Archive for the ‘Dylan Thomas’ Tag

Two-tailed Swallowtail Butterfly Art   2 comments

Two-tailed Swallowtail-0489-2_art blog

Two-tailed Swallowtail Butterfly Grunge Art by kenne

Do not go gentle into that good night
but rage, rage against the dying of the light.

— Dylan Thomas

 

Two Hairy Faced Men, Twits Not   2 comments

lummi-island-vancover_tom-kenne_0333-b-w-blogiiTom and Kenne Turner (October 2009)– Image by Joy

We are hairy men
who may be thought of a “Twit,”
but I dare say, are not.
Why you might ask?
If you  look closely, you will not see
tasty morsels in our beards,
while Twits upon close review
will have tiny little specks
of dried-up scrambled eggs.

So says Roald Dahl,
and he should know
of all the disgusting things
found in the beard of a twit,
but, no need to hold your noses.

So, what is it these hairy men
are trying to hide?
Is it an ugly face, you ask?
No, not really,
for we are two guys
possessing good thoughts,
which shone out of our faces
like sunbeams,
so we will always look lovely.

Again, Roald Dahl, should know:
‘If a person has ugly thoughts,
it begins to show on the face.
And when that person
has ugly thoughts every day,
every week, every year,
the face gets uglier and uglier
until it gets so ugly
you can hardly bear to look at it.’

Even so, on this sand grain day
in the bent bay’s grave
I celebrate and spurn
my driftwood seventy-sixth
wind turned age.

Yet, I remain steadfast
in Shakespeare’s fifth stage
in The Seven Stages of Man,
still acquiring wisdom,
enjoying the finer things in life
and remain very attentive of my appearance,
trying to live life to its fullest,
preparing for the final stages of life.
Shall seventy-six bells sing struck.

kenne

The above illustration is by Quentin Blake in Roald Dahl’s book, The Twits. Part of this posting contains copy from The Twits and  Dylan Thomas’ Poem On His Birthday.

I can’t let this pass without again sharing Dylan Thomas’ Poem On His Birthday.

I Freely Go Lost In The Unknown   Leave a comment

kenne-1-of-1-4-thumble-peak-backdrop-b-w-blog-iiView 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 

Capturing The Moment — Scattering The Ashes Of Tom Turner   2 comments

Meydenbauer Beach Park_Panorama2 blogPanorama View of Meydenbauer Bay, Bellevue, WA 

(CLICK ON ANY OF THE FOLLOWING IMAGES TO VIEW SLIDESHOW FORMAT.)

This past Sunday, in a drizzling chilly rain, I was with my nieces Vanessa and Lisa scattering their dad’s ashes at Meydenbauer Beach Park where they often spent time with their dad. Joy and I first visited the park in the mid-eighties and with the passing of time the park has changed — then a more rustic park with a lot more trees and shrubs. Either way, it’s still a beautiful park on Meydenbauer Bay on Lake Washington. Among the stories the girls shared as we walked together in the park was of their dad running from their home in Bellevue to the park — running directly into the water, which sounds a lot like Tom.

Knowing that we would be with Vanessa and Lisa as they scattered their dad’s ashes, Joy and I traveled to Seattle with some of Grandma Agnes’s aches so they would be scattered together. Since we had an “In Loving Celebration of Thomas R. Turner” ceremony Saturday in the Main Hall at Camp Long in West Seattle, there was no formal scattering of ashes ceremony — just Vanessa and daughter Violet, Lisa, Joy and me. Vanessa’s husband Jon was home with son Henry, and Lisa’s husband Mike home with son Austin. The scattering of ashes at Meydenbauer Beach Park was the way Tom would have wanted it, intimate and personal.

This coming May 23 we will be remembering Tom’s birthday with the Dylan Thomas line he always sent to me on my birthday:

“…High Among Beaks and Palavers of Vultures
He Celebrates and Spurns His Driftwood
SEVENTY-THIRD Wind Turned Age…”

In your honor, Tom, we will keep searching for clarity . . . lucidity.

kenne

 

The following poem ended Saturday’s “In Loving Celebration of Thomas R. Turner” ceremony.

A Clear Midnight

by Walt Whitman

This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou lovest best,
Night, sleep, death and the stars.

