~
Indomitable as a sovereign species
progress draws its discordant lines
straight through the rhythms of my days
move…
A bucolic bovine sound?
Or a swarm of ooooooo’s
persistent and indicative of shove?
five toothbrushes
pail of sponges
caustic powders
poisonous sprays
My disciples of progress
grooming the delicate interstices of
refrigerator seal
baseboard cracks
faucet edge
I wash the wood and plaster body
My thoughts anointing and releasing
each surface that held the poems, the remnants, the family,
the guests, the conversations, the discipline that twisted time
into sailor’s knots and tied dreams into a body of words
able to float in this deluge of constant progress
This particular move (one of too many to count)
This wood and plaster body
that held me disciplined within panes of glass
where I grew words into lines, into paragraphs, into pages, into life
enclosed in winter and summer solitude behind the glass
Erasing all outward signs of a life
We have nothing in common
this place and I
We have nothing now in common
except the fine pile of pencil dust
intentionally left behind
scrumbled raw into the grains of wood
in the floor of my kitchen
Finished, I set the keys on the counter
leaving progress
behind
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The past few weeks have been a scramble. In mid March my landlady informed me that she is downsizing, selling her house, which she has run as a Bed and Breakfast, and will be moving into my apartment! In a city with a 1% vacancy rate, after 3 years tenancy, she asked that I be out in 34 days. She also holds my last month’s rent and a considerable security deposit. She apparently needs to legalize the fact that she has three units behind the house that she successfully rents by the day, week, or month through Air B&B. This is illegal in this city unless the owner lives on the premises. If caught this may incur a $500 a day fine. I think she still may not be in full compliance because two of the units are unattached, but she’s getting closer to her cash flow.
I beat the deadline she set by ten days. Sanctuary! I am now back in the garden….
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Noh mask: Acrylic and graphite on black paper…. j.h.white
~
How terrible for you to be pushed out of your home, but wonderful for us that it was the inspiration for this beautiful poem.
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Thank you Nadia…. but aside from being a scramble that upended the past few weeks, I didn’t let her get the best of me. I even left a small garden behind. The only tell tail sign.
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What a gift to leave for her.
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happy to hear an update…have been thinking of you and missing…ahhhh, back in the garden (and beautiful work here)
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Why thank you Nathan… Yes, I’ve missed my friends and their work here too. I’m a bit discombobulated but in a much better place. My work room is now in a sun porch off the garden. Ahhhh….sanctuary!
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Takes a few months of new doors and windows…and where to store your paper and pencils. Wonders… like this poem ….and you…will thrive there. Hugs…
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I think I will Bonnie and thank you! Every thing has already found its place. Now I just have to remember where!
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Progress. As illusory as time, as real as change, and as futile as our continued attempts to impose order with it.
Nothing in common, nothing now in common
Sad determination.
Hope all in your garden gets rosy. This piece feels like the blues.
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“Progress. As illusory as time, as real as change, and as futile as our continued attempts to impose order with it”…..exactly Brian. May as well run with it. Wasn’t the blues exactly…just a little calculated steam. If I had left anything of myself behind, this woman would have charged me for it! She’s a piece of work. I’m best off out of her way… and she out of mine. Thanks for the rosy thoughts!
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Oh my goodness; well, I shalln’t embarrass myself and insult you, Jana, by attempting to philosophise away the natural distress caused by such an alarming situation being imposed upon you quite out of the blue. Save to say, I know you to be a strong and quite exceptional woman, and so worry less than I might otherwise do for your welfare. H ❤
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Here’s to you Hariod and thanks for the vote of confidence. I’m just bloody tired now but otherwise enjoying this change despite how it came about. Blink! and my landscape changes. Perhaps I am a magicians assistant!
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My thoughts are with you Jana. Moving is such a stressful experience but when forced upon one like this well I can only imagine. But your words are a wonderful parting gift.
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Thanks Mark. I tend to make the best of situations but it was becoming difficult dealing with this landlord anyways. It’s good to know I can spring into action! No moss on this rolling stone…
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I loved your play on the sound of ‘move’ great poem. I’m sorry the inspiration was actually quite a stressful situation. I like that you channeled the experience into such beautiful words. I would probably have had a rant ending with something about karma and hoping the cash flow dries up (in the tame version).
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Hah! Yes, and thank you. I was “intoning” the word move in some dystopian moment, wondering which emotion to hurl, when its bucolic sound gave me pause. Everything went so smoothly, though, I couldn’t have planned the move any better. I just want my days to settle down now…!
