Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Archimedes Paintings/Covers
This is a selection of some of the paintings Claribel did for the Archimedes book. There are five paintings reproduced within the book to accompany the poems and each book in the edition of ten has an original painting as the front cover. The paintings are high energy and color-dense, evoking the spirit of the poems in a dramatic, bold and masterful style. As covers on the books, they are stunning!
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
The Archimedes Chronicles/Drawings
These drawings are by my friend David Moyer of Red Howler Press. Archimedes and I recently paid David a visit and these are his impressions from that meeting. Look for more of David's drawings, maybe one for Archimedes' Tub? There is a link to David's website at the bottom of this page.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
The Archimedes Chronicles/Poems
We are currently at work on a book about Archimedes, a very interesting subject for a project. The initial impetus was the ongoing work at The Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore on decoding The Archimedes Palimpsest. Google it, it's a great story.
Archimedes In High School
Block & tackle
kind of guy, good with tools
good with numbers.
I can still see him
drawing in the sand
with a long stick.
Circles.
I always wanted
to sit next to him
in geometry class
but it never worked out
that way.
He smoked Camels
even then and I recall
his tunic speckled
with cigarette burn holes.
Deep in thought
he forgot
he had one lit
until it dropped
and burned him.
Archimedes News
There is no news.
The days follow
the same gentle arc
as usual
and for this alone
I am thankful.
Fall is upon us,
the temperature a pleasing 70
degrees and
I remain in the company
of my friend Archimedes
who has just introduced me
to his old school mate
Erastothenes,
a good egg.
We’re going out
for a couple cold ones
as soon as I’m off work
which will be about
8 o’clock.
Archimedes at the Bar
Archimedes
on a bar stool,
stately and composed
his face washed
in pink neon.
He looks like Gabby Hayes
but sounds like Charles Laughton.
He’s enamored of the barmaid,
he admires her
"vocabulary and good usage"
and she keeps the Stingers coming.
The last thing I remember
is when Archimedes said
"there’s no such thing as cosmic debt".
That was just before
last call.
Archimedes’ Tub
A heaviness presses
on poor Archimedes,
he carries it in his neck
and shoulders mostly–
some days it almost
makes him stagger.
It’s a certain burden
that great men bear
and today the circles
have gotten the best
of him.
Camphor oil on his temples
a long soak in the marble tub
a sweet young thing from Thebes
to play the lyre
for him,
that’s the only thing
that seems to help.
Archimedes Tries To Quit
The Camel straights
have done their damage
and poor Archimedes
tries to quit.
He’s chewing Nicorette
Fruit Chill™ – coated twice
for an intense fruit flavor
with a hint of mint.
The Second Punic War
has been a real bitch
and his nerves are frayed,
he’s edgy.
The nicotine makes it’s way
to his shaky old head,
his vision clears
and it’s back to work.
Archimedes’ Last Words
Archimedes with a cigarette–
a Camel, unfiltered.
He smokes them
down to a nub
so his fingers are stained
and ashes drop
into his thick beard.
He sits under the Catalpa trees
jotting down lines and drawing
circles and ellipses
in his big blue notebook
not noticing the Roman soldier
about to enter the scene.
"Do not disturb my circles."
are Archimedes last words.
Archimedes’ Tomb
When Archimedes was slain
I sat near his tomb.
I waited and watched
as it became entangled
in a thicket
of forget.
After 137 years
Cicero, whose name
means chickpea, came by
cleared away the undergrowth
and paid his respects.
Cicero who was to suffer
soon enough.
Archimedes In High School
Block & tackle
kind of guy, good with tools
good with numbers.
I can still see him
drawing in the sand
with a long stick.
Circles.
I always wanted
to sit next to him
in geometry class
but it never worked out
that way.
He smoked Camels
even then and I recall
his tunic speckled
with cigarette burn holes.
Deep in thought
he forgot
he had one lit
until it dropped
and burned him.
Archimedes News
There is no news.
