It's strange how something that was done more than 20 years ago can take on new layers of meaning today. A creative exercise I did with middle school students has caught my eye while cleaning out my file drawers. We called it cut up poetry. Another name is ransom poetry. I gave students scissors and a pile of magazines and newspapers. They then looked for ways to put together words and phrases they had cut out. These are some of the results:
"Ekphrasis" comes from Greek "ekphrasis" meaning "description."
"Ekphrastic" is a literary description of visual art.
When you take a flower in your hand and really
look at it, it's your world for the moment. I want to give that world to
someone else. Most people in the city rush around so, they have no time to look
at a flower. I want them to see it whether they want to or not. ~ Georgia
O'Keeffe
Stone Flower, photo above, was a response to a poem by Emory D. Jones about Georgia O'Keefe. https://thelightekphrastic.com
The online journal, The Light Ekphrastic, pairs artists and poets to respond to one another's work. Recently my photos and a poet's response appeared in the May issue of the journal.
In responding to a poem by Emory D. Jones about George O'Keefe, this is the process I went through:
Choosing: I had to choose one of three poems by the same poem. I was elated to find that one of the possibilities was a poem about Georgia O’Keefe, one of my favorite
artists. And the fact that she was also married to photographer Alfred
Stieglitz connected me even more with this poem. New Mexico is one of my
favorite states and her landscapes of that area capture its spirit.
Considering: In my response, I knew I needed to include
elements of color, especially warm colors, and rock. I thought a flower would
be ideal, both because of Emory’s poem and because of O’Keeffe’s work. Since her
style is largely abstract, I decided that style might be best for my photo
image.
Creating: I live far from New Mexico but not far
from rocks in Downs Park (Anne Arundel County, Maryland) on the shore of the
Chesapeake Bay. I usually walk there every day but to prepare for this project,
I spent a great deal of time on the beach studying the surrounding large rocks. The
challenge was to find one that I could work with and avoid getting my camera
splashed from waves crashing on the rocks during high tide. I finally found one
part of a rock that held possibilities and photographed it several times on
different visits to the park. The rest of the work remained in the hours of post
processing to mold the image to my vision of the poem. The evolution traveled
through many iterations until I finally rested with this one. (Note: I used Photoshop CC and OnOne.)
When you read words and unfold the layers until you connect, it's your world for the moment. I want to give my vision to others. Most people skim in their reading and never really stop to examine the words in front of them. I want them to "see" the words whether they want to or not. ~ Bonnie Schupp
(If we live with an open and grateful attitude, every
day will bring a gift. This is one of 365 gifts during the year I turned 70.)
Baltimore poet Shirley Brewer
Time
has a habit of disappearing before I can even acknowledge it. The minutes,
hours, days are swallowed up by the rabbit hole before I can grab them. Maybe
this is akin to running down a hill where gravity pulls you downward, faster
than your legs can move. Such a feeling of exuberance and fear. I remember that
feeling as a child and it only stopped when I fell over and forced my legs to
stop.
Today,
there was no running down a hill but a slowing down when friend Shirley
visited. After many weeks, we caught up and walked in Downs Park until the deer
flies attacked her. We concluded they liked her vanilla scent because they didn’t
attack me and I wasn’t wearing vanilla. I wouldn’t be surprised if she turned
that experience into a new poem.
Shirley,
my favorite poet, read some of her new poetry to me and it was a treat. Imagine
a wall lined with peepholes and when you look through each one, you see a
vignette, a separate slice of life that pulls you in. This is the flavor of her
poems. I asked her if there were any phrases or lines she had written that
cling to her more than others do. She said, “steering from inside.”
This
is a good metaphor for we must all steer our lives from the inside if we want to
control our run down the hill. Steering from inside leads to poetry, friendship
and a rich life.
(This is part of a 365 project
during my 70th years where I write and illustrate a blog on each
day’s gift.)
Of the poets shown here, three have moved and Elizabeth McWethy (3rd from left) passed away a year ago this Wednesday. There were seven poets who met today. Published 2006 in The Arundel Sun.
On the third Monday
of every month, some magic happens in Annapolis when I meet with a small group
of people to play with words. This group of poets has been meeting for about 15
years, sharing and commenting on original poetry. Milestones mark the passing
years. We have published two anthologies with our poetry. Some poets have left the
group through death or moving and new people have joined us. Many are older
than I am and are wonderful role models in their pursuit of creating, learning and sharing.
Every month we first
catch up with personal lives and then begin focusing on poetry. We each bring
one of our poems with enough copies to share and take turns. One reads her poem
and then the person to the left reads the same. We discuss strengths and offer
suggestions for revision. Although some poets now walk into our new meeting room with
slow steps and sometimes canes, once we begin our discussions, they show agility on a verbal
playing field.
~ We play together—chasing words across pages, pursuing poetry,
shoving words out of line, inviting others to join the rhyme from time to time.
~ We play together juggling sounds and meanings, weaving in
and out of ideas, alliterating among similes, transforming starched syllables into
galloping metaphors.
~ We play together—each dancing different steps, affirmed by
teammates gently suggesting a high kick or swivel to improve the rhythm.
~ We join together—sharing more than words, gaining more than
points, learning more than skills— finding ourselves.
My
gift today is my poet friends.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You can find links to my other
posts on this project here:
(This is part of a 365 project during my 70th year where I write and
illustrate a blog on each day's gift.)
Today I read
a letter from a longtime friend. We were both students at Frostburg in the 60’s
and have kept in touch more or less over the years, both of our lives going in
different directions. Technology has become a large part of my life, socially
and creatively but computers are not in Peter’s life. He makes phone calls and
writes letters, often reciting or sending his original poems.
His
poetry is introspective and has the style and cadence of the Edgar Guest poems that
I used to read in one of my grandmother’s books. Unlike most modern poetry, his
style includes traditional end rhymes. This recent poem he sent to me talks
about how there is no map in life that charts a course—that life consists of “breadcrumbs
dropped in a snowstorm” and “chalk marks made before a rain.” These same
thoughts also crossed my mind as I photographed my footprints in fresh snow.
Those snow prints tell me where I have been but fail to show the way I should
go. The future is fresh snow where no one has walked yet.
Maybe
there is such a thing as metaphorical footprints which are made up of interactions
with others. Perhaps these interpersonal relations are more than temporary
breadcrumbs and chalk marks. Is it too much to hope that some residue of these
interactions from the past and in the present might remain over time and point
to where we should go?
Bonnie J. Schupp (1944-2021) was raised in Baltimore and graduated from old Eastern High School in Feb. 1963. She earned a bachelor's degree from Frostburg State College, her master's from Johns Hopkins University, and, at age 60, a doctorate in communications design from the University of Baltimore. She was over the years a public school teacher, camera store owner, writer and award-winning photographer, and mother of two daughters,. She self-published half a dozen books combining her writing and photographs, notable among them "Dog Tag Poetry" (2012, Blurb Books), "365 Gifts on Turning 70" (2016, Amazon), and, posthumously, her memoir "Curious Possibilities" (2021, Amazon) edited by her husband, David M. Ettlin.
