Showing posts with label birds. Show all posts
Showing posts with label birds. Show all posts

Monday, June 1, 2015

Truck June 2015: Poem by Andrew Demcak, "Ornithological"

Ornithological

Altruistic light falls everywhere now.
Glassy-eyed before the dusty cases,

our historian indexes his finch,
his altricial crow.  Syntax of labor,

sifting all, the small auditor tagging
the endless shapes of feathers.  Loosening

ideas of flight, like the cloth tails of kites.


***
Andrew Demcak is an award-winning poet and novelist whose work has been widely published and anthologized both in print and online, and whose books have been featured by the American Library Association, Verse Daily, The Lambda Literary Foundation, the Best American Poetry blog, The Nervous Breakdown, and Poets/Artists. His forthcoming teen GLTBQ science-fiction coming-out novel, A Little Bit Langston, will be published by Harmony Ink Press in 2015. 

Truck June 2015: Eight Tanka by Maxianne Berger

summer string

broken sign

amid the garden debris
Forget-M
as if I’d become
some wizened elder

under the sunhat

unruly silver curls 
remarry! I’d 
want some old man
farting in my bed?

---


simply friends

walking through the woods
discover
in this green canopy
filtered light is intimate

binoculars

passed back and forth
observation hut
watching gannets court 
amidst lovers' graffiti

jut of rocks

overlooking the river
we feel it
the thrill of that
very first whale

too hot

to climb a mountain
slippery moss
along the scenic trail
the back of his shoes

---


is this enough?

I watch him stand
in a tidepool
watching a heron
watching for fish

vows exchanged

under a tall spruce
so many years
in the boreal forest
a private altar

***

Maxianne Berger, poet and literary translator, is active in both the French and the English haiku and tanka communities in Montreal and beyond.  Her writing meanders between the minimalism of Japanese forms and the unpremeditated outcomes of OuLiPo-style constraints. She is among those featured in Language Matters: Interviews with 22 Quebec Poets (Souaid & Farkas, eds; Signature, 2013). She has co-edited three anthologies -- one of haiku, in English, and two of tanka, in French, and now co-edits Cirrus: tankas de nos jours. After two books of lyric poetry, her most recent book is a dual-language tanka collection, un renard roux / a red fox (petits nuages, 2014). 

Truck June 2015: Two Poems by Lance Phillips

from Eumenides


Reek boys carry when confined

These dark cherries with utter confidence 




Slugs clot beneath chives



You have to show me



Finger one moves made scalable by arousal 


Made home


A visible fist of birds



***

Scythed in motion against her buttock with palm 

Scythed in as phrasal intensity

A measure the skin has in detection, once blushed






Sings along knee, ligature, at footfall 

A taste for apocalyptics

Fist above nape

His face she grinds into her





Camellia, flesh­colored fist warmed in her hands, punctuates the branches 

The image is loath to self­-doubt 

***

Lance Phillips lorem ipsum



Truck June 2015: Poem by Corinne H. Smith, "Eyes"

Eyes

“Great Horned Owl, Male, Bubo virginianus”
Read the sign on the large cage.
Inside, a layered stack of gray-brown plumage
Sat perched on a wooden post.
A sudden disruption
From the other side of the nature center
Roused the napping nocturnal one
And caused avian lids to lift.
At once, the mass became a bird:
With a beak designed solely for ripping
And tripled talons that, if not for their grip on the bar,
Could otherwise shred me like junk mail.
His white bib and upright ear tuffs brought to mind
A number of tabby cats in my past.
As if to banish that thought,
The owl ruffled his feathers
And stretched his wings – even the injured one –
And left no doubt as to his identity.
A visitor to the side coughed gently,
And the animal’s head swiveled toward the sound
Like the lid on a mayonnaise jar.
No one moved.
We were statues in his fancy garden.
Spying nothing of interest,
He turned instead to face me.
For an instant our pupils locked
And I was invisibly eviscerated by a predator’s scrutiny.
Meeting that amber stare (somehow both aloof and intense),
I could only stand frozen, my spine quickly fused,
Insecure in the knowledge that bigger did not mean stronger.
And in that moment, a measure of wildness passed between us;
Dissolving the thin wire mesh dividing “free” from “not”
And making us temporary equals on Planet Earth.
Those seconds became eons,
And the history of the world flew past, fast-forward,
Culminating in that nature center court,
Evolving into human and bird.
Seeing no worthy prey,
His gaze grew drowsy,
And he settled again into a daytime doze.
With our connection cut,
I was released from his hold
And could stumble the rest of the way down the path.
He had already forgotten me.
I was just one of the blurred hundreds
That passed by him this year.
But I will not soon forget him.
Whenever I walk in the woods at dusk
And hear his cousins call —
Hoo, hoo-hoo-hooooo —
His eyes will return to bore into my soul,
And I will be relieved, once again,
To not have been born a mouse.