The days follow
the same gentle arc
as usual
and for this alone
I am thankful.
Fall is upon us,
the temperature a pleasing 70
degrees and
I remain in the company
of my friend Archimedes
who has just introduced me
to his old school mate
Erastothenes,
a good egg.
We’re going out
for a couple cold ones
as soon as I’m off work
which will be about
8 o’clock.
Archimedes at the Bar
Archimedes
on a bar stool,
stately and composed
his face washed
in pink neon.
He looks like Gabby Hayes
but sounds like Charles Laughton.
He’s enamored of the barmaid,
he admires her
"vocabulary and good usage"
and she keeps the Stingers coming.
The last thing I remember
is when Archimedes said
"there’s no such thing as cosmic debt".
That was just before
last call.
Archimedes’ Tub
A heaviness presses
on poor Archimedes,
he carries it in his neck
and shoulders mostly–
some days it almost
makes him stagger.
It’s a certain burden
that great men bear
and today the circles
have gotten the best
of him.
Camphor oil on his temples
a long soak in the marble tub
a sweet young thing from Thebes
to play the lyre
for him,
that’s the only thing
that seems to help.
Archimedes Tries To Quit
The Camel straights
have done their damage
and poor Archimedes
tries to quit.
He’s chewing Nicorette
Fruit Chill™ – coated twice
for an intense fruit flavor
with a hint of mint.
The Second Punic War
has been a real bitch
and his nerves are frayed,
he’s edgy.
The nicotine makes it’s way
to his shaky old head,
his vision clears
and it’s back to work.
Archimedes’ Last Words
Archimedes with a cigarette–
a Camel, unfiltered.
He smokes them
down to a nub
so his fingers are stained
and ashes drop
into his thick beard.
He sits under the Catalpa trees
jotting down lines and drawing
circles and ellipses
in his big blue notebook
not noticing the Roman soldier
about to enter the scene.
"Do not disturb my circles."
are Archimedes last words.
Archimedes’ Tomb
When Archimedes was slain
I sat near his tomb.
I waited and watched
as it became entangled
in a thicket
of forget.
After 137 years
Cicero, whose name
means chickpea, came by
cleared away the undergrowth
and paid his respects.
Cicero who was to suffer
soon enough.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
A New Tom Clark Broadside
This is the new Tom Clark poem, Pink Trees published in an edition of 50 signed copies. It is illustrated with a painting by Claribel and printed on Hahnemühle iBugra paper. Thanks to Tom for letting us publish this one!
Thursday, August 6, 2009
One of a Kind Books
We have been busy making one of a kind books. Each book is a monoprint or painting by Claribel constructed in an accordian style format. Some open up completely and lay flat for viewing or display. The latest group has handpainted covers as well.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
"Cocktails With William Powell" Poems
Claribel and I recently had the pleasure of attending a cocktail party at our friend William Powell's house. Here is a photo of C.C. and W.P. sharing a toast early in the evening. I've written some poems about the guests in attendence and Claribel has painted pictures to accompany them. Cheers!
William Powell & Carole Lombard
There was a commotion
out by the swimming pool
when William Powell,
(so debonair
I could never call him Bill)
arrived with Carole Lombard
on his arm and hand in hand,
impeccably dressed
they both jumped
in the pool.
Later Cole Porter
wrote a song about it.
Curious George & The Man
In The Yellow Hat
Sure he’s curious.
An inquisitive nature
often accompanies
superior intellect;
descended from a monkey king
George is superior
in many ways.
I am his father
and he is my furry son
and each accepts the others
shortcomings.
Our days pass happily
the way they should
and I wear the yellow hat
so George can spot me
in a crowd.
Bonnard & Me
Where you are
the cherry trees bloom
outside your window,
here it’s dreary
and gloom hangs
on the morning
like a wet jacket.
A cup of tea
and a head full
of scribble
I start writing–
snow blossoms
outside my window.
