|
Fireflies everywhere
A sky brightened by flame I can see clearly Ken Knox |
An open-hearted
traveller has more in common with chickweed. Amber Robinson |
Gloom to light,
mud to bloom, paradox of life Craig Cook |
Field Report
February 22, 2018
Amber Robinson
I think of all the contradictions on my walk up to my square meter: the phone in my hand I will use to capture the natural environment without disturbing it, the drawing assignment given to a non-artist who never writes on paper unless the writing is certain, the dead leaves and the awakening grass, the slow walk to my spot and the adjacent gravel road I flew down earlier today with the windows down.
Today is my birthday and I am on my way to see a dead tree surrounded by dead leaves and healthy decomposers with life peeking out from under the death. I think about the season of lent and the concepts of resurrection, sacrifice, and death. I try to be more positive and less theological. The popular children's book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein comes to mind: "But time went by. And the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone. Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.'"
In one of my only storytime memories (although it was a frequent occurrence, I remember only a few) was crying with my mother at the end of this book. Even as a child, I understood the metaphor of the tree as a parent, and I didn't want my mother to give and give and give to me until there was nothing left of her. I didn't want to be like the little boy who didn't appreciate what he had until it was gone. I think our perceptions of nature have become like The Giving Tree's message of sacrifice as we now put our energies into conserving the life-giving natural world around us. My tree has already given all that it can, and I feel like the little boy at the end as I come to my tree to finally sit down and rest: "And the boy did. And the tree was happy."
I am left with three koan-like questions that ask the same thing:
Lastly, a haiku:
A child's book
an ancient message
Mother Nature martyred
February 22, 2018
Amber Robinson
I think of all the contradictions on my walk up to my square meter: the phone in my hand I will use to capture the natural environment without disturbing it, the drawing assignment given to a non-artist who never writes on paper unless the writing is certain, the dead leaves and the awakening grass, the slow walk to my spot and the adjacent gravel road I flew down earlier today with the windows down.
Today is my birthday and I am on my way to see a dead tree surrounded by dead leaves and healthy decomposers with life peeking out from under the death. I think about the season of lent and the concepts of resurrection, sacrifice, and death. I try to be more positive and less theological. The popular children's book The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein comes to mind: "But time went by. And the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone. Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree said, 'Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat apples and play in my shade and be happy.'"
In one of my only storytime memories (although it was a frequent occurrence, I remember only a few) was crying with my mother at the end of this book. Even as a child, I understood the metaphor of the tree as a parent, and I didn't want my mother to give and give and give to me until there was nothing left of her. I didn't want to be like the little boy who didn't appreciate what he had until it was gone. I think our perceptions of nature have become like The Giving Tree's message of sacrifice as we now put our energies into conserving the life-giving natural world around us. My tree has already given all that it can, and I feel like the little boy at the end as I come to my tree to finally sit down and rest: "And the boy did. And the tree was happy."
I am left with three koan-like questions that ask the same thing:
- What can we give when all we have is gone?
- What comes after nothing?
- What value does sacrifice hold for the martyr?
Lastly, a haiku:
A child's book
an ancient message
Mother Nature martyred
|
From what tree's
blossoming, I do not know , but oh, its sweet scent! Didier Grillet |
Awaken By Poetry
energy in my blood finding the words to speak a warrior on paper Christina Ameen |
A time ends. I'll miss
your simplicity, a wheel, your complexity Billie Henard |
Butterfly by Ashley Bostian
|
People come and go
feelings always fade away stability rare Isaiah Rodgers |
The bad is inevitable
but if you endure it you will be prosperous Isaiah Rodgers |
Leaves are now falling
the smell of freshly cut grass football season time Isaiah Rodgers |
Six Responses to a Reading by Poet Marilyn Kallet on April 4, 2018, Emory & Henry College
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Coordinated
waves find their way through the air, and into my mind. Josh Hess |
Opa survived Hitler
His ashes returned to Holland Spread with love from family Jeff Masar |
Bullied repeatedly,
abused and misrepresented --The 2nd Amendment Lexi DeMers |
|
The old teach the young
Learning to love the good and bad The world sends to us Edgar Rivas |
Field of stars sparkling
Lightning and fire, as one Earth's own galaxy Rebekah Watters |
I feel awakened
in a world of sleepwalkers, like the rocks after an earthquake Sarah Scott |
その他の俳句 and other haiku. 2018. Issue Number 7
a production of ETLA 307, Bashō & Beyond, at Emory & Henry College, Virginia
writers & artists retain all rights to their work
a production of ETLA 307, Bashō & Beyond, at Emory & Henry College, Virginia
writers & artists retain all rights to their work
