#4 Back 2 the StudiO
6.
cloud, a dying tree, pine,
aspen eye--
and bobbing, daisy
he couldn't stay the track--
of politic
right there in reach, though--
he would fall asleep, on the rock
which was his pillow
at the heights,
his romance--
a dream of depth, revolving
hell, he was out there painting
it is so very satisfying
to paint the scene
didn’t need this poetry,
second hand experience
but then first thought,
well, the revision--
there was something
to all that
he arranged all the brushes
squeezed out the paint with his thumb
rocked his chair
into the earth
looked yonder
7.
that scratching
sound of the bristles
he whistled through his own
dry lips
he said he left the abstraction
in the studio
he felt something, reached--
you know that reaching
through one--
through him,
he stood his ground
his brush to canvas, stance
“this good as belonging to you,” he said
raw material,
wind, and weather
sun and sight
the walk around the lake
which it all depends upon,
the order
9.
narrative building— falls and
snow clouds
mountain emerged as the wind
swept it all upward
those gold aspen leaves
were amazing
that poof!
the yellow in blue
and white snow covered peak
still some sunflowers,
the grey trunks
with eyes--
leading one back still
into mystery
blinking, bobbing
eyes
a wink--ing
a rustling in the woods
something about coming
to the place and it not being
the place, anymore
Jack was back in the city, thinking
about it all, just sitting
in the studio
10.
he came so little distance
for all the traveling
saying these things
over and over
to know them, evolving
ever so slightly-- falls,
it turns,
he meant, new meaning
what is that new thing
just unknown-- as yet?
yes, he arrived,
the place is strange
a memory of a distant holler—
looking now
and instead of his divided self
he saw-- just an old man
that’s something changed now
this may be all he knew
he would be next,
he says it’s all about style
then he talked about brushing
out the paint and, seemed-- empty
is that all
Some pose--
well we know, about empty
and what ever seemed to arrive
12.
aren’t we like these ideas?
turning, turning,
in the same wind
beside the same blare, of the same
sunset, gone
into dark landscape
the space, revolving
in the thousands of miles
and hours of speed, in solar wind
who lasts? no man-- the tradition
Who is that, collective
large red man reading
woman rocking--
sun and stars
what he knew
reducing to abstraction of black
and white, exchanging heat
to change, on, off, the on, off
revolving energy,
the direction of the world
the cycling of each day
each life, each idea
all Indian’s swastika motion
like some decorative surface
but describing, the
13.
secret knowledge
right there intelligence! out there!
in the pieces, broken
there on that distant border
not sure how many people
have even seen these Mountains
but they were so amazing
he was still painting as the thunderstorm
tore through and the terrific
lightning
he painted the Ocotillos
and he painted
negative spaces between
back to formal objectness,
Jack was back in the car
the Judd--ville, weariness,
he’d passed up
for his Grand Escapade
he’d get back to that later
19.
Pretty Horses was on the CD player
and Langtry was coming up
“going to Laaang-treee”
he was well off into Texas now, crossing
bleak territory
the Rothko Chapel--
well
that changed things
it was there along the road, he'd
been there before
on another pilgrimage,
how many times, now and
he was able to gauge
his changing feelings
from awe, to seeing-- through it,
he thought, but still
something lingered
beyond, tourist passing
that purple stain, there was
some origin here
he remembered, Christophe’s, Newman,
painting, NOW
20.
the blue palm, POEM and
the “old woman from down in Mexico”
that deeper deep
of unknown-- of Mexico
down there across that tiny river
full moon over
minor key
the green and purple night
of Rio Grande Nocturne, just now
and that stained Blue Square,
the “Nature had no
need of aid,”from him
she was the universe"
a lot for him, started here.
21.
da dump-- the green,
green, green humid, flatland
swamp and river water
all shimmer in sun setting light
more rush hour? Egrets flee--
even here, driving
nature just there--
everyone rushing by
these mosquitoes must be dangerous
by now--
big red sun blues,
vulture on a pole,
same violet night,
the apogee--
of green, rotted and moldy
rusting and dripping
like he repeated, all red
in sunset
this embarrassment of riches
still saying although he needed
to weave, and spin from place
to hidden place
of marginal occupants
The Other Florida!
the beach ball sun ad, proclaimed
22.
then, in humid grey sinking
into aqua emerald
exaggeratedly green
after desert mind
through the tangle, now of
hotel restaurant, gas station,
wires and signs
the contemporary aesthetic
of jumbled superstructure
to see beyond on tip toe
toc tic toe toc
He thought-- IT’S THE PAINT
Lke it looks like it’s meant!
die there, die here
Being in that moment,
Passing, we face it or we don't
lost
for we know it was the spirit
that we sought
adventures and spaces
the Sacred thing
well, what do you think?
23.
he meant by Sacred--?
Breaking, Ruining-- these
holy findings
with his own
religion of reality
or forgo--
the wooden religion, call it, a
creating
the now, being there
from here
he pointed to his chest
to the many gods, twirling in thought
interchanging natural facts
becoming spirit and metaphor
making an inside
pointing or mirroring
out there
what they refused
didn’t see
a line of winter and shape
of summer height
leaves revolved in what color
turn--ing down
she’s out there-- by the shore
by the genius--
24.
by the sea
the season and light, change--
the death
the mythic, idea
the idea, striped
destination, rising
climbing to height
The view from here!
this other world, he exclaimed
as Art
out there changing, a
snaking at the pole
waving free
the real me, he called that
“he loved that
damned ole rodeo--
he saw the light flickering across
the kitchen table,
all quiet as the goldfinches
bobbed noiselessly
on the sunflowers.
It was, 2000 the end of the end
we were still here
the images continued and alternated
the narrative rambling
to the symbol height, the ordered
abstract direction winding round
renewed, then investigated
sacred revolving
down to profane
from that eternal and universal
term, to every day
sight, the flower there
now in the SUN,
increased
that sublime,
come down
he was down and out,
hitching
on Road Movie
28.
on desert washboard
all this mixed up and it was the poem
on through past and future
like tragic and comic and winter
extremes
on making art like
City and Country, reading
naked in the studio's loft bed
up against the transparent ceiling,
private moments
evaporating into the universal
He wrote on the rumbling train
a surface, in that lost thought
POP! strange religion
of his own
vibrant light, reflecting
between skitter and hop
here we go
between Sun and Flower
Hero heightened
and Clouds
and leaves the waves
hero sun and gold smeared villa
the red walls, dream in stars
bird flies across the floor
there then hi up--
29.
Silhouette
jump cut
this to that, inter
text
jammed to another
30.
obvious juxtaposition
gives way
to salon style hanging of
multiple style
nothing true but
this to that, here in this
fiction of two
all the paintings
were stacked against the wall
then, he got up, started
to see-- something
maybe happening, there
he took some photos
he made some drawings
realizing a different subject
between things
in this different reality
don’t think he named it
yet, it was in the subway drawings
already going through the years
images making that poem
thought now it was a little
more complex
and had a reality
of the studio,
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