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Posts Tagged ‘composition’

 

Impossible that it’s ten o’clock.  April is poetry month, so I’m told.  Happily I already celebrated unknowingly by spending time with some friends passing Longfellow back and forth.  Our favorite was either “Maidenhood” or “The Village Blacksmith.”  When I was in school my mom/teacher made me write poems.  On demand.  Come on!  Inspiration does not come at my beckoning.  And how often do I feel inspired without any words to express the perfectly poetic sentiment of my day?  I think that’s what I mean by “romanticism.”  Anyway, I did so want to write a poem for my sentiments, and it is poetry month, so I gave myself the assignment and resorted to the means I used to complete my high school English assignments: list what strikes you as poetic about your thoughts today, and form them into some sort of verse.  Except they used to rhyme.  So ignore my ridiculous form.  And forgive the fact that the strongest point of my poetry is using words with precision, but not so much creativity or parallel. 
 
Friday afternoon, mind swimming with Synonyms
For diligence and self control, perseverance and temperance
I’d rather think of poetry, of rain and wind and crashing seas
Scottish shores and Celtic tunes, flutes and violins wailing. 
 
Sitting to think and compose and to focus,
I lie back against the pillow on my bed,
Fully awake, I let my eyes close
Mysteriously, just being, with a hand above my head. 
 
Missing my friends, strange loneliness dull
As the soft throb of my heart behind
High, keen thrills of longing and wishing
Ready for a change and afraid of what it might be
 
Needing one to excite me, to share
The passion of a poem, a truth, or a care
Tears are more fitting for the sorrow of life
And days still come with love and laughter
 
Sisters eating cookies together, not looking at each other
Barely talking, but just being
Existing, Individuals not stories
Being personal and together
 
Books are exciting, words speak for themselves
Metaphors alternately dry or compelling
History the truest voice into my need
Casually combines love, war, and theology. 
 
 
That’s it.  Are you a real poet?  What do you have to share? 
 
Oh, by the way – I found this real sonnet by an authentic poet, and I bookmarked it on del.icio.us today.  
 
To God be all glory,
Lisa of Longbourn
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After this weekend, I’ve been thinking about art, and the levels by which it becomes more difficult.  Here are my rough draft thoughts:

Art is work.  Have you ever thought of that?  One of my favorite words for the product of art is wrought.  Dictionary.com defines it as (among other things):

3. elaborated; embellished.
5. produced or shaped by beating with a hammer, as iron or silver articles.

 Art:

Writing tends to be the most vague.  Composition can be creative, poetic, skilled and beautiful.  But it always relies on the reader’s imagination and experience to get a mental image of the suggested idea. 

 

Painting or drawing is a two-dimensional representation of an idea.  The observer has no freedom to add to what is given, but the artist must put more definite thought into his work.  He must take the risk of his specific expression being rejected. 

 

Sculpture, set design, home decorating, costuming – these are three-dimensional, still manifestations of an idea.  I crave this sometimes.  I will be inspired with an arrangement, or want to imitate a form – a shape that is not quite expressible in a drawing.  A room may be visited.  As a connoisseur of art, I want to tour locations of beauty or meaning, not just read about them or look at postcard-pictures. 

 

These last two art forms get more complicated.  There is more work involved in their creation, and less control.  There is risk not only that the concrete vision may be rejected, but that it may be marred.  On the other hand, our visions can benefit from the dye and sculpting of human interaction. 

 

A moment may be crafted.  The idea that comes to mind is when a man proposes.  Or it could be like a party.  Last night I was at a Christmas party – yes, in January – where the hostess had engaged in three dimensional art (her clothing and hair, and the table setting) which contributed to the moment she created when she made a speech (really a toast without glasses).  She designed a moment to make us feel special.  We lived through gifts, smiles, and words that communicated emotion, atmosphere, ideas. 

 

Life is a work of art.  Fundamentally a life is God’s work.  Paul tells us as much in Ephesians 2:10.  To different extents friends and parents are artists shaping moments for others, which in combination shapes the friends and children.  Those who are molded in this way go on to make a series of decisions, to have a sequence of experiences that come together to make a life.  Here we have relationships, characters, feelings and thoughts, intentions – and failures. 

 

2 Corinthians 3:2-3 – “Ye are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read of all men:  Forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart.”

 

To God be all glory,

Lisa of Longbourn

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