Monthly Archives: June 2016
photo essay series-2015-16
Hudson river series 1981-90
“the writers view”
“the writer’s view” june 18, 1991 11:21 am
to write from the whole being the writer can not capture the true essence of what it is he is trying to communicate. writing is that of fragments each unto its own universe. the fragments develop in his mind in order to reach and discover his world, his voice and provide a path of travel. it is not important to know the absolute direction of that or those paths he writes to, of, or from. he begins in darkness, chaos; his emotions, ideas, experiences carry him to a destination, many times more than not, to an unknown place, “deep, fathomless, and indefinable.” he becomes the inner and the outer world, turning his voyage inside out, upside down, sideways and produces whatever it takes to bring his thoughts into view, his view. the writings are the diggings of archeological findings that he chooses to invent from the past and the future. there is, most of the time, no goal, just words that formulate themselves from his mind and the deepest of self. the deeper he digs, the fragments become his dream, his faith, his voice. most of the time dead ends; he fragmentizes so much that confusion takes the place of reality; and in turn he spends much time thinking and regrouping the words that appear in front of him. at times he must separate himself from his writing so that it stands alone and as not to reflect his own manhood.
failure as a writer is not necessarily the failure of the man, but time, maturity and discipline is what makes thoughts vibrant, fertile and riveting. the writer is the man; the man is the writer, inseparable at times, but to be on the edge, to face head on the unknown and wrestle with it; both the man and the writer are placed on hold and faith. it seems apparent the loss of what one loves so deeply, profusely, and profoundly permeates his world, forcing him to the boundless horizons of self expression. expression from what he has loved so, given up, and separated himself from. he writes from the edges and in turn is the outsider, looking in, towards the dark of day and night trying to establish his authenticity, to learn, realize more, make less from confusion, to articulate, analyze, synthesize all at the same time. to make time, that seems motionless, move once again and not stand still, thus making the waves foam as they pound the shores of his mind. his mind can only attempt to go forward by taking the steps backward, up, down, sideways, over, under or the progress is not realized. often, more than not, he writes of what he does not understand, that in hope, with gained knowledge the words and thoughts will become more clear and define those illusions. sometimes it is the decaying of those illusions that give them growth/life. it is the dismantling, the erosion, of those illusions that drive the writer to his maybe freedom. writing is most definitely not an escape into or out of reality of everyday life: it is the deeper side of the writer who is trying to be reborn, renewed, refreshed where the waters are black, deep cold and numbing in the sterility of the darkness which leads to his freedom. it is at times, again more than not, awkward, the paralyzing fear of being tongue-tied, naked, unsheltered and bare boned that handicaps him with apprehensiveness in waters of strong current where life preservers are non-existent. his words are daring; for if not, why proceed…his mysteriousness is what keeps him alive, not talent, not technique, not education……he creates from with-in his own daring ; no support, no life-line; writes, he just does, from his dreams, frustrations, desires and gut reactions surrounded by fields of anxiety.
“the stairway to the heart” 2014
the stairway to the heart
as you become closer
it is of you that brings me to this place
you are the breath of fresh air that fills
the most fractured soul
you are of the mellow golden
moon beams
the sun’s ever shinning warmth
the glorious and magnificence of
womanhood
in all that you bring to the world
and this man…now
of laughter, of smiles, of truth
the window to my soul
you slowly become
forwarding me to heights never before imagined
of my dreams, my aspirations, my desires, my goals
my not being blinded by the light nor the darkness at night
you have become the part of me that
ebb tides the tributaries of my mind
the glowing penetrating sunshine
that keeps me warm on the coldest of winter days
you are the faith, the inspiration, the so desired love
that encourages me
“the stairway to the heart”
“at this moment” 2015
in time at this moment
as I sit down
caressed in the thought
and image of you
the time is young between us
you and I
I discovered you
found you
and yet I knew you before
we met
I am compelled to write this
for you are the occupation of my thoughts
my heart does not sing much
for it is not a casual one
this heart of mine
but it is from your inspiration
the child, the girl, the woman,
the soul/heart, the passionate self,
the desire to discover, the intelligence of the mind
that you seek
a voice of quiet and calm that is heard
from me
the funny, the silly, the laugh
that provides me with these words
and yet
brings me forward to you
as a breath of fresh air
with your windows and doors wide open
to want to see your dreams, desires
all your adventures
come true
and always be open to you
once I wrote
” what about that”
and even more
it seems I could look into your eyes
and never see the same thing twice
to myself “never to see” 2014
to myself at that moment I spoke, deeply;
questions of my unanswered desires,
dreams, emotions, and maybe what else?
