Natural beauty,
the shapes and forms wandering,
sanctifies the road.
Cherry trees branches,
A wide canopy of leaves
Blossom has fallen.
Comments: I began to notice these cracks because I took photos of them and they were very good to use as a basis for digital art.The cherry tree was out for only three days but it was so beautiful
By my sister
https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/conation
https://www.pw.org/content/jesmyn_ward_frank_bidart_win_national_book_awards
““Writing the poems was how I survived,” said Bidart upon winning the poetry prize. “I hope that the journeys these poems go on will help others survive as well.” In her acceptance speech, Ward addressed the crowd and said, “You looked at me and the people I love and the people I write about…. and you saw your grief, your love, your losses, your regret, your joy, your hope. I am deeply grateful, and I hope to continue this conversation with all of you for all of our days.””
Bidart’s fiercely original poetry, now collected into one volume with several interviews, has found again and again an entry into the heartbreak, pathos, plangency, rage, and depression into which the longing for perfection will lead anyone who finds compromise intolerable. This is an old theme: Coleridge treated it in “Constancy to an Ideal Object”; Hopkins saw himself “with this tormented mind tormenting yet”; and Yeats, in “Among School Children,” bitterly addressed those unattainable ideal perfections of love, worship, or maternal aspiration, those
Presences
That passion, piety, or affection knows,
And that all heavenly glory symbolize,
[Those] self-born mockers of man’s enterprise.
Bidart’s poems establish themselves on the paradox of the compulsion to return to the scene of desire, loathing its fundamental insufficiency as well as the self that returns to it. His intricate twists of syntax, coiling like a python about the tortured sensibility, act out the dilemmas and melodramas of the desiring self. Because above all he wants to register the sound of the human voice, he is driven to unusual representations of that voice on the page.”
Deep blue glass affects me in the mind
Makes me happy with its glints and gleams
The colour pleases more than just my eyes
Colour is the secret place I hide
While my inner self sorts out its dreams
Deep blue glass affects me here inside
I hear the colour, fleet as butterfly
Traveling on some ornamental scheme
The colour pleases more than just my eye
To love the red and yellow I have tried
But in my heart ,I felt by them demeaned
Deep blue glass affects me there inside
I looked at my old paintings and I sighed
For I gave up before I caught the scene
I like to share the treasures of my eye,
I shall take my spouse to Durham, York or Leeds
I’ll inter his ashes in the far North of his dreams
Deep blue glass affects me in the mind
I have seen the Light and it was kind.
Using our perception, not our will
Imagination ,truth and love conspire
Effort is not needed when we’re still
For pushing blindly, we are unfulfilled
And very soon our mind will be too tired
Unless we use perception, not just will
The soul and heart are set to send the bill
Yet imagination creates its endless fire
Effort is unneeded when we’re still
Mostly we will swallow doctor’s pills
Smoke and drink, annoy with midnight choirs
Unless we add perception to our will
With Sisyphus, we push the stone uphill.
Wonder whether Jesus was a liar
Effort is less needed when we’re still
As we renounce the sharp wish to achieve
We like flowers delicate believe.
Perceive, imagine, give no thought to will
Effort is not needed, be you still
“Science is the poetry of the intellect and poetry the science of the heart’s affections.“
Lawrence Durrell
How my heart sings 