Ancient and modern

Every which way, and no one is sure which way to go. It's sometimes difficult to negotiate the chaos of modern spaces, like the mall, just as it was probably difficult to negotiate the chaos of ancient spaces like the agora of Athens or the labyrinth even. Some of us have better tools than others, and we can help those who have less means. A little holiday thinking, some photos and commentary -- blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Agora

Every
which way --
I don't know where to go.
No familiar sign points
the direction of home,
and here only callow leaves
frank their minion paths
and never offer true assistance.
In more modern places,
there is a similar loss
of locational nuance --
where am I? which way
have I come from just now? perhaps
it is best to follow a trail
that's left in twine or to lay down in the center
in a sheaf of ferns
going at all directions
so that upon waking
I may pluck the nearest one
and follow only that
to safety.

Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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If a tree Falls in the forest...

What creates the magic of the trees in fall? Is it their colors or the fact that we will miss them when they're gone, that we miss the green of summer? Exhibit A: four magical photos of fall in the Adirondacks, almost as if they had sprung from Dutch paintings. Read and see more at blog.amynelsonhahn.info

Tree magick

No one told you
to hurry up and prepare the way --
the time comes when
the time comes already,
and you are merely
in the right place,
by chance or by design
no one's the wiser.
A mountain whispered
in my ear that you
were late to bed and late
to rise; is it true?
I'd have to say that you
put up for all appearances
a pretty nice front --
the even-tempered sort,
the kind of honest sport
one likes to get to know.

Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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(Snow)Fall before winter

You mean snow before winter? Snow -- not frost -- on the pumpkin? Snow before Halloween? Yes, that's just what we had around the Hudson Valley of NY. Some photos of the fall foliage with snow on the ground should be enough to convince -- sometimes the seasons do meet in strange ways. More sights and sounds at blog.amynelsonhahn.info, and happy halloween!

Felded wise

Who knows how long ago
it was the snows came
so fast so early,
burrowing their felted mitts
their tilted spirals
and endless spiky gyres
amidst the coppers and glares
of half past harvest?
It lilts our insides just a bit,
to see it so transcribed --
the seasons so rudely
overlapped
like amber
resting astride
an ancient vein,
treasured
yet oddly contained.

Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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Piece of mind

At the side of the railroad tracks, a thousand milkweed pods send silky reminders that winter is coming -- is it really that long ago that we started this blog? Yes, we've done two hundred blogposts now. Time to reflect a bit, with the help of W.H. Auden. Photos and commentary at blog.amynelsonhahn.info, and a big thank-you to all our faithful readers!

Sail
(Milkweed clouds)

Like vespers on the breeze
that have a silent mission
to find the one whose heart
their message most will soothe,
they loft and gather height
and drift, perplexing a child
who sits alone and seeks to lift
a humble hand to douse one
like a flame --
still they wander, light as flies,
and toss along the evening's
sultry skies until they pivot,
sense the climate's best arrangement
and down fall seedlings to their repose.
So like whispers in your dreams
they've walked a thousand miles
before you've said a word,
and that so hastily
you barely catch its breath.
Their message will most please
and drift, to prepare us all
who dream alone
and rest in humble hands,
the only peace that's left.

Copyright (c) 2011 Amy Nelson Hahn

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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

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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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