my faith, my strength, a life
i so tried as i became older in attempting
to live a life with grace/humility
what about that?
the thoughts of your moonlit skin,
your mouth moist as you hesitated in your speech
your eyes openly wide looking
as they penetrated deep
within my past, my present and my future
with their glow
what about that?
maybe wondering about the ship
that sailed into the dark fathomless nights,
never to see, never to return at the break of day
what about that
i ask now
the mirror cracked-splintered-shattered into fragments
that even the most faithful soul refuses to make whole again
for they the pieces strewn in all directions
that the life puzzle could never be put back
what about that
on the same day i covered you with roses
i buried you in snow drifts
only my eyes covered you in rain
only clouds cast their ashes, a wilderness
upon my soul
my secrets that haunted me more than not
my glory that somehow defeated me
a blue harsh light that shines on the opposite
eyes of one’s soul
a ship boundless to perhaps nowhere
sailing miles crashing shore waves in endless tides
pulverizing the sands of my thoughts
and i ask again
what about that, i ask?
“I know what it is”…now 2012
” I feel different about you now”…she said after I left that morning
I did not understand and yet I did, but said to myself, different how?
for me it made a difference, so I wrote this:
“I know now what it is”
I know now what it is about her
I kiss your mouth and you to me
soft, gentle, slow and then, more and more
and beyond that even, even beyond more than even
that is of my passion, my expression
as a man, an artist, the pure essence of my romanticism
to kiss her belly, your belly
is the magnificence of your being
it is of your woman hood and from where I came
to be born
the pure essence of your soul and the pulse beat
from where I touch and kiss
the everlasting intoxication, the mere beauty of you as a woman
that I cherish
it is the respect of you that I kiss; you there; any where
it is my being, my humanness, the soul of my soul
the love for you
that I kiss you there
and how and why and because
I kiss so tenderly and gentle
it is the celebration of that kiss, that caress
that from you I am alive, you are that of my
inspiration, my inner strength, my gentleness
my devoted expression of self that I attempt
to forward and give to you
a footprint that….
comes sometimes the surprise
when we feel the footprint
a footprint that
leaves us in a memory
that just happened
a found memory
a warm and gentle
soft and quiet
easy and yet calm
and a mind filled with thoughts
that caress us and the depths of the universe
a universe that could explode
from a million stars born
where clouds and sky clear
from storms of past
where water purifies
itself from the beneath rocky sands
where tiny spouts of flower grows
in spring to see their pedals form
and later
sometime soon
the bud that housed this
flower blooms in golden sunlight
fresh, glorious in such color
brilliantly gracing the sky above
and it was I that felt so surprised
sometimes
sometimes love is only on the moon
and I sit here in this lonely room
thinking deep
thinking
more deeper than ever deep
beyond that ever you know about deep
even more greater than any deepness
or depth for that matter
I reach out to touch you only
and deep in touch only
to reveal my passion
to caress the most very essence
of you
to embrace your body and hold it
gently tight as no man ever has
as if it were the last time for me
as if the universe gave birth to a billion stars
I would do so gently
to kiss your eyes your month
your face the entire being of you
and you to know that
I adore you so
and so the universe bursts into
a trillion stars that light up the night
but the distance is so great
greater than what great could be
beyond what great could imagine
and I miss you
beyond miss greater than miss
so missing you that my heart cries
weeps your mind funny, your smell
around your neck
and even more profoundly
your undoubted love for me
perhaps could be maybe be
should be for as ever long
but at least to have known
and yet remember I had touched you
in a deepest depths as never before felt
which humbles me even more
than even the most of humble
and even more than could be