©2021, William Mathews. I really think I should be a professional public historian. What do you think?
To the northeast the beach continued along as straight as a razor until its sandy edge eventually merged into the slate grey of the sea and sky in a triple vanishing point of morning drizzle, only just beginning to show the pink and golden flecks of a still uncertain sunrise, lurking just below the horizon line of Neptune's watery realm.
One of these personalities who I looked at in a bit of detail was an artist, photographer, and (amateur?) architect named Rembrandt T. Steele, son of well-known Indiana painter T. C. Steele.
With this in mind you readers can expect to see new poems and poetic fragments of works in progress being posted here as the work continues... Other, more detailed examinations, in an academic or philosophical style, may appear from time to time as well, but I would like to avoid overly long and highly detailed studies for the time being.
Poetry, memed Lately I have been experimenting with using copyright free images as a backdrop for short poems or poetic fragments. This is perhaps not very sophisticated in the cultural sense, and likely not in the pop-cultural sense either since my productions have been quick and low-fi, but it creates visual interest for social media purposes, and makes my poems shareable. Keep in mind that all are copywritten. Here are my latest examples.
Forty miles gone in Napoleon shoes, another day’s dawn with the Julian blues. Crossing white rivers, crossing past streams; crossing o’er bridges burnt black at the seams. Sitting in your captain’s tent jotting down plans; counting birds from the bush into your hand...
After posting and publishing this poem yesterday, I realized it was still falling short. I had high expectations, but I think that was mostly based on the fact that I had hammered some of my ideas into the difficult sonnet form and knew more or less what I was talking about and feeling and sensing … Continue reading We sailed on black tarmac, rudderless, root-locked…
We sailed on black tarmac, rudderless, landlocked,drifting, by turns, to split the humid gauze,as under the rayed and haloed light you mockedmy rising in your sweating, petting palms.Iowa noon, buried knee deep in the corn.Tan, green, and white. And lithe as serpents wound --splayed out and twinned on brazen steel shelled form,molten as the flame … Continue reading We sailed on black tarmac, rudderless, landlocked…
Stuff I read in 2020, with some notes. Part 1 of 3 Reading Reading Reading... 1958 & 1996.University of Nebraska Press. Mircea Eliade. Patterns in Comparative Religion. This was the first book I finished last year, while still on vacation at Daytona Beach. 2020, before the virus hit us. It seems like a long time … Continue reading My 2020 Readings
Krishna as Arjuna's Charioteer One way in which a book can be termed a cultural icon is if its impact spreads out wide beyond its own particular context and the circumstances behind it's authorship, continuing on to cast its influence down long corridors of time and into unexpected and even unimagined domains of thought and … Continue reading Bhagavad Gita as Cultural Icon