Fe at u re d A r t i st This Month, Jean Clark Love, Poems and Knots Love is a driving force whether we are making an artifact, a poem or dinner. We’re often told, “Do what you love, the rest will follow.” Perhaps exhaustion and sleepless days and nights also follow once we are in “the zone.” So be it. I love images and textures. Now that I’m retired from thirty-five years of English-teaching, I have the luxury of making poems and knotting fiber sculptures and wall hangings. Of the two art forms, poem-making is speedy and cerebral while knotting is timeconsuming and physical. Both yield surprises as the process unfolds. That aspect nurtures the love and keeps one eager to see what lies around the bend. I tend to write short poems. I want them to be piquant (agreeably stimulating, pleasantly tart, engagingly provocative). Abstractions are not pictorial. The poet has to find metaphors to help us see what “overweening pride” - for instance is all about. Classic literatures, especially the Greeks, have a lot to say about hubris. The deadly sin is still with us. Hubris When about to take off You don’t have to contact the control tower. They get pretty upset, however, if you don’t And send the FAA after you, But you can chart your own course, Keep an eye out for traffic. Who cares if it’s a 747 or an F-15? You’re your own boss, right? Then those fighters are beside you And shoot you down. You knew the rules and chose to ignore them. Oedipus didn’t know Jocasta was his mother. Inherent arrogance brought him down. What’s your excuse?
26 BOOM!
June 2013
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Now that I’m seventy-three, old age and memory capture my imagination. The poem “Remember ?” is not autobiographical, but I can empathize with the woman who has had a life well-lived and is soon to leave this earth.
make them go away. The poem “Medical Report” tells the story. Poets often use allusion. In this case, Lady Macbeth pops in. Medical Report Inhomogeneous masses. We’re not talking church here--We’re talking scans---CT and PET. Poor liver---spotted like a toad--Though spleen and other parts are “unremarkable”--Meaning: normal. Even the brain---“unremarkable.” Come in, Lady Macbeth. Say again, “Out! Damned spots.” Necrosis, necrosis, necrosis. Cisplatin, Gemzar, Xeloda--Whatever it takes---maybe eye of newt. On a questionnaire before treatment: “Do you ever feel suicidal?” “If yes, do you have a plan?” Shouldn’t they ask: “Do you want to live?” “If yes, do you have a plan?” Pope Francis is washing people’s feet.
Remember? She’s old. The bags under her eyes Are packed and ready to fly To somewhere, anywhere— maybe heaven. Five Hearts She remembers flying West--Was it sixty…seventy…years ago? His names leaves a sweet taste In her mouth. Remember the picnic? The quilt…the guilt After making love? She confesses often But does not want to be forgiven. Remember the pomegranates And the wine? We turned down an empty glass But filled it up again. Remember? Again and again. And there were peacocks--White and purple and green--Tails shimmering in the sun. And condors above. Chillon, Lake Leman And harbor seals barking. Remember dancing in the grass? I was swinging my hips And you were licking your lips. I remember, he says. Then the nurse comes And settles her for the night.
About a year ago a CT scan found spots on my liver. I don’t say I have liver cancer; I have spots, and we’re trying to
I’ve played with fiber since the summer of 1980, exhibiting in craft shows, at Grove Group Gallery in Coconut Grove, teaching for Miami Art Center and executing commissions. I’m lucky now to have Gallery One and Sandi Aplin represent my work.
Visit Gallery One Fine Art 423 Cloverdale Road, Montgomery, AL Gallery Director Sandi Aplin sandiaplin@aol.com 334.269.1114 www.galleryonefineart.com
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