just past the water.
The sky has a purpose for it.
The curve of the land's edge
is in love
with the clear lines
of this once-wayward
now at home
descendant
of rain.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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First things first

We're back -- after a brief hiatus and the acquisition (for Andrew) of a new camera. Some sunset photos prompt a discussion of last things: what does the "dying of the light" signify? Images and thoughts abound, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Last light

There is a formality
and a crispness
in the last light of the day --
as it pulls its parting hand
from yours, it never looks back
for an importune word
or an unfortunate doubt;
it merely leaves you spun
in utter silence, jaw stuck
among the fleeting orbs of radiance.
At last it pulls away
dropping shade by shade
till only one frail glimmer runs
the course of the quickness,
and finally all is night.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Photogravure

What happens when you take a photo, a poem about a photo, and the interpretations of that poem and photo, and form a discussion about them? You get something similar to the old-school process of photogravure, only with words and images. Throw in some references to Tennyson for good measure. Understand more at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Wallflower

How often is it
that the smallest of things
prick us to the greatest movement --
the nettle spurs the dray,
or a seedling lives to loom
in oaken splendor.
Here a minor green urging
subtly speaks above the wood gravure;
we tune ourselves
to its sunward moment,
the dynamics of its song
invincible yet dying
all at once.
Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Lonely no more

When Wordsworth wrote, "I wandered lonely as a cloud," he wasn't quite considering the merry company of fluffy clumps I discovered when photographing clouds this week. How do we consider clouds, and how do we analyze what we see when we look at them? More on the words and images of clouds, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Brushstroke

No imminent analysis
determines the import of this
delineation, this effusion
riding high above my eye;
no rule governs the hue,
constructs the variables
of the ascent into meaning,
into my point of view.
The wager of whiteness
against the paradigm of blue
is simply an offhand gesture,
created perhaps to say
on a smallish whim,
"Enjoy today;
what happens, will."
Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Tapestry

Carole King, The Statler Brothers -- we're bringing it all together, plus some great looks at the great outdoors in early January -- just to get you in the mood to rethink the beginning of the year. What is the meaning of a new start? Words and images at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Winter designs

Your glower
cannot cozen away
my need to mount
each fertile line
as it escapes my eye --
they should be blue as veins,
but they are red as valentines,
traveling up this steep ascent
defying the month,
defying their age,
febrile,
despite the brutal repulse
of the glaring rock,
light in color though it is,
though dark at heart.
Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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What time is love?

No, it's not just a song by the KLF. It asks how we look at the question of time itself, and how we love the time we have to spend, such as time just spent wandering in the woods. A recent end-of-the-year trip to the park with some near-and-dear ones inspires these meditations in word and image. More, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Time in the woods

How shall I know
the hour or day?
All the old methods fail.
Shall I dazzle a stick
in a fragile pond
and see which way it ticks?
The pale soft moon looms on the glass
of the icicle shadow below
and forages high in the prospects
of trees rough-cheeked
with courage and berries,
bolder still with a rude little fellow
who barked at me,
what time is it?
Don't you know?
Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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