(Go To kenneturner.com to see all the “Becoming is Superior to Being” Postings.)

Two Hairy-Faced Men Who Are Not Twits   4 comments

Tom and Kenne Turner — Image by joy

We are hairy men
who may be thought of a “Twits,”
but I dare say, are not.
Why, you might ask?
If you  look closely you will not see
tasty morsels in our beards,
while Twits upon close review
will have tiny little specks
of dried-up scrambled eggs.

So says Roald Dahl,
and he should know
of all the disgusting things
found in the beard of a twit.
But, no need to hold you noses.

So, what is it these hairy men
are trying to hide?
Is it an ugly face, you ask?
No, not really,
for we are two guys
possessing good thoughts,
which shone out of our faces
like sunbeams,
so we will always look lovely.

Again, Roald Dahl, should know:
‘If a person has ugly thoughts,
it begins to show on the face.
And when that person
has ugly thoughts every day,
every week, every year,
the face gets uglier and uglier
until it gets so ugly
you can hardly bear to look at it.”

Even so, on this sandgrain day
in the bent bay’s grave
I celebrate and spurn
my driftwood seventy-first
wind turned age.

Yet, I remain steadfast
in Shakespeare’s fifth stage
in The Seven Stages of Man,
still acquiring wisdom,
enjoying the finer things in life
and remain very attentive of my appearance,
trying to live life at its fullest,
preparing for the final stages of life.
Shall seventy-one bells sing struck.

kenne

The above illustration is by Quentin Blake in Roald Dahl’s book, The Twits. Part of this posting contains copy from The Twits and  Dylan Thomas’ Poem On His Birthday.

I can’t let this past without again sharing Dylan Thomas’ Poem On His Birthday.

Posted January 15, 2012 by kenneturner in Art, Life, Philosophy, Photography

Tagged with , ,

Traveling Companions At Our Driftwood Seventieth Wind-Turned Age   3 comments

Bob Dylan — Image by kenne

I am a child of the forties, a rebel of the fifties,
becoming a native of the sixties.
Each decade saw the influence of art;
not as the creator, but in me,
the person listening and seeing what the creator sent along.
Together we have traveled as companions,
moving along and being moved.

 Now, in my driftwood seventieth wind-turned age,*
“I am of the old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise.”**
An age whose troubadour companions have included:
Bob Dylan, Joan Baez, Paul Simon, George Clinton, Paul McCartney,
Aretha Franklin, Carole King, Brian Wilson, Lou Reed, Jimi Hendrix and Jerry Garcia.
Whether a mere coincidence with others, I am ever grateful —
each having moved me to thought in the course of my daily life.

Often alone with my thoughts, each shaped by others in a sea of music,
I picture an image, one I might take with my camera.
Knowing the words and images don’t come out of nowhere,
but are the result of shared paths for my feet to use,
I always keep an eye on my traveling companions,
and people down the road who might bring a fresh breath of air,
making me younger than I am now – he said, pausing with reflection.

“May you stay forever young,

Forever young, forever young,

May you stay forever young.”***

 kenne

(This posting is deticated to all those born in 1941. We are traveling companions.)

*Dylan Thomas — Poem On His Birthday
** Walt Whitman — Leaves of Grass
*** Bob Dylan — Forever Young

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Sixth Stage of Man — You’ve Got To Be Kidding!   Leave a comment

Tom & Kenne

It would not be my birthday if not hearing Tom read from Dylan Thomas’ Poem On His Birthday. “This sandgrain day in the bent bay’s grave He celebrates and spurns His driftwood thirty-fifth wind turned age;”

On this birthday, in addition to Tom’s usual reference to Dylan Thomas, he referenced Shakespeare’s “Seven Ages of Man.” Most people know it from the beginning line, “All the world’s a stage, And all the men and women merely players. . .”  But, for Tom the reference was:

“. . . The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthful hose well sav’d, a world too wide,
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again towards childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. . . ”

Now Tom, I must make exception to my being in Shakespeare’s sixth stage. I haven’t begun to lose my charm and whit. Nor have I begun to shrink in stature and personality. I remain in the fifth stage, still acquiring wisdom, enjoying the finer things in life and remain very attentive of by appearance — so there!

kenne

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