Hedy Lamarr & Franz Kline
Dear Franz Kline,
when I saw your paintings
there was a strange migration–
a swift departure,
an unsteady arrival.
My response was unexpected;
I’ve only felt this
once before
when I was walking
across a railroad bridge
too afraid to look down–
and then I did.
Until we meet
I remain,
yours.
The Little King & Claribel
The Little King
as wide as he is tall
doesn’t speak, he mutters
and points the way
with his pointed black beard.
He’s not concerned
with royal decrees
or castle and kingdom–
mischief and mayhem
are his scepter and crown
and at this very moment
he’s in a little toy plane
circling the outlying districts
of memory and time
dropping custard pies
on upturned faces.
Vincenzo Perrugia & Mona Lisa
Would you think I’m crazy
if I told you I was crazy
about you, La Gioconda?
I would also tell you
my heart is stuck
like a frozen lock,
I am clumsy and numb
until I see you.
I intend to take you
for my own–
we’ll share the long dark nights
and I’ll watch over you
willing to lose my freedom
for loving you.
Dr. Kildare & Cherry Ames
Dr. Kildare made house calls.
He also removed his own appendix
assisted only by a Slovenian scullery maid
named Glinka.
Stitching himself back together
was the hardest part.
He put the appendix in a white tissue.
Three years later he married Cherry Ames,
Department Store Nurse.
They had a son named Norbert.
Maybe you know him?
Jack Benny & Rochester
Back in Waukegan
Benny Kubelsky never walked
on water,
he waited until it froze
and skated on it.
Benny Kubelsky couldn’t defy
the laws of gravity
but every Sunday night
at seven o’clock
along with Rochester Van Jones
he lessened their effects
for half an hour.
There was a commotion
out by the swimming pool
when William Powell,
(so debonair
I could never call him Bill)
arrived with Carole Lombard
on his arm and hand in hand,
impeccably dressed
they both jumped
in the pool.
Later Cole Porter
wrote a song about it.
Curious George & The Man
In The Yellow Hat
Sure he’s curious.
An inquisitive nature
often accompanies
superior intellect;
descended from a monkey king
George is superior
in many ways.
I am his father
and he is my furry son
and each accepts the others
shortcomings.
Our days pass happily
the way they should
and I wear the yellow hat
so George can spot me
in a crowd.
Bonnard & Me
Where you are
the cherry trees bloom
outside your window,
here it’s dreary
and gloom hangs
on the morning
like a wet jacket.
A cup of tea
and a head full
of scribble
I start writing–
snow blossoms
outside my window.
Hedy Lamarr & Franz Kline
Dear Franz Kline,
when I saw your paintings
there was a strange migration–
a swift departure,
an unsteady arrival.
My response was unexpected;
I’ve only felt this
once before
when I was walking
across a railroad bridge
too afraid to look down–
and then I did.
Until we meet
I remain,
yours.
The Little King & Claribel
The Little King
as wide as he is tall
doesn’t speak, he mutters
and points the way
with his pointed black beard.
He’s not concerned
with royal decrees
or castle and kingdom–
mischief and mayhem
are his scepter and crown
and at this very moment
he’s in a little toy plane
circling the outlying districts
of memory and time
dropping custard pies
on upturned faces.
Vincenzo Perrugia & Mona Lisa
Would you think I’m crazy
if I told you I was crazy
about you, La Gioconda?
I would also tell you
my heart is stuck
like a frozen lock,
I am clumsy and numb
until I see you.
I intend to take you
for my own–
we’ll share the long dark nights
and I’ll watch over you
willing to lose my freedom
for loving you.
Dr. Kildare & Cherry Ames
Dr. Kildare made house calls.
He also removed his own appendix
assisted only by a Slovenian scullery maid
named Glinka.
Stitching himself back together
was the hardest part.
He put the appendix in a white tissue.
Three years later he married Cherry Ames,
Department Store Nurse.
They had a son named Norbert.
Maybe you know him?
