in the poinciana
the dark cool air anticipating
the sun's arrival
of spangled drongos hiss
from branch to branch
fan tale telling
to those who have woken early
willing to listen
pied butcher birds chortle
and warble away
the myna chords of foreign invaders*
[this morning happily
their number is greater]
the enemy retreats
now they are shining black
sharp beaked and smiling over their territory
for this day
i am sitting barefoot in the morning chill
fingering warmth from a hot cup of tea
the cold has caught me
off guard - my senses
stand to attention
without pomp or ceremony
the door swings open
a shaft of gold
settles over leaves
grants form to trees
and gently glows
inviting those present to
be this [enlightenment]
*indian myna birds - also known as 'the flying cane toad' these birds are wrecking havoc on native species in these and many other parts - read more on these delightful aviators here
'twombly'- noun - an apparatus assembled with creative spirit from used wire or wood [often a combination of the two]; either for decoration or for utilitarian purpose - often painted drippy white; 'a twombly', 'pass the twombly'
'twombly' - verb - the act of expressive creation eg. thoughts, writings, objects, dance - that may at first seem gestural and immediate, yet possess an innate sophistication - 'to twombly', 'I'm having a twombly', 'do the twombly', to 'twombly on'
'twombly, twomblesque'- adjective - a style, appearance or behaviour that at first may appear ramshackle and spontaneous - yet contains an innate sophistication and even a touch of the romantic - 'the house was a twombly affair', 'she had a twomblesque way of thinking', 'it was a twombly of a dress'...
[all in the spirit of fun - for Jen... !]
|Cy Twombly Criticism 1955|
A little while ago in my post Cy Twombly in Rome, I wrote some thoughts on being fortunate enough to attend the Cy Twombly retrospective whilst visiting Rome in 2009. Writing that post I re-remembered the exhibition and the profound effect it had on me - and - shortly after I began to regret the fact that I did not purchase the catalogue of the exhibition at the time - I remember holding one in my hands in the bookshop of the GNAM - at the very reasonable price of around 35 Euro [from memory], before deciding to be prudent and be happy with the tomes on Twombly I already owned....
|Cy Twombly Untitled [Funerary Box for a Lime Green Python] 1954|
However, pouring through these other tomes almost two years later and attempting to recall which works I had actually seen proved difficult - and I began to wish for the actual catalogue I had held in my hands. A few days after writing my post I headed online to find myself a copy of Cy Twombly Cycles and Seasons. It took very little time to realise that I had left my run far too late - as I began pouring through website after website, searching for an available copy of this publication - which I then learnt - is now out of print...
|Cy Twombly Quattro Stagioni [A Painting in Four Parts] Part II: Estate 1993-1995|
After trawling specialist book sites online I contacted a seller who I had found via Amazon.com - but who was based in America and was not listed to ship internationally. Lucky me - they were prepared to make an exception [and even covered part of the shipping cost]. Thank you Ardent Books!
|Cy Twombly Thicket 1991|
|Cy Twombly Untitled 1959|
Cy arrived yesterday - lovingly packaged for the long journey and still dressed in his original shrink wrap - and today I am relishing the opportunity to again walk my way through the exhibition piece by piece. I am feeling extremely fortunate to have this book in my possession - and while I do believe in 'non attachment' and 'letting go', there are some moments in one's life that are wonderful to be able to revisit. So this afternoon [while Stylus [dear husband] and Dante are out on a drive] I am sitting down with a cup of tea and spending some time with Cy Twombly - in Yarrabah...
we make the journey past jilgi in the pre-dawn chill
atop granite tors
a star filled horizon
illuminates the pacific night
but four are steady – constant glow
they be not stars
but born of more stable substance
mars - jupiter - mercury - warriors and fighters all
venus - your singular feminine beauty legendary
[as if by magic]
you have come together as four
and from the shore - we welcome you
slowly rises the orb that brings light to the world
and licks the land with colour and form
this glowing light
that gives such delight
[as if by magic]
that an infant chortles with pure joy
the soft light filtering through the window
begins to give shape and form to her world
together - in this still fuzzy dawn
we begin the daily practice
of answering the enthusiastically questioning finger
so keen to make real
'that is the window'
'that is the curtain'
'beyond is the sky - and the sun
it is round - it is morning'
'that is a toy - your toy'
'this is your hand'
'this is your hand'
my mind is thumbing back through time
'this is your hand'
scratching at the past for similar words
read - but not fully recalled
then grasped - for but a moment
i am thinking of margaret atwood
and her poem
how does it begin ?
later we sit
by a swiftly flowing river
water such as you have never seen
you are surrounded by rounded stones
your hands stroking their smoothness
attempting their weight
you are just passing your first year
and already eager to reveal the mysteries of the world
later you will come to understand
the beauty in the stone left unturned
You begin this way: this is your hand, this is your eye, that is a fish, blue and flat on the paper, almost the shape of an eye. This is your mouth, this is an O or a moon, whichever you like. This is yellow. Outside the window is the rain, green because it is summer, and beyond that the trees and then the world, which is round and has only the colors of these nine crayons. This is the world, which is fuller and more difficult to learn than I have said. You are right to smudge it that way with the red and then the orange: the world burns. Once you have learned these words you will learn that there are more words than you can ever learn. The word hand floats above your hand like a small cloud over a lake. The word hand anchors your hand to this table, your hand is a warm stone I hold between two words. This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world, which is round but not flat and has more colors than we can see. It begins, it has an end, this is what you will come back to, this is your hand.[images + text copyright Bek Misic 2011 - unless otherwise stated]
today we celebrate baba becoming a septuagenarian...
[at least in dog years]
happy 10th birthday baba
baba and i became a family some years ago in alice springs
from the moment she arrived at my door with dani and sue, in need of a home
i knew we were destined to be together... now our family has grown,
but baba you will always be my first true love...
baba arrived with her name already in place... and it is quite an esteemed name at that...
b a b a
One of the very ancient Sumerian goddesses, whose name is well attested in texts since the Fara period, especially in personal names. Kings mention Her in their royal inscriptions (ex. Uruinimgina, Entemena).
As a manifestation of the Great Mother Goddesses, She was responsible for the fertility of human beings and animals, the very Lady of Abundance.
As the wife of Ningirsu, She formed part of the Lagash pantheon; Her temple there was the E-urukuga. At the New Year´s Festival, the city celebrated Her Sacred Marriage with Ningirsu. There was also a temple to Baba in Uruk.
She is the recipient of numerous votive offerings, especially during the Neo-Sumerian period (Gudea). At this time Baba became known as the daughter of Anu, the Skyfather and the planet Venus.
During the Old Babylonian period She became identified with the goddess of healing, Bau/Gula, Ninisinna and Inanna. Towards the end of the second millennium BCE, she also appeared in connection with magick, equated with Ningirim, the goddess of incantations.
[click here to read this information in its original context]
i look forward to our next ten years
like heart beats
from the balcony door
with the ocean at their heels
cry - melancholic - clear
haunting the front yard
i stand barefoot
toes teasing waves
dante's smiling eyes
the sun is almost rising
above us only clouds
at the joy
Dante's second easter - it does go so fast...
hand dyed eggs imprinted with leaves
from our rainforest garden
in sweet impermanence
Jilgi backbeach, Yarrabah
such beauty and solitude at our door
Cape Tribulation pales as
mica shimmers through the sand
reflections of land
how blessed we are