chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

Tag Archives: trying to write

found poem: the second

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ the second
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

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found poem: the condition

found poem: following

found poem: My dark

found poem: to produce

found poem: hiding

found poem: startling

found poem: tongue

found poem: I am

found poem: your ideas

found poem: Without

found poem: Let me

found poem: that knob

found poem: in a moment

found poem: poet’s

found poem: to write

making lines

DAK pink stitched piece, undatedI don’t recall my mother ever sewing anything as practical as clothing or curtains, but sometime after I had left home a sewing machine was installed in her studio. She began to ‘draw’ on paper with lines of stitches.

In this piece, the underlying paper (8″ x 10″) is visible only at the very edges. Except for that ragged and tormented margin, where a tint of paint can be seen, all of the apparent color is thread, stitched and overstitched, turning the paper into a dense, canvas-like material. She may have used the painted image as inspiration, but at some point, all that was left of the painting was the lines of thread that covered it completely. Some deep puckering suggests that the paper must have ripped, but she kept stitching, row upon row, in an impasto of thread.

I don’t know if Dorothy considered this finished, or successful. Parts of it are quite beautiful. There’s a kind of fierceness about it — an aggressive attempt at mastery — an imperfect draft of a difficult poem with a few worthwhile words.

(Here’s another example.)

found poem: what recent

drafts

DAK color study - backThe shelves and file drawers still bulge with my mother’s small paintings, drawings, handmade paper, collages and other ephemera. I consider these one by one, as I do the photographs, hoping for insight.

A rejected portrait of a pear occupies the back of an undated, unsigned 6 x 9-inch abstract color study on Arches paper. Dorothy applied the paint — perhaps acrylic — in translucent glazes, considering the colors, the roundness, the gloss of the fruit. But in the end, it was not the pear she wanted and before using the other side, she scribed a firm X through her effort.

She often painted on top of previous paintings, preserving some elements or obliterating the original entirely. But something about this pear was evidently beyond redemption — perhaps its bulging shoulder or pinched waist — and could only remain a haunting substratum to any future image. Still, she loved pears as both food and objects and painted them summer after summer.

Whether with brushes or words, we keep trying to get it right, every poem or essay (the very word!) a sketch, an underlayer to something better — or not. We pick away at vision and understanding, archaeologists with dental tools, miniaturists peering through the magnifying lens, hoping some part of the image will resolve, make sense, escape, for a while, the banishing X.
. . . . .
more on sketches

found poem: to render

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