*** 
Corinne H. Smith is a writer and a poet who worked as a librarian for more than 30 years. She is the author of “Westward I Go Free: Tracing Thoreau’s Last Journey,” the first book to follow American author Henry David Thoreau’s 1861 trip from Massachusetts to Minnesota. She writes memoir and nature pieces as well as book and music reviews for a variety of outlets. She has participated in public poetry readings in both Massachusetts and Pennsylvania. She currently lives in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. You can catch up with her at www.corinnehsmith.com.


Truck June 2015: Essay by Mary Walker, "Wintering With Cranes"

Wintering With Cranes

In the presence of 20,000 birds of an ancient species, each creature statuesque and as tall as my shoulder, there is a calm like no other. On this day in this place, the winter sun is benevolent and the air is clear. I stand with the Sandhill Cranes beside spring-fed ponds in a 1300 square-mile valley. Together we feel the planet slowly turning. This wide-open landscape formed some 17 million years ago in the Miocene. My own species dates some 200,000 years back, but the cranes have spun a virtually unchanged thread of life for more than 2 million years. I stand with beings that have spanned epochs.

This is the Basin and Range country of the American Southwest. The down-dropped valley that lies between 7000- to 9000-foot mountains came into being some 17 million years ago when the very crust of the earth spread, pulling the craggy mountain ranges apart, and creating closed watershed basins of vast proportions. Greater and Lesser Sandhill Cranes must have found this spot and a few others like it, ages ago. It suited their winter needs, providing moderate temperatures, food, and water to sleep in as protection against predators. From their summer breeding grounds in the northern Rocky Mountains and further north they kept coming. The individuals here today, calling to each other, preening, flying out to feed in grasses and grains throughout the valley, carry knowledge in their bones, those long leg bones that wade in the shallows and that trail behind their bodies in flight. Their recent history, containing memories of the annual migrations of their own lifetimes, is carried in their minds. Geological history resides in their DNA.

When I arrive here at daybreak, I watch the cranes lift from the ponds, each pair and their young, circling, twirling and calling in clear, loud tones. Soon thousands fill the air, forming a swirling musical calliope in the sky, until groups fly off in varied directions to forage in the winter stubble of the fields. In late morning, as the cranes start to return, just a few of them approach, flying high across the wide valley. Graceful fliers with five-foot wingspans, they come closer, circling for landing, testing the breeze before they touch down. Next, ten more arrive. Suddenly hundreds return, their calls filling the sky and their wing beats becoming a primal drumming. It is a spectacle as large as this expanse of open land, and seemingly as old and constant as time itself.

The growing throng on the ground condenses, expands, and shifts in waves to accommodate more individuals landing, always calling, calling, to keep family units together. After a brief rest, some of the cranes fly out again to feed, while others stay in the shallows through the afternoon, all facing the same direction like a congregation in prayer. The cranes are facing into the breeze in take-off formation, to escape in an instant if a marauding hawk or eagle comes by.

At dusk all the cranes have returned to the ponds. As they fold their enormous wings and find their places among the softly milling thousands, sunset brings a sense of physical tiredness and quiet to us all. In the darkness, the planet makes its transit against the starry sky. Tomorrow will bring another chance to soar with the cranes and to engage with them in a dance of eons. 

 ***

Mary Walker grew up in a small town in the mountains of northern Pennsylvania. After migrating southward down the chain of those same Appalachian Mountains to Georgia, North Carolina, and Tennessee, she retired in Arizona. She has been an environmental chemist and a private pilot. She now watches birds, and plays and teaches mountain dulcimer.