Jack Benny & Rochester
Back in Waukegan
Benny Kubelsky never walked
on water,
he waited until it froze
and skated on it.
Benny Kubelsky couldn’t defy
the laws of gravity
but every Sunday night
at seven o’clock
along with Rochester Van Jones
he lessened their effects
for half an hour.
Friday, April 24, 2009
"Cocktails With William Powell" Paintings
William Powell & Carole Lombard
Curious George & The Man In The Yellow Hat
Bonnard & Me
Franz Kline & Hedy Lamarr
The Little King & Claribel
Vincenzo Peruggia & Mona Lisa
Dr. Kildare & Cherry Ames
Jack Benny & Rochester Van Jones
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The Piano Book
We are finishing work on a new book, The Piano Book; Starring Glenn Gould and Harold Cone. It's a book inspired by the friendship of two pianists and particularly of their meeting at Carnegie Hall many years ago.
Claribel was present at that meeting but as a young child she didn't fully understand the significance as she sat off to the side reading a book she'd brought along. As the two men chatted, laughed and played the piano she continued reading but the memory of that day has remained strong.
We dedicate this book to the memory of Glenn Gould and Harold Cone. They are ever present.
Glenn Gould Drives
for C.C.
Glenn Gould heads north out of Toronto
looking for solace, a place to think.
He packs his burgundy 1972 Ford LTD
station wagon with travel essentials;
extra scarves and gloves, books, sheet music
eight track tapes, a flask of strong tea
and a sleeve of Ritz crackers.
Leaving town he drives through two red lights
and stops at a green light
humming his way through the Goldberg Variations
thinking of Bach and harpsichords
thinking of the new Steinway
being created for him, playing it as he hums
and drives into the northern darkness.
Luminous fields of snow slide by
as he tunes in New York and the Philharmonic
the AM radio crackling just a bit
but he thinks to himself;
"Beethoven never sounded so good".
Glenn Gould drives
and Cassiopeia appears in the sky
like a glittering diamond necklace–
he sees an upward bound diatonic in sixths
and drives on into the night.
Harold Cone
What does a concert pianist do
when the piano is out of order
when his fingers freeze in an unheated hall
when a steeply sloping stage threatens to slide him
and the piano and chair into the orchestra pit
when camera fans use flashbulbs
or even come on stage during a concert
when hundreds of breath-takingly beautiful flowers
are presented as gifts as he boards the train?
The pianist must simply compose himself
with humility and wonder.
Claribel was present at that meeting but as a young child she didn't fully understand the significance as she sat off to the side reading a book she'd brought along. As the two men chatted, laughed and played the piano she continued reading but the memory of that day has remained strong.
We dedicate this book to the memory of Glenn Gould and Harold Cone. They are ever present.
Glenn Gould Drives
for C.C.
Glenn Gould heads north out of Toronto
looking for solace, a place to think.
He packs his burgundy 1972 Ford LTD
station wagon with travel essentials;
extra scarves and gloves, books, sheet music
eight track tapes, a flask of strong tea
and a sleeve of Ritz crackers.
Leaving town he drives through two red lights
and stops at a green light
humming his way through the Goldberg Variations
thinking of Bach and harpsichords
thinking of the new Steinway
being created for him, playing it as he hums
and drives into the northern darkness.
Luminous fields of snow slide by
as he tunes in New York and the Philharmonic
the AM radio crackling just a bit
but he thinks to himself;
"Beethoven never sounded so good".
Glenn Gould drives
and Cassiopeia appears in the sky
like a glittering diamond necklace–
he sees an upward bound diatonic in sixths
and drives on into the night.
Harold Cone
What does a concert pianist do
when the piano is out of order
when his fingers freeze in an unheated hall
when a steeply sloping stage threatens to slide him
and the piano and chair into the orchestra pit
when camera fans use flashbulbs
or even come on stage during a concert
when hundreds of breath-takingly beautiful flowers
are presented as gifts as he boards the train?
The pianist must simply compose himself
with humility and wonder.
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