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Little things can distract us from wanting to hurl. You just reminded me of my son’s tantrum the other day (he’s 22 months old). Nothing could fix it, but then I started throwing pebbles and that became his world, and he forgot he was in the middle of a tanty haha. Best of luck settling in.
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Oh, how awful – poor you. Great poem, though.
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Thanks Richard….it has all worked out in the end!
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I hope your garden is full of light and colour.
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Most definitely! Thanks Chris…
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After reading the poem my thoughts are drawn to the visual art. The mask reflects the mood and the vast interconnectivity of your personal wellspring is the background to the situation. Warm and ancient colours. I hope the new place works out well.
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Aha! Steven ..there is no silver bullet! Life remains both chaotically difficult but colorfully connected. I like your interpretation … I just had at the blank page intuitively…feeling my way as I fell gratefully into the forehead grooves and the meandering circles. I’m looking out now at a beautiful garden as I write this. Respite….and thank you!
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righteous anger can be productive as seen in your drawing and poem. in the latter the contrast between the tools of progress including “caustic powders/ poisonous sprays” and “the discipline that twisted time/ into sailor’s knots and tied dreams into a body of words” makes the point beautifully. moving in the best of circumstances is damnably difficult. from the drawing and poem, though, i can tell that you have not only survived but prevailed. looking forward to seeing more of your work.–michael
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Thank you Michael for your incisive and thoughtful comment. There was time for “righteous anger” to mature as I watched my landlord work her dark magic on other tenants over the years. So like a fairy tale… so I was aware there would be an epic battle of some sort. She holding a goodly sum of two months rent to be returned upon her arbitrary discretion. (despite laws etc. which she was dexterous at manipulating around) The question remained…. to come out of this whole, the battlefield would be both interior as well as in relationship. Her own needs gave me the leverage I needed!
A pleasure as always Michael!
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You write poignantly and beautifully, despite the sad story the words convey. Must indeed be hard to face moving when it’s forced upon one. I hope things work out for you in the end.The drawing is incredible beautiful.
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Thank you Otto! Art and poetry have a way of entertaining the spirit so things become clearer. At least this is my experience….a way to become lost and then found.
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How difficult. And discouraging. But you made lemonade out of lemons with your poem, you really did. I am glad you didn’t stoop to your landlord’s level, but rose above it.
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Thank you…over the years of tenancy I’d had the opportunity to witness her antics with other tenants. I often wondered how I’d meet the situation since she is skilled at manipulating everything in her favor. I don’t play these kinds of games but I was also preparing myself to meet the challenge. I was simply fortunate that her own needs offered a more equal “playing field”.
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humanity and nature
releasing
pasts and presents
~
tonight
15 minutes of hail
young plants
snap peas
beans
~
tomorrow morning
renewing
pasts and presents
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Keeping our hands in the soil
and our eyes on the sky
What better way to live?
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How did I miss this one? Yet I did, as if I had myself moved… through time and not noticed. This is huge Jana and I don’t know if I can capture all. The mask and yet not a mask, the human features too strong to be covered by anonymity. And yet it floats beyond body, disconnected within interconnected systems of symbols. Moving, changing environments as disconnection, which it always is, and and it always also is, the two sides of change giving such gifts of wonder. This is not an architecture without soul, this place you need to leave. It should not be confused with it’s soulless owner whom we may easily abandon. “We have nothing in common this place and I…” you say, and yet, you have shared yourself in so many ways with so many souls within those walls…there must be some commonality? And so it goes, and life continues in kaleidoscopic patterns, around and around.
“the fine pile of pencil dust intentionally left behind” like an erect middle finger…brilliant!
Art and writing so very you, multi-faceted and spirit filled as crystal, as ancient architecture, as farming. We travel lightly as butterflys from blossom to blossom…
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Ah… but I take my memories with me…along with the furniture. It always surprises anyone when they come to one of my MANY new environments that it all seems like nothing has changed. All that is familiar and loved remains.
“We travel lightly as butterflys from blossom to blossom…” Thanks my dear for the homecoming gift!
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There’s a whole lot of work on yourself and environment. You are ripped up and asked to leave behind the kitchen conversations, memories with visitors, on and on. And why? Because to someone else it’s just dust, it’s nothing to say be out in 34 days. She asks you to pack your progress, experiences and dreams in a box and leave. It is cold. I see can all but see you look back at an empty room and see nothing but the dust.
Some of that dust had to go with you.
Magic dust?
The type that sparks the light into fire and breathes oxygen
so that your pen burns in paper every paragraph, every word picture that must be released.
Not all dust lays about.
Some clings because there’s more to do.
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Yes!…I do have a particular fondness for dust. At least it means there has been time enough to settle. Thanks for the magic dust!
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