Into The Voices

 

9x9

ink on bristol board

(click on image to bigify)

I had the honor of providing two drawings for Mary Stebbins Taitt's book of poetry called When Time Stumbled. The book is a tribute for her brother Tom, who passed away last October. For those of you who aren't familiar with Mary, who is an incredible artist as is, but she is a wonderful poet, as well. I can really connect with her imagery. 

The first of the two drawings that I did is for a poem called Into The Voices. Sometimes, well actually, a lot of times, I can be quite literal when adapting the written word, whether a poem, a short story or a song, in which I have done all three at times. And this one is kind of no different. But, I have no regrets with this piece. The poem has an o'possum in it and I just had to make that my central focus. The rest is more of the literal part. I was quite happy with my crazed and excited  'possum. I'll show the second drawing in another post.

Here is Mary's poem Into The Voices

An animal climbs into the bush outside my window, 

it's identity lost in darkness, a 'possum, perhaps,

or a raccoon. meanwhile, inside my room, the voices. start.

All of them.

Some rise above the din, other sink

and disappear in the babble. Strange voices whisper

suggestions, make proclamations, ask questions.

Rant and rave. People I don't know, have never met, holler.

Their words make no sense, confuse me.

Outside,

the animal crashes in the branches. "How do you say -- afraid?

a male voice asks, in a heavy Russian accent.

His face appears from the dark sea of faces, a stout,

middle-aged man with a worried look and dark bushy eyebrows. 

Another man, speaking German, writes algebraic equations

on a blackboard while an old white-haired woman explains

how to crochet.

A man with odd, glowing salmon skin

appears on a white stallion with a flowing mane.

Though I don't know him, he feels familiar, a long ago lover,

perhaps. He holds out a hand, and I climb on behind.

We canter easily off.

Somewhere in the receding distance,

an animal climbs down out of a bush and walks away

into the locusts. Tonight, with this man, I ride ankle deep, 

thigh deep in a sea of voices.

We climb the side of a hill, 

above a valley where a green sun just rises,

half of it visible above the edge of the ridge.

The book will be available for purchase at the gallery opening reception, on May 9th at the color Ink Studio in Hazel Park, MI. The show will run through the end of May and will feature artwork from the book. My above piece will be in that show.