“I am in the midst of ‘trying’ to memorize a poem . . .
‘Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour’ by Wallace Stevens . . .
never mind why . . .
although the exercise was triggered by a piece by
George Steiner in which he wrote:
‘The danger is that the text or music will lose what physics
calls its ‘critical mass,’ its implosive powers within
the echo chambers of the self.'”
Tom was aware that what is committed to memory
and susceptible to recall constitutes “The Blast of The Self,”
an intensity of outward attention — interest, curiosity,
a healthy obsession was a motivation stronger
even than love or hatred or fear.
— kenne
Final Soliloquy of the Interior Paramour
Light the first light of evening, as in a room
In which we rest and, for small reason, think The world imagined is the ultimate good.
This is, therefore, the intensest rendezvous. It is in that thought that we collect ourselves, Out of all the indifferences, into one thing:
Within a single thing, a single shawl Wrapped tightly round us, since we are poor, a warmth, A light, a power, the miraculous influence.
Here, now, we forget each other and ourselves. We feel the obscurity of an order, a whole, A knowledge, that which arranged the rendezvous.
Within its vital boundary, in the mind. We say God and the imagination are one… How high that highest candle lights the dark.
Out of this same light, out of the central mind, We make a dwelling in the evening air, In which being there together is enough.
Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together today to look into the face of the river. One of us has stayed at home to rake the leaves, gathering those poor tears shed for the rest of us. If there is one among you who sees in the face of the river your own, please step forward and identify the source of your wealth. If not, can you give us a thumbnail sketch of the important philosophers in Golden Greece?
An old cedar stood by, simply thankful she existed. And a young fox, who had neither dreams nor feelings in the French. And the one at a distance raking the leaves did not think of them as tears, but as simple toil, conducted without compromise. In the sweet fresh morning how good it was to be alone with potato paring filling his mind. To whom should he speak? There was no one but the leaves and the leaves did not feel he had anything worth saying.
The July 5th SCVN Friday Hikes began at the Sky Valley parking lot
where led guide Phil Bentley greeted everyone and covered the SCVN Safety Rules.
This was a six-mile loop connecting three trails, (Aspen Draw, Mt. Lemmon Trail,
and the Meadow Trail) with an elevation gain of 1,200 feet.
One of the interest points on this hike was the Lemmon Rock Lookout staffed by the Forest Service personnel.
The original tower was erected in 1928.
On this day we were able to get a tour of the Lookout
since Phil called ahead and talked to the Forest Ranger on duty at the Lookout this summer.
The Osborne Fire Finder.
View down into the Tucson Basin and the Santa Rita Mountains.
After the tour, we took a snack break before continuing the hike.
A little music from our leader.
Always a fun time hiking in the Santa Catalina Mountains. — Images by kenne
Sunlight Through The Aspens on Mt. Lemmon– Computer Painting by kenne
When the mind’s eye rests on objects illuminated by truth and reality, it understands and comprehends them, and functions intelligently; but when it turns to the twilight world of change and decay, it can only form opinions, its vision is confused and its beliefs shifting, and it seems to lack intelligence.
Leaves On the Ground (Mt. Lemmon) — Image by kenne
Autumn 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
“Woodlands” (Aspen Draw Trail on Mt. Lemmon) — Computer Art by kenne
As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind. To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again. To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.
Now that I have more time to search for a source of inspiration larger than or outside of myself, I desire to generate creative expression my combining poetry and visual art. It is not always easy to tease out the imagination in words or a visual image, but when combined one may be able to create analogous worlds. Edward Hirsch, in Transforming Vision stated that this process is similar to what Robert Frost called “counter-love, original response.”
The Most of It
He thought he kept the universe alone; For all the voice in answer he could wake Was but the mocking echo of his own From some tree–hidden cliff across the lake. Some morning from the boulder–broken beach He would cry out on life, that what it wants Is not its own love back in copy speech, But counter–love, original response. And nothing ever came of what he cried Unless it was the embodiment that crashed In the cliff’s talus on the other side, And then in the far distant water splashed, But after a time allowed for it to swim, Instead of proving human when it neared And someone else additional to him, As a great buck it powerfully appeared, Pushing the crumpled water up ahead, And landed pouring like a waterfall, And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread, And forced the underbrush—and that was all.
— Robert Frost
PS: I find inspiration in visual images, whether my own or that of others, from which I try to blend visual and verbal eloquence. One of the best examples of inspiration from visual art is Wallace Stevens “Man with the Blue Guitar” on Pablo Picasso’s “The Old Guitarist.”
The Woods Near Aspen Draw On Mt. Lemmon In The Santa Catalina Mountains — Image by kenne
The higher elevations of the Santa Catalina Mountains provide plenty of fall colors from the variety of vegetation — bedstraw, bigtooth maple, cliffbush, corkbark fir, Douglas-fir, Gambel oak,mountain parsley, mountain snowberry, New Mexico locust, New Mexico raspberry, quaking aspen, Rocky Mountain maple, silverleaf oak,southwestern white pine and white fir.
— kenne
“Instead of just recording reality,
photographs have become the norm for the way things appear to us,
thereby changing the very idea of reality, and of realism.”