Framed

What do a covered bridge in Old Forge, NY, Father Mapple's sermon from the film "Moby Dick," the final chapters of Edith Wharton's novella "Ethan Frome," and the belly of a whale have in common? More framing than you can shake a stick at, as it turns out. Photos and commentary at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Redoubt

No cathedral
eye or vestal --
at the end was only
light or deepening dark
depending
on the time of day --
slatted like the eaves
of a fishes' chest;
built and rebuilt
year after tiresome year.
There was no use
in holding out two minutes more
under the knotted haws
that seemed to laugh at me,
creaking in the breeze --
I would forget but the pines
reminded me balancing
my fears against my
staggering regret.

Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 2870, 2869, and 2864 from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.

Three of a perfect pair

How can we discover images that are very similar, and yet very different? What do they have in common, and what sets them apart? Perhaps it is best if we try to understand them as a group, as a set, and make them function as a unit of understanding, rather than segregating them according to differences. In this blogpost, I show a conglomeration of images and what binds them: a railroad journey, a poet and a photographer, a color scheme. Then there is thematic work to do. That becomes the work of ekphrasis. More at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Leader of the pack

"Ask the man who owns one": that was the advertising slogan that drove Packard to fortune, because these cars became the emblem of status, class, and style. At the Ballston Spa antique auto show, we got a close-up look at one restored version, and examine how the love of Packards demonstrates a little about the American dream; words and images found at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

A beautiful thing

There he sat,
eyes unfocused
yet particularly fixed
on that craning silver pixie
his wife could never drive
from his mind --
she danced in his dreams
it seemed until one Friday
there she was like a long-lost
relation beckoning from the road;
on a sultry afternoon her iris
cheek shone like the bloom
of his own invincibility,
and she seemed to move
if only in the aggrieved manner
that the beautiful
indelibly leaves its mark.

Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Badlands

Too bad so many of the long, cool cars have been disappearing from the roads in favor of shorter, gas efficient smartcars. Here's a little poem/song and photospread dedicated to the cars of yesteryear and the wonderful feelings of grandeur they inspire. Partially motivated by the Ballston Spa, NY antique auto show/partially motivated by rockabilly great Reverend Horton Heat. Words and images at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Ford feeling

I just have a bottom feeling
that if I could ever tame you
if I could somehow own you like a toy
somewhere in your metal-housed heart
you'd take more care of me than any human boy,
my long ass Ford.
And a girl can love the city
and a girl can love her tomcat
but one thing she can't reclaim
is how a girl can't quite replace the love
of her long ass Ford.
Day will come I'm sitting pretty,
I won't need you anymore;
I'll be driving a Mercedes
or some Italian badass black imported front-of-the-line sportscar.
But one thing you'll never damage
is my once forever love
for my long ass Ford.

Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Auto class

Who has the sharpest fins in Ballston Spa, NY? We try to find out with the latest photo and blogspot, with shots of classic cars galore -- find out more and read the source at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

New York nocturne

Images of a train and its passengers at night light up the imagination -- how is it that people who are all seemingly on the same trajectory can be moving in such different directions? More considerations of the art and poetry of night at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Long slow rightness

Sometimes it is hard
just to stand so patiently by
and wait as evening turns
its grimmer shades
and then puts on a fairer face
and livens into night --
how do I know what will come
around the nearest bend,
or what these day-bright lights
can render in the misbegotten
hollow space they will leave behind,
as sure they will in their slow
forsaken trajectories?
They discover me out
only for a fraction of a frame,
but it is long enough --
I am pinioned
in their rightness,
stand up straighter,
eyes to the line.


Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Waiting at the station

What is it about trains and railway stations that makes us think about life? Why do they so often bring out the spirit of the blues in people? Tom Waits wrote a number of great songs about the train yard, about where a person comes from and where they're going -- thinking about some of the same things here in Schenectady on a blustery, bluesy day. Photos and commentary at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Rail divide

Griddy girl,
lost along the wide divide,
I can't measure how many
passes of this pen between me
and your hummy clutches,
cluttering down the rail,
lost before you're ever quite
out of sight.
We'd whisper to each other
far beneath the smoky sky
that no one would miss us,
plump a cattail underneath
our heads and go to sleep,
a whistle
faintly distant.

Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

view with images 2587, 2592, 2598, and 2606  from photos.amynelsonhahn.info or visit blog.amynelsonhahn.