Category: In This Visible Speaking
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River Ballet
so I thought:maybe deathisn’t darkness, after all,but so much light–Mary Oliver, White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field To wait by the long river is to sometimes think we wait only by the ruins we construct, the river we want only to lovefor being the river harnessed into our scattering citiesharnessed into their…
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Far in the Old Homesteader’s Field
the elk wake me. Cold morning, early fire.As if the world should be beautiful here, now, cloud bank portending not snowbut the glaze of cow fences, my finger burn of cold. Amid the world burning, amid its razing,this moment’s abyss turns me back to naked trees in white sunlight. How can I speak this in another…
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Seeking The Accidental Poetry Of Photography
This summer, I took a photography class called The Eloquent Image with Keith Carter at the Anderson Fine Arts Ranch in Snowmass. The LA Times describes Keith as the “poet of the ordinary,” so, of course, I wanted to take his class, to see how a photographer creates poetry through image, through shadow, light, blur,…