Category: Art

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

Unblack Hole:



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The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

I know you have talent.  What sometimes is forgotten is that being practical is a talent.  I have a paucity for that sort of talent in many situations, though it turns out that I’m a pretty darn good cook.  ðŸ™‚  

Let your talent bloom.  You can share it here.  Encourage others to let it bloom inside them as well.

Won’t you share your words or art, your sounds or visions, your thoughts scientific or philosophic, the comedy or tragedy of your days, the stories of doing and making?  And be excellent to one another!

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

Warping Out:



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The muses are ancient.  The inspirations for our stories were said to be born from them.  Muses of song and dance, or poetry and prose, of comedy and tragedy, of the inward and the outward.  In one version they are Calliope, Euterpe and Terpsichore, Erato and Clio, Thalia and Melpomene, Polyhymnia and Urania.

It has also been traditional to name a tenth muse.  Plato declared Sappho to be the tenth muse, the muse of women poets.  Others have been suggested throughout the centuries.  I don’t have a name for one, but I do think there should be a muse for the graphical arts.  And maybe there should be many more.

I know you have talent.  What sometimes is forgotten is that being practical is a talent.  I have a paucity for that sort of talent in many situations, though it turns out that I’m a pretty darn good cook.  ðŸ™‚  

Let your talent bloom.  You can share it here.  Encourage others to let it bloom inside them as well.

Won’t you share your words or art, your sounds or visions, your thoughts scientific or philosophic, the comedy or tragedy of your days, the stories of doing and making?  And be excellent to one another!

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXXIV

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Passage

Rites and Passages

(the latter years)

Isolating

Declaring

Bemoaning

Observing

Writing

Speaking

Affirming

Protecting

Finding voice

Initiating

Writing

Speaking up

Ghettoizing

Returning

Creating space

Confronting the beast

Writing

Speaking out

Helping

Representing

Taming the beast

Depicting

Moving on

Broadening

Writing

Spreading out

Identifying the larger beast

Combining

Proclaiming

Defending

Teaching

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–November 15, 2005

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXXIII

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Desert Tortoise

Survivor

When I was a small child

and life seemed so very hard

I was positive I could not survive

When things happened to me

that should happen to no child

I doubted I would survive

When the sins of my parents

were visited upon their children

I questioned whether I might survive

When I grew older, I somehow learned

to think of myself as a worthwhile person

I thought, I can survive

Faced with the cruelty of not living

in a world of my own making

I decided, I shall survive

I endured the harshest challenges

that I can imagine a life having to offer

As excruciatingly hard as it was, I survived

When life itself, cruel cellular biology

Seemed to conspire against me

Even then I did survive

Even age, that most vicious mistress

tries to slowly grind me into giving up

but I have still survived

I don’t care what life brings my way now

no matter what or who may come or go

I know that some way I will survive

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–April 28, 2006

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXXII

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Islands in the Storm

In Passing

Every year or so

I stop for a moment

grieve about the people

I met and befriended

as much as I knew how

My existence has flicked

from thought to precious thought

from spacetime to spacetime

those friends have become

painful fond memories

My life journey required

that I had to move on

though I could have settled

for the bittersweetness

and shared more time with them

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–December 19, 2006

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXXI

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Inner Light

Personal Evolution

(an unfinished poem about a life not ended)

Brief moments of awareness…

like the immersion

of a skipping shell

in the liquid

of another life.

Suppression…Submission…Denial

Insistence…Duality…Fear

Anger…Confusion…Dissociation

Coalescence of self…

the protecting shell

loses momentum,

ceases skipping,

and begins to sink.

Control…Struggle…Pain

Loss…Crisis…Acknowledgment

Hope…Death…Existence

Birth of identity…

the sinking of the shell

propels up a splash,

a pearl of dew,

which hangs suspended.

Trying…Failing…Crying

Learning…Knowing…Growing

Assimilating…Adapting…Being

Examination of soul…

while gravity stops,

the revealing lens

zooms through the wet,

uncovering layers.

Exhilaration…Disappointment…Loss

Pride…Necessity…Doubt

Honesty…Certainty…Change.

Assertion of gender…

Vibration of ego…

internal bonds break,

the mist that was dew

drifts on the wind,

scattering slowly.

