The Leaf and the Tree

Welcome to my Poetry and Painting Blog!

The following poem was selected by Susan Meals, a long-time friend and shared admirer of Edna St Vincent Millay. She suggested posting the first part of the following poem.

The Leaf and The Tree …

When will you learn, myself, to be
a dying leaf on a living tree?
Budding, swelling, growing strong,
Wearing green, but not for long,
Drawing sustenance from air,
That other leaves, and you not there,
May bud, and at the autumn's call
Wearing russet, ready to fall? 

..............

To go with this poem, my friend also sent a photo of the large tree in front of her Los Angeles home. She literally has fought city hall to save it from being cut down! Unfortunately, the photos she sent just didn't seem to capture the elegance of that wonderful tree. 

Meanwhile, there is a large olive tree in her backyard just outside her breakfast window. She has debated about removing it, because it takes up so much space. But I have always admired that old olive tree: its gestural growth pattern and the habitat it provides. Thus, the below painting is an inspiration of that particular tree and a nod to all things old an beautiful.

Other notes:

This past month of September I participated in a 30-day challenge of a painting a day.  I didn't quite make it to 30 paintings...but 25. That was quite a feat, as I did some travel during that time and had to double up my efforts. My poor husband turned into a painter's widower...bless him! 

Below is a collage of the works produced:

Also, this coming November through January I will be having a solo show at my neighborhood's POA building. If you would like more information, please contact me. 

You may see more of my art at:

KarenMeredithArt.com

I welcome you to sign up, below, for this occasional blog and share it with your friends who might be interested. AND I invite you to (continue) to send  favorite photos you have taken and writings (inspiring, thought provoking, or humorous) 
 to me at kmeredithart@gmail.com.  

Cold Mountain

Welcome to the Seventh Edition
 of Poetry and Paintings

In this winter of the low-hanging Arctic Vortex, I thought I would share with you a favorite poem submitted by John Aram, one of my dear, deep-natured friends. What we know as Cold Mountain, was written by Hanshan (Chinese: 寒山; pinyin: Hánshān; literally "Cold Mountain", fl. 9th century) was a legendary figure associated with a collection of poems from the Chinese Tang Dynasty in the Taoist and Chantradition.

In John's words,

The poem is somewhat long, so I am attaching only three verses which I think illustrate the ethereal sense of the poem in general.  By way of introduction, however, I also wanted to include a critic's statement (with which I agree) about the poem which is included in the introduction to a book by the same title in which the poem is presented.  The critic (Arthur Waley) writes, "Cold Mountain is often the name of a state of mind rather than a locality.  It is on this conception, as well as on that of the 'hidden treasure,' the Buddha who is sought not somewhere outside us, but 'at home' in the heart, that the mysticism of the poem is based."

Text from Cold Mountain (verses #40, 45, 47)

I climb the road to Cold Mountain,

The road to Cold Mountain that never ends.

The valleys are long and strewn with stones;

The streams broad and banked with thick grass.

Moss is slippery, though no rain has fallen;

Pines sign, but it isn’t the wind.

Who can break from the snares of the world

And sit with me among the white clouds?

Cold Mountain is full of weird sights;

People who try to climb it always get scared.

When the moon shines, the water glints and sparkles;

When the wind blows, the grasses rustle and sigh.

Snowflakes make blossoms for the bare plum,

Clouds in place of leaves for the naked trees.

At a touch of rain, the whole mountain shimmers –

But only in good weather can you make the climb.

How cold it is on the mountain!

Not just this year but always.

Crowded peaks forever choked with snow,

Dark forests breathing endless mist:

No grass sprouts till the early days of June;

Before the first of autumn, leaves are falling.

And here a wonderer, drowned in delusion,

Looks and looks but cannot see the sky.

While this poem evokes many visual images....my rather abstracted response to reading it is below: 

In Cold Mountain, 11x14, oil on panel

For information about the above painting and my art in general, please visit ...

KarenMeredithArt.com

I welcome you to sign up, below, for this twice-a-month blog and share it with your friends who might be interested. AND I invite you to (continue) to send  favorite photos you have taken and writings (inspiring, thought provoking, or humorous)  to me at kmeredithart@gmail.com.  

In the following section, I hope that you will add personal comments and links to your own images related to this posting. I would like to make this creatively interactive!

PS...After reading the Cold Mountain poem, Nerys Levy sent the image of her own watermedia work on paper, created during her visit to her homeland, Wales, this past summer...

Ode to Autumn

Welcome to the third edition of Poetry and Painting


For this third blog I have selected a poem written by John Keats (1795-1821). It was suggested by my friend, Ellie Densen, who majored in English literature, is still an avid reader, and resides in Iowa:

                     

                                 TO AUTUMN.

                                            1.

SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness, 
 

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; 
   

Conspiring with him how to load and bless 
       

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; 
   

To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, 
       

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; 


To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells 
   

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, 
       

And still more, later flowers for the bees, 
       

Until they think warm days will never cease, 
           

For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.

                                            2.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? 
       

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find 
   

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, 
       

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; 
   

Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep, 
       

Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook 
           

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: 
   

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep 
       

Steady thy laden head across a brook; 
       

Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, 
           

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

                                            3.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? 
       

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,
   

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, 
       

And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue; 
   

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn 
       

Among the river sallows, borne aloft 
           

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; 
   

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; 
       

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft 
       

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; 
           

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

My painted response to this poem was a work I began en plein air in Western NC in early fall. As I recall painting it I could feel some of Keats' description of impending Autumn, especially “thy laden head across a brook”.   So I decided to go back to this piece and finish it with that sense of place and time in mind. 

For information about the above painting and my art in general, 
please visit ...

KarenMeredithArt.com

I welcome you to sign up (under my profile in the email box) for this twice-a-month blog and share it with your friends who might be interested. AND I invite you to (continue) to send favorite photos you have taken and writings (inspiring, thought provoking, or humorous)  to me at kmeredithart@gmail.com.  

Feel free to add personal comments and links to your own images related to this posting. I would like to make this creatively interactive!