Truck June 2015: Interview with Lewis Mark Grimes by Tony "Longshanks" LeTigre

Truck June 2015: Interview with Lewis Mark Grimes - "Bouncing Forward" by Tony "Longshanks" LeTigre


When Lewis Mark Grimes was a kid living in Alaska, he was playing bridge with his family, holding the best hand he had ever seen at the ripe age of 12, when the earth began to shake. The earthquake that ensued lasted five minutes, rated Mw 9.2, caused a tsunami that killed people in Oregon and California, and is now recognized as the third largest ever recorded in the world. Grimes recalls the disaster more than 50 years later:


It was an eternity. Terrifying, like riding a bucking horse in all four directions at once. When we emerged from under a heavy table to go outside, more than a half mile of our neighborhood had fallen into the Cook Inlet. Then we fled the oncoming tidal waves that never hit Anchorage but which wiped out several other communities....
Grimes recalls riding the Alaskan Railroad as a boy, scavenging the bodies of seagulls who had met their end by diving onto the tracks. This seems to have been the earliest onset of a lifelong fascination.


"Bird of Paradise" © 2011-2015 Lewis Mark Grimes


I would stop to rescue the feathers from the roadkill and put them together in little shadow boxes. I later called them “Feather Paintings.” I got the idea for feather rishi years later by combining what I knew of feather painting with macro-photography and Photoshop, fulfilling a lifelong urge.


Fashion, as an industry, does not conjure thoughts of ethical probity or an expansive social consciousness. We all know what PETA thinks of celebrities who wear fur, but historically feathers aren’t very different. On his blog (bouncingbackat.blogspot.com), Grimes calls out Julianne Moore for wearing a feathered gown to the Golden Globes, and discusses the history of feathers:


Fashion usually kills the bird and carves it up to get a pelt like they do in the furrier trade. Trade in fashionable feathers peaked in the early 20th century, bought by the pelt, more costly than gold. Many of the most beautifully plumed species almost went extinct. Luckily nations put protections into place. My goal in creating my all-feather designs is to show the art and fashion industries it's unnecessary to obtain feather images through violence.


When humans come to see the unique appeal of other species, it humanizes us. Our often shortsighted, self-serving and exclusionary species can show its angelic side, becoming advocates for our furry, and feathered, and four-legged friends. Lewis Grimes has bonded in this way with birds. It began, more than ten years ago, with a canary. Later, he added Lady Gouldian finches and then chickens.


I joined avian societies and clubs. Their range of interests and information was fabulous. Trading with breeders, I became one myself. My first try with a flock you might call a mistake. I got forty baby chicks and ended up with thirty-nine hens and one fine rooster, named Ichabod. I was soon drowning in eggs, so all my friends and bird clubs were gifted with many hens.


That bond has led to his eco-friendly trademark, “feather rishi."


"Lost in Autumn" © 2011-2015 Lewis Mark Grimes


Feather rishi is my proprietary technique inspired by the ancient Egyptian art of rishi, which was the practice of laying feather patterns in paint or precious stones. It was used to decorate sarcophagi, mummies, and tombs. It resembled rows and rows of feathers. My feather rishi is digitally composed with macro photography, using feathers acquired from the molts of companion birds. When I say Feather Rishi starts with a single feather, I mean that literally. Many of my artworks are comprised of one or two feathers used in repeats. It takes time and hard work to repair molted feathers photographically, but people who see my designs never notice their flaws because when I'm done with them, the damage is hidden. The birds are safe. When you see the design you only see a fraction of the work. I reconstruct painstakingly. When a friend suggested I try something figurative, it woke me up to fact that abstract is not the only choice and led my efforts to become more liberated and expressive. I did an Om symbol - created 3 different versions out of golden pheasant, jungle fowl, and peacock feathers. I put them on dozens of products, like t-shirts and hoodies. The store’s identity is “The Feathered Om”.


When he returned to college in 2008, he first began using feathers in art and graphic design projects. His collection includes the plumes of macaws,  yellow golden pheasant, Argus pheasant, Impeyan pheasant (Himalayan monal), Lady Amherst pheasant, Lady Gouldian finches, canary, Ameraucana chickens, Laced Wyandotte chickens, and conure parrots.


I graduate in June 2015 with certificates in graphic design and photography. I'm investigating an online BA program at Arizona State University that starts this July. My hope is to get an MFA with emphasis on surface design and eventually I'd like to actually make 3D renderings that can be printed with the new 3D technology. I'm looking for an angel investor or capital to explore those methods.


