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Jane’s Carousel

21 Oct

Photos of Jane’s Carousel and the Brooklyn Bridge at night.

“The Brooklyn Bridge Blues”

by Jack Kerouac

I looked at the red winter
disgusting dusk of the world,
saw the alleys beyond,
Brooklyn, Wolfe’s redbrick
jungle (that I’d only
last night walkt, unto
Gowanus Cana!)—-O!
–& I remembered the dreams
the dreams about racks
and Joan Adams and drear
and a tear appeared
in my eye over the river
on the Bridge of Sights
that as soon as I’d
(c r o c o d i l e)
crossed it, had taken
me to the shore
I was looking for!
Svaha! I am
the perfect man
the Buddha of This World

I am what is around me

17 Jul
Self Portrait, 2011, oil on board, 8 x 10 inches

“Theory”

I am what is around me.

Women understand this.
One is not duchess
A hundred yards from a carriage.

These, then are portraits:
A black vestibule;
A high bed sheltered by curtains.

These are merely instances.

–from my own tattered copy of Wallace Stevens, The Collected Poems, page 86

Vintage Books, New York, copyright 1982


Sunday Morning

10 Jul

She says, ‘I am content when wakened birds,
Before they fly, test the reality
Of misty fields, by their sweet questionings;
But when the birds are gone, and their warm fields
Return no more, where, then, is paradise?’

-from “Sunday Morning” by Wallace Stevens

Click on me! 

Antti Korpin Tie

13 Jun

Very slowly I am starting to unpack and sort through all the work I made in Helsinki. A few things never made it to the blog, which I will post over the next few days. Here is another sketch of the view from my balcony of my building in Helsinki at night.

Anti Korpin Tie, 2010, gouache and watercolor on paper, 15.75 x 11.75 inches

At a Window

by Carl Sandburg

Give me hunger,

O you gods that sit and give

The world its orders.

Give me hunger, pain and want,

Shut me out with shame and failure

From your doors of gold and fame,

Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!

But leave me a little love,

A voice to speak to me in the day end,

A hand to touch me in the dark room

Breaking the long loneliness.

In the dusk of day-shapes

Blurring the sunset,

One little wandering, western star

Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.

Let me go to the window,

Watch there the day-shapes of dusk

And wait and know the coming

Of a little love.

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