Desert Ranch — Black & White Computer Art
Archive for November 2016
Desert Ranch Leave a comment
“Beyond Forgetting” Revisited Leave a comment
One of the poems in this anthology is by my close friend, Dave Parsons. Like all writers, in this collection, Dave speaks with tenderness and honesty, and in doing so, each helps us better understand the tragedy of Alzheimer’s disease. Dave’s reading of “They” is one of the clips in the video posted herein. Read his poem, then listen to his reading at the University of St. Thomas.
Leonard Cohn has written,
“There is a crack, a crack, in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
These writers use the cracks in this dark disease to let in the light.
They
by Dave Parsons
for Harry Dazey
Now that we know that Harry has Alzheimer’s
we catch ourselves wondering out loud
about our own memories, searching
for the small void in our understanding
of time’s continuum. The cruel wound
that delicately as some evil surgeon unseals
the mute gray bindings that hold
ineffably the inventory of a life
stuns us with facial expressions, not unlike his
as he turns his bent spade, again and again,
like some blind farmer through
the rough weed-filled furrows
of recollection and recognition.
At the Garden Café, Ruth stately still,
rotely asks him in that wifely way:
Would you like tea or coffee, Harry?
Harry, do you want tea . . . or coffee?
. . . then the realization . . . oh . . . oh, give him tea.
An acquaintance happens by the table,
and Ruth graciously, dutifully introduces her
to Harry, who, as always, smiles affably
and responds, I am not really here,
you know. Later, I accompany him
to the men’s room, where he becomes confused
and begins to wash his hands before entering
the small dark stall with its endless
roll of blank white sheets of paper.
Standing before the sink, he stares
with what appears to be rapt erudition into the mirror
and whispers in the familiar, gentle fatherly tone,
He wants to come back you know,; he wants to comeback
and they — they want let him.
“They is for my late father-in-law, Harry Dazey, who was on that awful precipice
clinging to his still conscious world, but finding mostly those insidious “blank whites pages”
when the incident that was the catalyst to the poem occurred. As I have
always said, Harry composed the poem; I just wrote it down for him.
To experience the slow loss of brain function before death
is to become disconnected from the sound of the tree
that falls in the forest. No longer able to ponder the
questions of our existence, rendering silent the
sound to others who will listen beyond the silence.
Still, somewhere in the forest a tree falls
and others continue to collect the sounds
so that no one will forget that there was a time
when your existence recorded the sounds of silence.
It is the nature of poetry to help us understand adversity.
For the poet, Holly Hughes writing about Alzheimer’s disease
helped her deal with the experience of being a caregiver
for her mother who was one of over five million people
in the US with Alzheimer’s. The experience inspired her
to gather and edit a collection of poems and prose, titled,
“Beyond Forgetting: Poetry and Prose about Alzheimer’s Disease.”
On two evenings in November 2009, Holly Hughes and others
read poetry and prose from her anthology, on the campuses
of the University of St. Thomas and Lone Star College – Montgomery.
All proceeds from book sales went to the Alzheimer’s Association of South Texas.
kenne
Images and Video by kenne
(First Posted November 8, 2009)
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Sabino Basin Panoramas Leave a comment
Upper Sabino Canyon Panorama — View into Sabino Basin (Morning, November 18, 2016)
West Fork Trail Panorama (Trail to Hatch’s Pool, November 18, 2016)
Upper Sabino Canyon Panorama — View into Sabino Basin (Afternoon, November 18, 2016)
Panoramic Images by kenne
“Sabino Canyon is a treasure, and its greatest jewel may be its biologically rich streamside woodland, Such habitats are endangered ecosystems in the Southwest; only a small fraction have survived the influences of humankind and changing climate in the last century and a half. At least five other important communities of plants and animals are also represented within Sabino Canyon’s walls — in effect, the canyon offers us many of the lowland habitats of the Southwest in microcosm. In a similar way, Sabino Canyon’s history reflects in miniature our own evolving relationship with this remarkable region. The canyon’s easy accessibility adds enormously to its recreational, educational, and scientific value.”