We would like to spend a long day listening to Lew tell stories. About attending “the college of life” back in the ‘60s, then having an awakening, feeling that “the drugs are fine, but there’s got to be something more,” and studying transcendental meditation under the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. About his years as assistant to Lynn Nesbit, senior vice president and head of the literary department of ICM (International Creative Management), handling authors like Tom Wolfe, Robert A. Caro and Anne Rice. About the fact his resume includes several US presidents and things like that. About palling around with gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson in the second half of the ‘80s through ‘91. Clearly, this man has a past.



"Nekhbet November" © 2011-2015 Lewis Mark Grimes


Transcendental meditation centered me. That was cosmic in its effect. At certain times in my life I've drifted and lost the anchor, but when I meditate, it always brings me back into a focus I've been unable to find any other way. It not only changed my consciousness, but awakened my curiosity. I first studied with Maharishi in California, at Humboldt State College in a month-long course, “The Science of Creative Intelligence.” This all led me to move to San Francisco, where I found info about getting advanced training in Spain at Maharishi International University 1971-72.  I worked as head chef on a work scholarship. My first interest in fashion was to do the simplest garment I could think of - scarves. My pictures on high quality silk. Luckily I’ve been a high achiever in school and this got me grants and scholarships, which have allowed me to have some prototypes of my work printed on different weights of silk with different methods of printing.


He is a sensitive man with compassion for the downtrodden, both animal and human. His 2015 Figurative Feathers calendar features a cover image, selected by Truck, titled “Strong Sister,” which Lew intended as a comment on feminism.


"Strong Sister" does try to salute feminism, but I hope she goes deeper. She is conceived as an "amazon" woman figure and a pugilist. She is a proud symbol of feminine beauty but much more, she is about the successful fight that has gained traction for women in the battle for equality among the sexes. But the irony is, this figure is nothing but a pile of feathers meant to represent an idea. She is the idea of a strong sexual identity, and invites speculation about how the plumed finery of birds puts up a strong front, yet underneath, these are vulnerable creatures requiring attention and compassion.

***


Check my Rosette Construction video to see an animation treatment of my process.
Zazzle - Housewares, apparel and wall art are available.
Vulturine - apparel because Vultures are part of the great recycling mandala of nature.



"Strong Sister" © 2014-2015 Lewis Mark Grimes

Lewis Mark Grimes has a passion for feathers. Naturally molted feathers. He makes art with their images. He collects molts, cleans them, processes and photographs them, and digitally manipulates them in Photoshop. The resulting designs feature the colors and unique patterns found among avian species, but used in ways not known in nature. Currently majoring in graphic design with a minor in photography, Lewis lives in San Diego. His art combines his aesthetic sensibility with a lifelong dream of finding ways for mankind to cooperate with other species.

Tony Longshanks LeTigre is not in any way associated with Frosted Flakes. You can follow him at fr33kland.tumblr.com or email him at anthonyletigre@gmail.com.

Friday, May 15, 2015

Truck May 2015: Text by Rudolfo Carrillo



Year Fifteen of the Permanent Emergency Condition

Sky, broken clouds. Visibility, ten.
A building gently processed with moonlight.
The registry of noise and forgetful silence.
Until your hand is crushed in the mechanism.

A joyful holiday occasion,
he wore his best cuff links and Chinese socks.
Everyone was asleep by midnight.
There were plates of meat everywhere.

An interesting phenomena can be repeated
by withdrawing examples of divinity from
the orifices produced through long-term
geologic processes. Holy word, earth.

Events whose sonic representation in the space-time continuum can be further symbolized as waveforms are constantly crossing my perceptual boundaries. The phone rang once. A dog drank deeply from its stationary water container and my wife asked me to pour her another cup of coffee. Based on previous experience, I expect birds to begin chirping in approximately six point five hours.

Beholden to the rain in a fashion
reminiscent of iron's rusty affiliation,
a group of writers whose base of operations
is located near a sodden pile of newspapers

left for pigeons and the severely homeless
near the Ealing Underground Station
are really just a murder of crows waiting
for flight instructions and cigarettes.

After the crowd launched a number of paper balloons, which I must say were marvelous to watch as they floated past the cathedral and toward the volcano where they would later become a sort of rubbish that might well be a threat to local wildlife, we wandered back to our hotel room where a man with a gun jumped from out the closet and bade us to come with him, as our very lives were in the balance.

***

Produced by Rudolfo Carrillo, using an Apple Mac G4 computer with a Motorola processor. Various organic structures associated with the human body as well as non-quantifiable but possibly mystic mental processes were also used in the production of this unit of text and accompanying image.