Helen & Daphne

I'm currently taking a Modern Poetry class, and we have to write weekly responses to poems that we read. Responses can be in a number of forms, and the one I choose most often is a poem of my own. Last week, I was reading some Yeats and was very struck by "No Second Troy".

Here is an excerpt:
"Why should I blame her, that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,
Had they but courage equal to desire? . . .
Why, what could she have done being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?"

The notes in my book mentioned he was talking partly about Maud Gonne, whom I read up on. She and her relationship with Yeats reminded me very strongly of someone very close to me. She inspires a great deal of my work, both visual and literary, though at times she can be a source of stress in my life. So for her, in response to Yeats, I wrote the following poem. The poem also finally provided a suitable title for a drawing I did of her a number of months ago.

Until next time, farewell.

- Ari



- The Laurel Tree -

Should scorn be given unto the tree
That refuses to return the lover’s embrace?
Only if the nymph who inspires me
Be blamed for having such a beautiful face.

Daughter of the swift river with eyes
Like stars, “she flees him, swifter than the wind.”
No matter how much to her he cries,
To stay out of his arms she is determined.

Yet, no matter how far she may flee or run,
Or in magical woodland places hide,
Her beauty will e’er be loved by me and the Sun
And the joy she excites never denied.

Alas, that by arrows we have all been pricked!
And such emotions and visions does she incite!
That thought of her such frustration on us inflict,
We may almost think of our love for her a blight.

Yet how can the singer cease his song?
How can the painter or poet ignore his Muse?
Then, despite my pain and futility prolong,
No matter the price, her love I will not loose.

Though the tree may not return the lover’s embrace
And she may taunt me with vexation and alarm,
Finding fault with their nature should not be the case.
After all, the struggle only adds to their charm.


"Her Love I Will Not Loose", graphite on paper, 9"x12"

Beginnings

I always tend to tread lightly, a little hesitantly, whenever I start something new. I’m a bit of a perfectionist, and I can be a bit preoccupied with getting things right from the get-go. But I know it doesn’t, nor should it, be perfect right out of the gate. So even though I could procrastinate longer, with more research, preparation, and excuses, I think I’ll throw open the door and start running. Now.

Let’s start with a brief introduction. I’m Ari. I live in the northeast US, and am only a few short months away from graduating from college with a BFA in Fine Arts Studio and a minor/concentration in Literary and Cultural Studies. Primarily, I am an acrylic painter, though I do some watercolor, as well as drawings and non-toxic printmaking. I also love to write both poetry and prose fiction.

The point, I suppose, of this blog, is to share my work with more people. And to motivate myself to finish things, stay on schedule, and keep records up-to-date. I can’t tell you how many paintings sit around for months before I photograph them, and then months more before I label the files and organize them. As for my written work, I rarely get to share any of that with anyone, though I would like to. So, here I am! Here is my opportunity!

To conclude this beginning, I will leave you with a small sampling of some of my recent work.

Until next time, farewell.

- Ari


"Waste of Time", acrylic on canvas, 18"x24"


"Consumed", charcoal on cotton paper, 5"x5"



-Waiting to Begin-

I am waiting.

The window sits before me,
Securely set in the sturdy wall.
I can smell the warmth of the sun
Shining on the cotton curtains
That I have yet to draw back.
I shift my weight from one side
And then back to the other.
My hand lifts, hesitantly,
And pauses in the still air.
Am I ready? Is it time?

Slowly, gently, my fingers
Stroke the curtains’ inner seams,
Easing my way in between.
As my hand pushes through,
I can feel the sunlight beams’
Warmth draping across my skin.
It is inviting, comforting, I want
To keep going, to get closer,
To feel the blanket of light
All over my tepid body.

I throw open the curtains,
Quickly, before my spirit fails.
Brightness of light blinds me,
But only for a passing moment.
I flutter my eyelids, and soon adjust.
Beyond the pane, I can see
The vastness of the world laid out
On the other side of the glass.
Full of wonder, possibility, life,
Highs, lows, and everything between.

There is a sudden urge, a yearning,
That leaps up into my chest.
It pulls at me, beckoning my forward.
But there is still something
Clinging to me from behind.
I press my hands firmly against the glass,
But cannot coax the rest of my body
To move not even an inch more.
I want it, I know I do, but
Am I ready? Is it time?

I am waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting to begin.