
Wet Spider Web By Spillway — Image by kenne
Wet Spider Web By Spillway — Image by kenne
The New Yorker Cover Story (October 31, 2022) by Sergio García Sánchez
First, let me say I love the work of Sergio García Sánchez. I find it very creative, using clean lines and a lot of symbolism. In the October 31, 2022, issue of The New Yorker, Sánchez uses the backdrop of the Grand Central Terminal for Halloween creators passing through the now busy terminal compared to during the pandemic.
On May 5, 2020, I did a Cartoon du jour posting of the Sánchez cover of Walt Whitman on The New York Times Book Review cover. I first so it as a cartoon, or was it? Was it an illustration? To answer the question, I turned to David Blumenstein, who wrote a posting on Medium, Illustrations vs. Cartoons vs. Comics. What’s the difference, and when do I use each one?
Generally speaking:
Illustrations can tell you what is happening.
Cartoons can tell you how people are feeling.
That works for me, so the October 31 cover is an illustration. Thank you, David.
— kenne
Cactus Blossom: Kind of Holiness or Wonderfulness in Nature (April 10, 2022) — Image by kenne
— Fyodor Mikhailevich Dostoevsky
Fenceline — To walk the line is to understand both sides of the fence. — kenne
— Martin Heidegger
Wildflowers on Mt. Lemmon, Santa Catalina Mountains — Images by kenne
What is the late November doing
With the disturbance of the spring
And creatures of the summer heat,
And snowdrops writhing under feet
And hollyhocks that aim too high
Red into grey and tumble down
Late roses filled with early snow?
Thunder rolled by the rolling stars
Simulates triumphal cars
Deployed in constellated wars
Scorpion fights against the sun
Until the Sun and Moon go down
Comets weep and Leonids fly
Hunt the heavens and the plains
Whirled in a vortex that shall bring
The world to that destructive fire
Which burns before the ice-cap reigns
— from Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot
“Global Warming” — Photo-Artistry by kenne
— Albert Camus
Sunrise On Wildhorse Trail (Saguaro National Park – East) — Image by kenne
― Paul Tillich
nearlywildcamping.org
— kenne
Thomas R. Turner (May 23, 1942–November 13, 2014) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
This posting is the sixth, and last, I will be sharing from a long poem written by Tom
sometime around 1980 after his wife left him. Today is the fifth anniversary of his death.
24 to Harwood and Cropsy: No Road Back Home
(Taken from a Brooklyn Bus Route and the Title of a Blues Album.)
The nuances between us were scattered with the January snows of Peter's arrival. Ambiguities, second starts and brokendreams were too Tangled up in Blue to Cut to the exact place on the page where our rhythm had Broken. I'm not that young any more. "Get off your stagnant ass and do something." The scenario years later would speak. The Pacific Northwest and a three quarter profile statement Echoing out Denny's window Why I never got a job during all those summers. Only the facts she put to me. I couldn't keep in step with the definitions you Dreamed. We speculated endlessly in different directions Whether our togethrness might might imaginable be framed From inside so that the usual connection between lover And lover and loved and loved would be interchangeable but Paradoxically unchanging. (For my benefit, I suppose) Was the fiction of my eroticism so damn necessary? Somewhere I glimpsed you Coming at me; balancing cryptic hats . . . Laughing comic confusion. Now I never see you anymore. The summers are much colder tha used to be In that other time, when you and I were young. I miss the human truth of your smile; The half-hearted gaze of your voice and all the things That you'll always be to me. Only thee is no comic relief Just a Curious translation of cracked nostalgia. But lets Skip the arguments. I already know how the story ends: A-not-so-crytic-message: Don't be naive You could only gaze into the distance at my life.
Thomas R. Turner (May 23, 1942–November 13, 2014) — Photo-Artistry by kenne
This posting is the fourth of several I will be sharing from a long poem written by Tom
sometime around 1980 after his wife left him. Today is the fifth anniversary of his death.
24 to Harwood and Cropsy: No Road Back Home
(Taken from a Brooklyn Bus Route and the Title of a Blues Album.)
Closely watched trains came and went without me without us I somehow missed you Eyes have a way. After love with my caliban sweat and noises A vacant resentment would knife From glares askance First seen in the pain of Vanessa-labor. And this is what happens when you love someone? Progeny and sunburn haired sensualness Prefaced Rare-Earth and a student nurse. The ideology of lesbos intimacy had Clandestinely raised its latent head. But it doesn't matter anymore. (You were the poet in my heart) 91st street was the end Wasn't it? Curious how our windows are always steamed-up On Autumnal days. (Was ANYTHING central?) The "is-this-all-there-is" syndrome sums up the Period: Existentialist discontent With a walk-up duplex decor. A matter-of-fact sexuality Presaged a psychic-incarnation I couldn't see. Lisa brought home a metamorphosis I didn't Realize. They cut your "tubes" after she came and that was that. Funny how I thought even then that is was All a matter of hormonal imbalance. Shit! And what about you? Paradoxes betray the limits of logic Not of the reality we shared. Your "passion" was stillborn though so damn necessary. A dissolution of absence into substance sucked Screaming through a Rimbaud-Day-On-Fire. I could't laugh enough for the Frivolity she needed but detested.
Sunset January 22, 2019 — Image by kenne
— Paul Tillich
Cactus Wren — Photo-Artistry by kenne
— Soren Kierkegaard
Follow the Narrow Trail (The Tucson Mountains) — Image by kenne
No Name Trails
— kenne