Listening…Traveling…Speaking

Reading…Witnessing…Writing

Relocating…Suffering…Returning

Perusal of purpose…

catching an updraft

the mist attaches

to motes of dust

from other life paths.

Joining…Disclosing…Contributing

Attending…Despairing…Meeting

Enjoying…Loving…Committing

Analysis of life…

shifting perspective

the damp dust

provides fertile ground

for germs of wisdom

. . .

dot dot dot

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–January 17, 1997

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXX

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Up on the Roof

Rain on the Roof

The sound

of rain on the roof

reminded her

that she needed to hurry.

It wouldn’t do

to be stuck

out here alone

in the storm.

She remembered

the days of isolation…

of deprivation…

of loneliness…

those days

when the roof would leak

and the fire wouldn’t

put out enough heat

to warm

even her hands…

those days

when turning

to her neighbors

was not possible

because they universally

detested her difference.

Now they voiced

acceptance of her

and would let her visit

when the storms came.

But they still

didn’t understand

who she was

or what it meant

to be her.

They would open

their doors

during a storm,

but they still

wouldn’t help fix

the damn roof.

She was still different.

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–March, 1998.

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXIX

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Grasping

Not  exactly courage

From my old life I dangled

entangled in the lives

and expectations of others

unable to break free

or maybe too afraid

to seek emancipation

fiercely clutching the shreds

of what I thought was dignity

but it was a fiction

preferred by everyone

even though I strangled

mangled emotionally

dying inside from lying without

suspended in shame

until I lost my grip

I landed on my feet.

Many don’t.

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–January 11, 2006

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXVIII

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Bleeding

Bleeding the Colors

I have bled blood red

Three decades later than

I would have liked,

aided by a surgeon’s knife,

but I have bled blood red.

I’ve bled before,

just not that color.

It’s the shade

I was missing

in my world.

I’ve bled the sickly yellow of fear

and the desolate blue of sadness,

the empty grey of loneliness

and the worn out brown of long years

of waiting.

I’ve bled the bluish purple of pain

and the emerald green of envy,

the dark scarlet of anger

and the all-consuming black

of depression.

I’ve bled the purplegreengold

sparkles in my vision

as I fell asleep

to dream of a life that

I couldn’t live.

I’ve bled the tarnished silverpink

of a love that I thought

was real but was

an illusion/delusion

and abusive and wrong.

I’ve bled the dusky rainbows

of confusion and turmoil

and the toxic hues

of insanity and dis-ease

and death.

I’ve bled the colors

until they ceased existing

and I would have joined them,

but I finally bled

the blood red of life.

I’ve bled red twice now

and the colors are back,

sharp and crisp

and bright and airy

and joyful.

I’ve bled red twice now

and the colors are real,

and they don’t need me

to bleed them,

for I have bled blood red.

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–March, 1995

The Polanski Case: Morality Play Aside, What are the Real Motives?

Roger Simon in The Politico writes today about the extradition drama surrounding the arrest of director Roman Polanski.  Simon’s greater point is, of course, that those who are blessed with great talent are not always those who are blessed with the greatest moral fiber.  When a person who has achieved great fame for high artistic achievement gets in trouble, he or she suddenly finds himself or herself with a multitude of apologists and sycophantic admirers.  And yet, I would be remiss if I neglected to add that until fame is achieved, however, society and the creative class views any unknown artist as merely another odd bird either unable or unwilling to conform and certainly worthy of no one’s pity.  

Beyond a simple argument regarding the nature of cult of celebrity or the brutality of childhood sexual abuse, Polanski’s case concerns our own yearnings for attention and desire and how quickly we sell into the lies and cheap attention of celebrity.  Not only that, this contentious issue promises great appeal to those wishing to use it to pad their own resumes, insert another feather into the cap, or use the topic as a bargaining chip to strengthen a hand at the diplomatic table.  We have been contemplating one side of the issue, but I’d like to know more than the superficial.  These instances where art and law intersect are much more interesting.

