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Posts Tagged ‘Poetry’

Biding Time

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on November 19, 2024| 1 Comment »

GC Myers- Biding Time 2007

Biding Time, 2007

Waiting for the end, boys, waiting for the end.
What is there to be or do?
What’s become of me or you?
Are we kind or are we true?
Sitting two and two, boys, waiting for the end.

–William Empson, Just a Smack at Auden

I feel like we are in a period of waiting right now. I don’t know what exactly, but it feels like we are kind of frozen in place as we wait for something to happen that will put everything into motion, for better or worse. Like we are waiting for someone to push over that first teetering domino.

Maybe it’s just me in feeling this way. Maybe it’s just the time of the year as we enter the holiday season and I am reminded of the intolerable waiting for Christmas’ arrival when I was a kid.  I am not quite so eager for whatever surprise is in store for us to arrive as I was then.

But whatever it is or isn’t, we– or maybe just me– remain somewhat frozen in place, biding our time. Finding a way to get through this waiting period is all we– or I– can do.

That brings me to the painting at the top, an older piece from 2007 that is titled Biding Time. I used to periodically paint pieces like this that were extremely simple and quiet. I viewed them then and now as meditations, as a means to finding stillness amidst the surrounding chaos. I haven’t painted one in quite some time for reasons I can’t determine which is odd because I always found most of them quietly effective., remaining in my mind for long periods of time.

This particular piece has not been shown publicly in many years and I thought it was time for it to make an appearance once again. The time seems right. It is headed to the West End Gallery tomorrow, in time for their annual Deck the Walls holiday show.

FYI– The verse at the top is from William Empson, a friend and colleague of poet W.H. Auden. In the poem Empson both pays homage and pokes a bit of fun at Auden while capturing the anxiety of post-WW II Europe that was struggling to gain its bearings amidst the nuclear threat that had risen.

Let’s have a song to go with such waiting.  Here’s a favorite, Waitin’ Around to Die from the late Townes Van Zandt.  This is from the 1976 documentary Heartworn Highways, a film that captured the beginnings of the alt-country movement of that time.  This clip features Townes singing to his girlfriend and his neighbor Uncle Seymour Washington, a retired blacksmith born to ex-slaves.

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The Song of Wandering Aengus

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on October 30, 2024| 1 Comment »

GC Myers-- Follow the River sm

Follow the River— At Principle Gallery

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

—William Butler Yeats, The Song of Wandering Aengus

The last Wednesday before a most important election here in the US. Let’s set politics aside for the day and focus on things of beauty, of mystery, of wonder. Those things that make this life more than tolerable. Things that deepen our existence here on this spinning rock we call home.

A fine example, in my mind, is the wonderful poem above from a favorite poet, William Butler Yeats. Perhaps we’re all a bit like Wandering Aengus, silently seeking something forever elusive.

Some of us might know what we seek. Some may not.

It probably doesn’t matter so long as we continue to seek whatever it might be that tugs at our soul. I think we all need that in some form or another. Until time and times are done…

Here’s Donovan with his version of the poem in the form of a song. Lovely.

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Old Man River

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , on October 19, 2024| 4 Comments »

GC Myers- And the River Flows 2024

And the River Flows– At the West End Gallery

That time
we all heard it,
cool and clear,
cutting across the hot grit of the day.
The major Voice.
The adult Voice
forgoing Rolling River,
forgoing tearful tale of bale and barge
and other symptoms of an old despond.
Warning, in music-words
devout and large,
that we are each other’s
harvest:
we are each other’s
business:
we are each other’s
magnitude and bond.

–Gwendolyn Brooks, Paul Robeson

I had come across part of the poem above from Gwendolyn Brooks before, those last three lines: …we are each other’s harvest: we are each other’s business: we are each other’s magnitude and bond. These are strong lines, sentiments that always speak loudly to me, ones that I hope will more people would realize and take to heart.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t taken the time to search out where it had come from in her work.  I was pleased when I finally came across the whole poem and found that it was titled Paul Robeson, about someone who I consider one of the most fascinating people of the last century.