— from Sabino Canyon – The Life of a Southwestern Oasis, by David Wentworth Lazaroff
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November Shadows Leave a comment
November Shadows — Computer Art by kenne
Shadows on the wall
Move in the late afternoon
As the chimes ring out.
— kenne
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Existence — Poetry & Video 5 comments
Image by kenne
existence
color
shades in color
shades
shapes in shades
shapes
form in shapes
form
image in form
image
meaning in image
meaning
meaning in existence
existence
kenne
Existence — Video by kenne
“The thing about Native American music
that a lot of people don’t understand
is the fact that it’s held in
such high regard for their culture…
while we live in a society where music
is something that involves a lot of technology,
they’re able to create something so significant in
our world with very little materials.”
— R. Carlos Nakai
(First posted, October 2009)
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Gardenia — Computer Art Leave a comment
Gardenia — Computer Art by kenne
No valid plans for the future can be made by those
who have no capacity for living now.
— Alan Watts
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Leaves On The Ground Leave a comment
Leaves On the Ground (Mt. Lemmon) — Image by kenneAutumn Song
Leaves of brown they fall to the ground
And it’s here, over there leaves around
Shut the door, dim the lights and relax
What is more, your desire or the facts
Pitter patter the rain falling down
Little glamor sun coming round
Take a walk when autumn comes to town
Little stroll past the house on the hill
Some more coal on the fire will do well
And in a week or two it’ll be Halloween
Set the page and the stage for the scene
Little game the children will play
And as we watch them while time away
Look at me and take my breath away yeah
You’ll be smiling eyes beguiling
And the song on the breeze
Will call my name out and your dream
Chestnuts roasting outside as you walk
With your love by your side
The old accordion man plays mellow and bright
And you go home in the crispness of the night
Little later friends will be along
And if you feel like joining the throng
Just might feel like singing Autumn song
Just may feel like singing Autumn song
You’ll be smiling
Eyes beguiling
And the song on the breeze
Calls my name out in your dream
Chestnuts roasting outside
As you walk with your love by your side
And the old accordion plays mellow and bright
And you go home in the crispness of the night
Little later friends will be along
And if you feel like joining the throng
Just might feel like singing Autumn song
Just may feel like singing Autumn song
You’ll be smiling
Eyes beguiling
And the song on the breeze
Calls my name out in your dream
–Van Morrison
Autumn Song, by Van Morrison (Video)
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Pincushion Cactus with Fruit, November, 2016 Leave a comment
Pincushion Cactus with Fruit — Image by kenne
It’s the same story the crow told me; it’s the only one he knows.
Like the morning sun you come and like the wind you go.
Ain’t no time to hate, barely time to wait,
Wo, oh, what I want to know, where does the time go?
— Uncle John’s Band
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Sounded Like The Truth Leave a comment
Computer Painting by kenne
It Seemed the Better Way
Seemed the better way
When first I heard him speak
Now it’s much to late
To turn the other cheek
Sounded like the truth
Seemed the better way
Sounded like the truth
But it’s not the truth today
I wonder what it was
I wonder what it meant
First he touched on love
Then he touched on death
Sounded like the truth
Seemed the better way
Sounded like the truth
But it’s not the truth today
I better hold my tongue
I better take my place
Lift this glass of blood
Try to say the grace
Seemed the better way
When first I heard him speak
But now it’s much to late
To turn the other cheek
Sounded like the truth
Seemed the better way
Sounded like the truth
But it’s not the truth today
I better hold my tongue
I better take my place
Lift this glass of blood
Try to say the grace
— Leonard Cohen
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Broken Fence 1 comment
Broken Fence — Computer Art by kenne
“Society is indeed a contract. Subordinate contracts for objects of
mere occasional interest may be dissolved at pleasure – but the
state ought not to be considered as nothing better than a
partnership agreement in a trade of pepper and coffee, calico, or
tobacco, or some other such low concern, to be taken up for a little
temporary interest, and to be dissolved by the fancy of the parties.