To begin, a friend of mine, then enrolled in art school, expressed constant frustration to me and to anyone who would listen that the professors encouraged a high degree of eccentricity in each student, feeling that being weird for weird’s sake was a conditioned and necessary virtue.  The famous Irish wit Oscar Wilde, himself of no small ego and put on trial for his part in a sex scandal, noted that “no great artist ever sees things as they really are. If he did he would cease to be an artist.” Most of these students needed no encouragement in this area but I suppose the implication was that in a world where “starving artist” was a label frequently pinned to even the most talented at the craft, one needed to do something to stand out.  Those who adhere to this philosophy never require much in the way of introduction.  We know some of them by their first name alone.  

Simon’s column makes light of several less than stellar human beings who were championed by Hollywood, writers, actors, and other well-connected individuals for their talents but were dismal failures regarding ethical and legal conduct.  One could, I suppose, also add Charles Manson to the list, as several members of The Beach Boys believed him to have genuine musical skills and even were willing to pay for demo sessions to record his ramblings onto magnetic tape.  If one surveys poets, playwrights, recording artists, composers, sculptures, painters, and the like one can easily find example after example of misanthropic, borderline criminal behavior.  The Beat Poets, for example, were a rowdy bunch of social defectives and proud hell-raisers.  I believe there to be at least two reasons for this:  the prevalence of mental illness is high among the creative and those who perceive of the world around them so acutely and with such unyielding, high sensitivity have a tendency to be unable to know how to guard themselves properly against an unceasing stream of emotion.  Some manage to find healthy ways to control and channel this simultaneous blessing and curse and some do not.      

My point in all this is neither to defend nor to accuse Polanski for his actions.  While I agree that his directorial work has frequently been genius, I don’t feel much of a compulsion to let that fact whitewash the serious crime which he himself has admitted to taking a starring role.  The morality of the matter has already been talked to death by voices better connected and more eloquent than mine.  I am, however, much more interested in the reasons WHY this matter has come to trial now, after the passage of thirty years.  What are the motives this time behind bringing the French/Polish director back to the United States to serve out his sentence?  Who truly seeks to gain from this?  Whose reputation will be padded by having brought Polanski to justice?  Who are the major players, what are their names, and what is their compulsion to prosecute now?

The coverage thus far has been predicated on a very small focus of what could be an enormous matter.  That we have not yet been provided with the names of those driving extradition proceedings is telling and likely deliberate.  Aside from the diplomatic wrangling between France and United States, the politics and the ulterior motives of this drama have been obscured and unrevealed.  That the media seems content to let us talk to death one sole facet amongst ourselves and amongst itself is quite interesting.  This either means they have nothing further to go on themselves or are being instructed to not give light to a detailed, complex analysis of the case.  When matters of International Law are concerned, complications frequently arise and specific issues remain resolutely thorny.  It could also be that precise details of this case will be rolled out one by one over the coming weeks, at which point the media will hash them out to exhaustion, only to be presented latest batch of compelling information.      

I myself have grown tired of debating morality as regards Roman Polanski.  Polanski’s offense has highlighted how eager we are to forgive significant offenses in our heroes, especially those who have found their way into that small, elite club we call celebrity.  I honestly understand those in that tight circle who defends him, because their motives are a result of both self-preservation and sympathy.  They’re aware of the obscene pressure of living in a fishbowl and having any shred of privacy destroyed by the effects of a society desperate to poke into their personal business.  They understand how easy it is to break down, resort to drug addiction, or come completely unglued under the pressure of the omnipresent white hot spotlight.  Moreover, they know how easily reputations can be destroyed by spurious rumors and allegations of misdeed.  Even so, they also know that the “Get Out of Jail Free” card often extended to those who have the financial means loses its potency whenever any celebrity is sent to prison, no matter how open and shut the case may be.  Viewpoints such as these require us to rethink the idea of fame and acknowledge its impact upon our society and we ourselves.

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXVII

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Question

The Questions

When people ask me

“Who are you?”

I answer honestly

“I am me.”

When they ask

“What are you?”

I say “An individual, one,

And I am whole.”

When I’m asked

“Which are you?”

I know that others decide

that for themselves.

When I hear

“Why are you?”

The why is not important

“Because I am.”

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–February, 1995

Muse in the Morning

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Muse in the Morning

A Transition through Poetry XXVI

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Mouth

The Mind’s Mouth

After the eyes

look inward

the voice must

speak outward

Introspection begets conception

Reflection instigates creation

The soul must speak

its truth

–Robyn Elaine Serven

–January 6, 2006

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