Paul Robeson (1898-1976) was a star athlete, a lead actor and headlining singer– the bright light in any sky in which his star appeared. He was also a scholar– valedictorian for the 1919 class at Rutgers where he was the only black student. He went on to graduate from Columbia Law School and worked for a time as lawyer. But his performing talents were undeniable and they brought him worldwide acclaim. But beyond all this, Robeson was throughout his life a ceaseless champion of the labor and civil rights movements, here and abroad. If you don’t know much about Robeson, please look him up.

He is best known to most folks for his performance of Old Man River in the musical Showboat. I thought the song would be a fitting companion to the painting at the top, And the River Flows. It’s a piece that keeps drawing me back to look a little deeper. I feel there’s something beyond the surface, a message or story in the river rolling by or in a lit room in one of those buildings that overlook it. I might never know that message or hear those stories but just knowing that the river keeps rolling it good enough this morning.

All I need to know…

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Autumn Leaves

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , on October 12, 2024| Leave a Comment »

Georgia O'Keeffe Autumn Leaves

Georgia O’Keeffe- Autumn Leaves, 1924

October is the month for painted leaves. Their rich glow now flashes round the world. As fruits and leaves and the day itself acquire a bright tint just before they fall, so the year near its setting. October is its sunset sky; November the later twilight.

–Henry David Thoreau

An October morning. I have nothing to say this morning. Well, that’s not true. I have things to say but don’t want to say them or, at least, don’t want to make the effort. Too interested in watching the light begin to show through the bones of the trees that have become more visible as the leaves have fallen. In the semi-dark. I am listening to Cannonball Adderley and his version of Autumn Leaves, with his all-star band featuring Miles Davis on trumpet. There are a wide range of takes on this song from many artists and most are wonderful. It’s that good a composition. But this remains a favorite for me.

Good stuff for an autumn morning…

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The People, Yes, Fours Years Later

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , on October 7, 2024| 2 Comments »

“Approaching Storm”

The post below is from four years ago, in the runup to the 2020 presidential elections. It was a time at the end of an administration that had buffeted the American people for nearly four years of continuous lies and divisive hate-filled rhetoric. It culminated in the events of January 6, 2021. It’s four years later and the person responsible for that division and violence is frantically operating at an even greater magnitude of darkness in his appeal to his followers. Tomorrow, we will be a mere four weeks from Election Day. The same person who stoked the storm that was January 6 is desperate and is once again attempting to set a whirlwind upon us that he hopes will tear us apart so that he might once more take power.

I thought this post was appropriate to this time, as it was four years before and as it was in 1936. Be mindful, my friends, for there are perilous weeks ahead of us.

Lately, I have been reading bits and pieces from a book of Carl Sandburg poems called The People, Yes. Published in 1936, It is a broad work that attempts to span the multitudes, much like Whitman and his Leaves of Grass. It is a deep reflection on the American people at that time, in the midst of the upheaval of the Great Depression and the rise of Fascism and Naziism in Europe.

As I say, I have been reading it piecemeal, picking it up at loose moments. Each time I am struck how relative it is to this time even though it is nearly 90 years old. For all the technological and societal changes that have occurred, for all the progress and sophistication we assume took place, we are still pretty much the same and pretty much in the same place. Still maintaining many of the same conceptions and misconceptions, still as biased and still as vulnerable to being manipulated.

One verse from this book that I keep coming back to is shown above, at least its beginning, #102.

It begins with bits from President Lincoln’s July 4, 1861 speech to Congress, one in which he justified his actions in the aftermath of the Confederate’s attack on Fort Sumter. In it, he outlined how the leaders of the Southern rebellion stoked the enthusiasm for conflict among the people living there through the dispersal of misinformation and fallacies. Some things never change, eh?

Reading Sandburg’s take on this is a bit scary. It seems to reflect what has happened here so well. The public has been barraged with lies and hateful, divisive rhetoric for the last four [now eight] years to the point that we are without moorings. Many of us have lost the ability to discern truth from the lie and right from wrong. And now, in this unsteady state, we are experiencing the convergence of events that have been precipitated by these actions.

We are reaping the whirlwind.

And, unfortunately, the man and his accomplices who have done this, who have unleashed this awful power, can no longer control its direction or the scope and range of its destructive power.

As Sandburg put it:

Is there a time to repeat,
“The living passions of millions can rise
into a whirlwind: the storm once loose
who can ride it? You? Or you? Or you?
only history, only tomorrow, knows
for every revolution breaks
as a child of its own convulsive hour
shooting patterns never told of beforehand”?

