At liberty

Memorial day creates a stir in the hearts of many...but how many people associate it with paintings by Cezanne? See how a day at the lake and a few snapshots from a kayak can lead to a lot of...well...proto-cubist reflections. Words and images galore and inspirations beyond, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Reflections (on the state of grace)

Every one of us
a perfect ball of circles,
lurching up from the dusk
firm surface of a limited space,
every one of us replete
and finished in its manner,
whether leaving time behind
or casting it forward somehow --
it hardly matters now to the young
or to the old who see their shadows
ultimately the same, drawn long and lean
but the general reflection we maintained
is the last to leave, the first
to salute us in the morning
and the boldest, even in retreat.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images P520013840, P520013445, and P520013945 from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Thunderstruck

Many poets -- including the great T.S. Eliot -- have written on the subject of rain and clouds and thunder. But how do we actually relate to these elements? Do they tell us stories about ourselves? Do they frighten us? Do they comfort us? A set of amazing photos leads us into further discussion, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Dreamless

The man in the mountain
of clouds beats a drum
feared by some, loved by others --
its dignity pounds aloud
each magnifying swell
of the sky's resilience
over water, over storms,
over the fury that would tell
another story of another time,
grounding its voice in the roar
of waves cast upwards,
defying sleep to come.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images P5220141, P5220143, and P5200140  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Deere John

My father, John, loves to garden in his backyard at our home in New Jersey. And he has a great ride-on mower that helps him with the task. But unfortunately sometimes he can't keep the deer away from his precious flowers, alas. What's the grower of dahlias and roses to do? Put up fences and netting, that's what! More on building a better deer-trap, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Primerole

These days what most enjoins us
to hard tasks is not the looming force
of insurmountable goals,
swooping like birds of prey
and waiting for us to weaken --
these days it is more the lowly,
tacit blessing we gain from leaves,
the subtle surprise of violets,
unharmed and flushed as summer rain
against the cheek of our newfound age.
These days it is pleasantest
to know that the realm is protected
by tiny denizens like primeroles.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 0027, 0029, 0036, 0034, and 0041  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Riddle me this

Flowers and bumble bees -- they seem to go together, like words and poetry, yet is it just that simple? Or do we even associate their sounds? In this blogpost, we explore the ways poets play with the sounds of the things we see, and how it may affect us. Also -- why is it so lovely to touch a flower? More, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Amazement

If the thought of touching it
brought a tranquil shiver
to your heart -- like the idea
of placing your cool palm
around any one of these bees
that please themselves to dive
among its snowy tufts --
you should furnish courage,
reach aloft and vanquish
often hard-learned lots:
flowers were made for feeling,
and no rarer is the joy sprung
from amazement at softness
without fear of getting stung.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 343345 and 343445  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

I'll fly away

It's hard to get a good picture of a Monarch butterfly, especially on a windy day like this one was. But we learned a lot and we found out a lot about butterflies, too -- why don't we see more of them? Turns out we are damaging their chances for an abundant food supply, but also a food supply that makes them poisonous. Learn more about these fascinating creatures, in words and images, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Escape

In your fourth life
you briefly alighted,
let the west wind settle
some final temperas still moist
from their creation --
and then like inspiration
you revised your moment
delivering color to the already-blue
of the morning horizon.
Still the memory of your flame-like
life quickens the thoughts
of the flower in her bed,
wondering when you'll return
only to escape her reach again.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 34314, 34324, and 34304  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

The mother of all blogposts

Sending of giving flowers on Mother's Day is so commonplace -- we almost don't give it a second thought. But how did this practice begin? And what does it mean to us, and to our precious mothers? Investigate the visions and ideas behind Mother's Day, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Flower day

From the time we were small
we tugged them, dripping
roots and all from their homes
into yours, hoping for a smile;
and no matter how few or many
you always found the perfect way
to show them off -- the right vase
to arrange their faces.
And no matter how simple
a violet bunch or tulip clutch
or varicolored posy stuffed with roses,
you claimed every year more lovely
and so to us it always was
and now with you will always stay,
a wonderment beyond our reach.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 33954, 33984, 33994, and 33964  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Separated at birth

Two famous statues by Augustus Saint-Gaudens stand at the entrance to the American Wing of the Metropolitan Musuem of Art: one is the bronze figure of the goddess Diana (which was once the weathervane atop the old Madison Square Garden building); the other is a marble statue of the Onondaga chief Hiawatha, sitting deep in thought. Through words and images, we explore how perhaps these two hunters can "know" each other, through artists' eyes. More thoughts, at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Two hunters, separated only

In amongst the potsherds
and the stained glass fascinations,
you can still see living two
grand aberrations of their days --
one, a lily-queen of hunts who
goldeneyed supervised the fights
(little did she know what she
had been fortified to do).
But then there is the legend's worry,
the one who frowns and, inglorious
casts down his spear upon the rock --
the bravest brave and celebrated by so few,
a god-in-the-making, quite rough-hewn.
Compare these hunters, separated only
by few hundred years, and miles.
Compare how we might reverence them;
compare the ways they are said to have lived
that somehow never die.
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 33954, 33984, 33994, and 33964  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Roll the bones

Curious, how different traditions regard the burial of the dead -- in ancient days, the body was not so reverenced in death as perhaps it has now become. Cemeteries used to be a grim and insalubrious reminder of mortality, a far cry from the garden splendor and soaring monuments we enjoy today. A meditation on the meaning of epitaphs and burials, including "Spoon River Anthology" -- words and images at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Stacks

In amongst the dead divide
unbothered by the sun or even
by the weight of brothers, piled beside
or on high -- they cannot breathe
and cannot form opinions either
to be angry or to make remonstrances
at those who lodged them so on end.
I have seen glimpses of stacks
of dead, as they say, heaped
quite end on end and piled very high --
I think this is a singular way
to die, yet in graves we molder,
in boxes often several deep;
no one ever stops to weep for that
peculiar circumstance. How odd is it
to welcome several more?
Are burials of numbers not always
layer cakes, at best? Can we
not celebrate our numbers, then,
and make peace with all that rest?
Copyright (c) 2012 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 341845, 341945, 341145, and 341045  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.info