Poetry Friday--Ekphrasis

I love ekphrastic poetry, which, simply put, is art about art. It provides a puzzle in that I have to find the original work being written about. The internet makes it easy to find the original works. Twenty years ago, though, I might never have been able to appreciate the ekphrastic poem by Eavan Boland titled "Degas's Laundresses."

Degas's Laundresses

You rise, you dawn
roll-sleeved Aphrodites,
out of a camisole brine,
a linen pit of stitches,
silking the fitted sheets
away from you like waves.

You seam dreams in the folds
of wash from which freshes
the whiff and reach of fields
where it bleached and stiffened.
Your chat’s sabbatical:
brides, wedding outfits,

a pleasure of leisured women
are sweated into the folds,
the neat heaps of linen.
Now the drag of the clasp.
Your wrists basket your waist.
You round to the square weight.

Wait. There behind you.
A man. There behind you.
Whatever you do don’t turn.
Why is he watching you?
Whatever you do don’t turn.
Whatever you do don’t turn.

See he takes his ease
staking his easel so,
slowly sharpening charcoal,
closing his eyes just so,
slowly smiling as if
so slowly he is

unbandaging his mind.
Surely a good laundress
would understand its twists,
its white turns,
its blind designs:

it’s your winding sheet.

Prior to the internet, art was mainly seen in library books. If you were lucky, your public library may have had an adequate collection, but many, if not most, art book collections are lacking in depth. Today, with internet search engines, it takes mere minutes to find a particular work of art.

Here are two I found:

Repasseuses courtesy Musée d'Orsay.

La repasseuse courtesy Musée d'Orsay.

Neither picture may be the one Boland examines since she clearly talks about the laundresses grasping their loads of folded laundry. I'm going with the top picture, though, because it shows the "roll-sleeved Aphrodites" with the one woman yawning because it is dawn and she's still half-asleep.

Surprisingly, there are several more Degas works containing laundresses to be found online. These hardworking women appear to be a favorite subject of his. Next week, I'll look at another Degas laundress picture.

Make sure you stop by Paper Tigers for the Poetry Friday Round-Up.

Haiku Sticky #155

© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.

Happy Haiga Day!

© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved. Image courtesy Library of Congress.

Poetry Friday--Using the Page

I'm attracted to poets who use the layout on a page to give motion or meaning to their poems. For example, here's a short poem by Octavio Paz:

Exclamation

Stillness
                not on the branch
in the air
                  not in the air
in the moment
                            hummingbird

Doesn't the irregularity of the lines bring to mind the flickering maneuvers of a hummingbird in flight? (A great excuse for including the hummingbird video below!)





Here's another use of space with a haiku by Marlene Mountain:

                                                 stick
my neighbor's rooster hops the          i throw

How much fun is that? Of course, a forced use of space can get pretty gimmicky, but, all in all, it's a simple tool that poets can utilize to add dimension to their work.

Join Amy at The Poem Farm for this week's Round-Up.

Haiku Sticky #154

© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved.

Happy Haiga Day!

© Diane Mayr, all rights reserved. Photo courtesy Library of Congress.

Poetry Friday--"Daystar"

Here is a poem that speaks to every woman who has ever had to spend her days and nights taking care of her family. I'm not saying that there aren't rewards to being a wife and mother, just that it can sometimes mean that palaces will go unbuilt.

Daystar
by Rita Dove

She wanted a little room for thinking:
but she saw diapers steaming on the line,
a doll slumped behind the door.

So she lugged a chair behind the garage
to sit out the children's naps.

Sometimes there were things to watch--
the pinched armor of a vanished cricket,
a floating maple leaf. Other days
she starred until she was assured
when she closed her eyes
she'd see only her own vivid blood.

She had a hour at best before Liza appeared
pouting from the top of the stairs.
And just what was mother doing
out back with the field mice? Why,

building a palace. Later
that night when Thomas rolled over and
lurched into her, she would open her eyes
and think of the place that was hers
for an hour--where
she was nothing,
pure nothing, in the middle of the day.

Here's Ms. Dove reading the poem for Bill Moyers:

Rita Dove reads 'Daystar' from BillMoyers.com on Vimeo.

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Photo by Russell Lee courtesy Library of Congress.