As I say, some things never change. There will always be those who try to benefit from inciting chaos and division upon the people. But, as it has always been, these devious people have never been able to reliably predict or control the whirlwind they let loose.

The public mind generally has the final word in such matters.

And it is speaking now.

Let us hope the people answer the call in the coming four weeks…

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In Cool Air/ No Road

Posted in Painting, Poetry, tagged , , , , on July 29, 2021| Leave a Comment »

GC Myers- In Cool Air rev sm

“In Cool Air“– Now at the West End Gallery

Drafting a world where no such road will run
From you to me;
To watch that world come up like a cold sun,
Rewarding others, is my liberty.
Not to prevent it is my will’s fulfillment.
Willing it, my ailment.

— No Road, Philip Larkin

There’s a lot to do this morning plus my computer is a little glitchy this morning so I won’t say much. I thought I’d pair the small piece above from my current West End Gallery show, In Cool Air, with a reading by Tom O’Bedlam of No Road from poet Philip Larkin. Not sure that they fully mesh in terms of tone and message but I am a sucker for Larkin’s verse with its sometimes cynical and slightly misanthropic viewpoint.

I especially like the final stanza shown above. There’s something to it that I can somewhat equate with what I do.

Or not. Who knows, really?

All I know that on a busy morning, these lines and this small painting felt like a small respite.

Good enough for me.

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Day Reborn

Posted in Philosophy, Poetry, Recent Paintings, tagged , , , on July 10, 2021| Leave a Comment »

GC Myers- Day Reborn sm

“Day Reborn“– Now at the West End Gallery, Corning, NY

I am dead because I lack desire,
I lack desire because I think I possess,
I think I possess because I do not try to give,
In trying to give, you see that you have nothing,
Seeing that you have nothing, you try to give of yourself,
Trying to give of yourself, you see that you are nothing,
Seeing that you are nothing, you desire to become,
In desiring to become, you begin to live.

― Rene Daumal

In desiring to become, you begin to live…

I wasn’t sure what to put up with the new painting at the top, Day Reborn, now hanging at the West End Gallery as part of my solo show opening there this coming Friday, July 16. I came across the poem above from Rene Daumal who was a French poet and a “spiritual para-surrealist“– I don’t know what that means either– who died from tuberculosis in 1944 at the age of 36. This poem was part of his last letter to his wife just before his death, saying that it summed up what he wished to convey to those who had worked with him.

It has a nice circular pattern that matches well with the circular nature of this painting as I see it, with every night passing into the rebirth of a new day. In that new day there is the potential for living and becoming something more, the possibility to gain a bit of wisdom and to give of yourself to the world.

Every new rising of the sun is a small miracle, illuminating the many gifts this world has to offer. It is sometimes difficult to recognize these gifts when we lose ourselves in negative actions and reactions, falling prey to envy, greed, prejudice and so many more of the other darker traits. 

There’s a tone in this painting that I think expresses the sense of possibility that accompanies the new day. It is forward looking but content to exist in the moment, to simply be alive in the moment.

Not desiring more from this world but desiring to be here.

That’s my take, anyway. It makes sense at 6 AM. We’ll see how it holds up at 6 PM.

Through the Trees is currently hanging and ready to be seen. The show officially opens Friday, July 16, with an opening reception that runs from 4-7 PM at the West End Gallery on historic Market Street in Corning, NY. Unless something changes, I plan on being in attendance.

The painting shown at the top, Day Reborn, is 24″ by 24″ and is painted on an aluminum panel.

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The Man with the Blue Guitar

Posted in Early Paintings, Poetry, tagged , , , on June 16, 2021| Leave a Comment »

GC Myers- exiles-blue-guitar 1995This morning, I came across a piece from poet Wallace Stevens (1879-1955) which was fortunate as I was inclined to not write anything this morning. I didn’t write anything the day before yesterday when the internet was down here as a result of a squirrel chewing on the  cable on the pole outside the studio. They do that type of thing all the time.

That cable issue kept me from maintaining my streak of posting something every day and it didn’t feel bad. And that pleased me because I sometimes need to get things done and the early morning is when I am best suited, physically and mentally, to tackle them. Not worrying about posting something is a big relief.

