tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post2246632546221791157..comments2024-01-28T03:56:39.351-08:00Comments on TOM CLARK: Carl Mydans: TrappedUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-64054471735074777492012-08-18T09:08:46.762-07:002012-08-18T09:08:46.762-07:00When I look at the picture of the squinty-eyed kid...When I look at the picture of the squinty-eyed kid in Raymond, and his backdrop, I think... home is what stands behind us in the photograph.<br /><br />John, yes, it was more a matter of when than if. Though to children swarming in the back alley behind those rickety steps and porches, starting the occasional small fire was merely one of a variety of destructive options.TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-70574732970349440492012-08-18T00:55:07.369-07:002012-08-18T00:55:07.369-07:00“After that first trout I was alone in there. But ...“After that first trout I was alone in there. But I didn't know it until later.”<br /><br /> Richard Brautigan, Trout Fishing In AmericaSusan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-64287393040397490522012-08-18T00:54:19.727-07:002012-08-18T00:54:19.727-07:00“Then it was teacher did call my name. I stood up...“Then it was teacher did call my name. I stood up real quick.”<br /><br />Opal Whiteley, <br />The Fairyland Around UsSusan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-21321762217715675582012-08-18T00:52:15.575-07:002012-08-18T00:52:15.575-07:00“In speaking of what
is Outward and what
is Inward...“In speaking of what<br />is Outward and what<br />is Inward one refers<br />not to place, but<br />what is known and what<br />is Not known.”<br /><br /> Edward Dorn, Way WestSusan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-59242097397215735802012-08-18T00:41:10.900-07:002012-08-18T00:41:10.900-07:00The Place I’ve Never Lived In
Nebraska, my ten...The Place I’ve Never Lived In <br /><br />Nebraska, my tennis shoes with no socks.<br />The porch light is left on, always. The deep ravines<br />are feathers. McCook. The river. Kearney.<br />The feathers that are ravines.<br />McCook, then Kearney. Then Hastings.<br />Further from the river. The feathers, the sand.<br />This is where the railroads crossed.<br />I wish I knew more. Sand-lined river.<br /><br />Everywhere we lived<br />my grandfather was lying down flat there.<br />He was a bear in the Alaskan Wilderness.<br />He was a salmon.<br /><br />I wish I knew more. This park.<br />There’s the lawn mower. It looks like<br />A small tractor. The utility plant.<br />There are the unreachable men.<br />This rich plain. The robins glimmer<br />on the lawn. In the grass. There are no places<br />in this history where my grandma doesn’t pretend<br />nothing has happened. My cousin’s breasts<br />look just like my grandma’s. I am burning<br />in the Nebraska sun. I think I feel the prairie.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-30198246761519939782012-08-18T00:40:12.376-07:002012-08-18T00:40:12.376-07:00Concerning The Map To The Gold
One way would be ...Concerning The Map To The Gold<br /><br /><br />One way would be to follow your nose.<br />West of course.<br />Another would be to listen and see<br />where a sound takes you. It might <br />be out of your body. It probably<br />would feel good<br />and you wouldn’t be hungry.<br />There might be another sound<br />waiting for you after the first one.<br />Go that way.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-49146974071547196922012-08-18T00:39:02.624-07:002012-08-18T00:39:02.624-07:00The World
If she’d only drink enough water
then s...The World<br /><br />If she’d only drink enough water<br />then she could flush out her system.<br />The one she’s in. Caught up in.<br />There’s a snowy owl against<br />the pink mylar. There are ribbons<br />of branches wound beneath her fingernails<br />ready to sprout beautiful eggs.<br />Not from insects. She wants an empty<br />car to take her to the desert.<br />Her job will be counting the mileage.<br />Exposing all the film. All the mountains<br />will be her friends. Even their spirits.<br />She’ll fly through the air. Land in the trees.<br />Her claws will be a brush<br />for the man’s hair. Like clockwork.<br />Just like the flowchart.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-70546380367097222342012-08-18T00:36:38.296-07:002012-08-18T00:36:38.296-07:00The Dishes
Here is another thing. She is a paint...The Dishes<br /><br />Here is another thing. She is a painter and her subject is dishes.<br />The finished canvases go up on the walls inside their house. Dishes, everywhere, more<br />dishes. She spends hours brushing, thinning, thickening the paint, carefully round<br />and around. Clean dishes. In ones and twos. With fruit, a few lemons, sent by Suzanne, and a piece of willow branch, the leaves curled and drying. The fruit is cut open. At the sink she holds a pan and swirls it round and around, a pinch of dust at the bottom. Here<br />she is bumping the nuggets, moving them. She adds more water, swirls again, this time looking for the gold. The dishes are still in the paintings, sparkling with nuggets.<br />They show off shadows. They are open bellies asking for food.Susan Kay Andersonhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/16277139119869470939noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-54745476282625696272012-08-17T23:27:35.992-07:002012-08-17T23:27:35.992-07:00"distinguished by use": there's a se..."distinguished by use": there's a sense of those doorways coming to a kind of value - a particular beauty perhaps - with all those human traces worn in.<br />Mose23https://www.blogger.com/profile/01100756913131511440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-43784594898475878412012-08-17T18:00:34.443-07:002012-08-17T18:00:34.443-07:00All those wooden stairs... if there's a fire (...All those wooden stairs... if there's a fire (when there's a fire) nobody gets out alive. Trapped indeed. <br />-- John TranterJ Tranterhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04893475209555207263noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-23126850786135373862012-08-17T12:48:53.451-07:002012-08-17T12:48:53.451-07:00Reading this fine poem and its accompanying photos...Reading this fine poem and its accompanying photos sent me back to when I was an urchin and my family was living in a rundown apartment house above a tavern on the main drag of a wild Raymond, Washington but as you say, Tom, back then “living in that space did not feel like being trapped so much as being home.” Having left Greece at a tender age and without any memories of my childhood here, that small town America <i>was</i> my home. Now, after having lived more than half of my life in my native Greece, I still find myself asking <i>where</i> home is.<br /><br />vazambam (Vassilis Zambaras)https://www.blogger.com/profile/14515165428574974933noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4445844569294316288.post-25958507923012221042012-08-17T09:05:40.339-07:002012-08-17T09:05:40.339-07:00The poem is situated not in Milwaukee, Cincinnati,...The poem is situated not in Milwaukee, Cincinnati, New Jersey or D.C. (the places where Carl Mydans took these pictures), but in the West Side of Chicago; and the "boulevard" referred to is Austin. The Mydans photos capture a certain generic urban architectural look and feel of the period, evoking an uncanny sense of familiarity; though to be fair, at the time, living in that space did not feel like being trapped so much as being home. (Given there was of course nothing, at the time, to which to compare it.)TChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05915822857461178942noreply@blogger.com