It is to be looked on with other reverence because it is not a
partnership in things subservient only to the gross animal
existence of a temporary and perishable nature.”
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Keep On Blogging — 11 Years Out 1 comment
I Freely Go Lost In The Unknown Leave a comment
View from the Green Mountain Trail with Thimble Peak & the Tucson Basin in the Background.
With Thimble Peak over my shoulder,
Here where fond climates and sweet singers suddenly
Come in the morning where I wandered and listened . . .
In the thistledown fall, I sing towards anguish
And freely go lost in the unknown,
Famous light of great and fabulous, dear God.
— Adapted from “Poem of October” by Dylan Thomas
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Ken Harris’ Birthday Party Video Leave a comment
A Blues Jam video at Ken Harris’s birthday party, eight years out. kenne
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Ken’s 65th Birthday Leave a comment
Two days ago Kenneth celebrated and spurned
his driftwood seventy-third wind turned age while at Mary’s hospital bedside. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY FRIEND. (Click on “photo set” to see photos from Ken’s 65th birthday party.)
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“Snodgrass Is Walking Through the Universe” Leave a comment
David Parsons, W.D. Snodgrass and Kenne Turner (Conroe, Texas, 1999)
In 1999 I had the honor of spending an evening with the poet, W.D. Snodgrass, first at a reading at the Conroe library, finishing off the evening at the Hofbrau Steaks. Since then I have continued to enjoy reading the personal nature of his poems, and he will forever remain in my heart — “Snodgrass is walking through the universe.”
kenne
THESE TREES STAND . . .
These trees stand very tall under the heavens.
While they stand, if I walk, all stars traverse
This steep celestial gulf their branches chart.
Though lovers stand at sixes and at sevens
While civilizations come down with the curse,
Snodgrass is walking through the universe.
I can’t make any world go around your house.
But note this moon. Recall how the night nurse
Goes ward-rounds, by the mild, reflective art
Of focusing her flashlight on her blouse.
Your name’s safe conduct into love or verse;
Snodgrass is walking through the universe.
Your name’s absurd, miraculous as sperm
And as decisive. If you can’t coerce
One thing outside yourself, why you’re the poet!
What irrefrangible atoms whirl, affirm
Their destiny and form Lucinda’s skirts!
She can’t make up your mind. Soon as you know it,
Your firmament grows touchable and firm.
If all this world runs battlefield or worse,
Come, let us wipe our glasses on our shirts:
Snodgrass is walking through the universe.
—W.D. Snodgrass
In November of 2006, I posted the following noting the first anniversary of blogging:
. . . One year ago, 135 entries later and approximately 9,500 hits, this blog began with the purpose of sharing existence through the experience of one with the desire to generate other views on our place in time and space. In doing so, I have come to the realization that this poetic gesture may be nothing more than bullshit to someone else.
So, on the anniversary I’m taking this moment to share a few words from the renowned moral philosopher, Harry G. Frankfurt:
“One of the most salient features of our culture is that there is so
much bullshit. Everyone knows this. Each of us contributes his
share.”
And I would add, some more than others.
But then, one person’s truth is someone else’s bullshit.
“As conscious beings, we exist only in response to other things,
and we cannot know ourselves at all without knowing them.
Moreover, there is nothing in theory, and certainly nothing in
experience, to support the extraordinary judgment that it is
the truth about himself that is the easiest for a person to know.
Facts about ourselves are not peculiarly solid and resistant to
skeptical dissolution. Our natures are, indeed, elusively
insubstantial – notoriously less stable and less inherent than
the nature of other things. And insofar as this is the case,
sincerity itself is bullshit.”
This view may cause some confusion.
But, not in our upside-down world
in which the normal order of things
seem to be completely reversed.
This often exists because the
, “. . .more you try to stay
on top of water the more you sink;
but when you try to sink, you float.”
kenne
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