That’s a lot of explanation for saying not too much. Anyway, the point here is that I found a poem that reminded me of an early painting, Blue Guitar from my Exiles series from back around 1995-1996. Actually, it fits it perfectly and I thought I would share a reading of it from Tom O’Bedlam who I have featured here a few times recently.

If you’re so inclined, take a short minute or two to give a listen and see if you see the connection.

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Blue Haven

Posted in Event, Music, Poetry, Recent Paintings, tagged , , , , , , on May 28, 2021| 3 Comments »

GC Myers- Blue Haven sm

From my spirit’s gray defeat,
From my pulse’s flagging beat,
From my hopes that turned to sand
Sifting through my close-clenched hand,
From my own fault’s slavery,
If I can sing, I still am free.

For with my singing I can make
A refuge for my spirit’s sake,
A house of shining words, to be
My fragile immortality.

― Sara Teasdale, Refuge

Today, I am sharing the painting at the top, Blue Haven, which is another from my annual show, Between Here and There, that opens a week from today, June 4th, at the Principle Gallery in Alexandria, VA. Previews of the show become available today by contacting the gallery.

I thought I’d pair this painting with the short poem above, Refuge, from Sara Teasdale, the great and tragic American poet. Teasdale (1884-1933) wrote a poem, Strange Victory, that remains a favorite and was the inspiration for a group of my early paintings. Her poem and the painting both deal with creating a refuge or safe haven from the forces of the outer world that so often make us feel as though we have been pummeled without mercy. Finding a way or a place in which we can  hunker down and endure is sometimes all we are left.

Sometimes, just enduring is a form of triumph.

I believe that is what this painting says for me.

I hope it shows itself properly here, so that you can see it for what it is. It was a very difficult painting to photograph with its multiple contrasts and shades of blue, which has aspects and depths that are especially hard to properly capture. After a quite a few attempts I am still not sure that this image fully captures it. The difficult ones, those that are hard to capture and those that deal with complex emotions, are often my favorites. I think it’s because the viewer has to work a bit to fully understand the piece in their own way. It doesn’t offer its rewards easily.

I am also sharing a choral piece that is based on this Teasdale poem. It is surprising how much of her work has been the basis for musical works. I had no idea until I did a quick search this morning and found that there are several different compositions based on this poem alone. The one below spoke most clearly to me. It is  short piece for solo piano written by Edward Enman during the early days of the pandemic using Teasdale’s poem as inspiration. There is also a choral selection from composer Audrey Snyder that is lovely as well.

Give a listen to one or both, if you have a few moments.

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Symphony of Silence

Posted in Favorite Things, Music, Painting, Poetry, tagged , , , , , , , on May 19, 2021| 1 Comment »

GC Myers- Symphony of Silence 2021

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing
and rightdoing there is a field.
I’ll meet you there.

When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.

― Rumi, 13th century Persian poet

The new painting at the top, titled Symphony of Silence, is an 18″ by 36″ canvas. This weekend, it is headed down to the Principle Gallery as part of my solo show, Between Here and There, which opens June 4th.

I have written in the past about what I see as the connection between painting and music, how I see some of my pieces as simple songs and others as more intricate compositions. Perhaps symphonies or concertos.

This, in my eyes, is one that seems simple at a first glance. It is sparse and without great details. But the more I look at it, the more I see in it. How each element and color plays off the next and how they are fortified by each. It feels like there are rhythms and melodies running through it, from side to side as the terrain flows and up and down with rise of the moon.  There is inward and outward movement with the light of the stars and the undulation of the trail. The blocks that make up the night sky seem to swirl and rotate in all directions. The far mountains appear almost as sound waves. 

There is seemingly constant movement throughout the landscape and the skyscape. Almost a cacophony.

Almost.

It is silence.

Somehow the movements, the rhythms, and contrasts all run together at some point.

Harmony. Made up of the stars in motion countless lightyears away and the ancient wisdom contained in the stillness of the land and water. Always there but in silence. 

It is a simple piece but one that constantly shares something more than it lets on with a mere glance.

Here’s a piece of music to accompany it, a longtime favorite of mine and one that has played a large part in how I came to view my own work. It’s from composer Arvo Pärt and his composition Tabula Rasa. This is the second movement, fittingly titled Silentium. It feels right with this painting.

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