November 16th

from Poseidon’s purse

they drag the big eyed harvest

gasping on hot wharfs

the omniscient

God so fickle and angry

buries them with waves

I popped into the British Museum, I haven’t been there in years, it is an astonishing place, putting aside the dubious origins of how some of the antiquities ended up there, it is a magnificent collection.

This mosaic (Roman, approx 100AD) really caught my eye. The pieces of stone were so tiny, it allowed for fantastic detail. N.b – I know I use the Greek “Poseidon” as opposed to “Neptune”, but I prefer using the Greek names

November 12th

 

an eye blinks turquoise

from the fisherman’s drag net

the dancing satyr

I went to the Bronze exhibition at the Royal Academy. I’ve been to a lot of the big hitting exhibitions this year and Bronze is right up there. There were so many pieces covering 6000 years of history, unsettling old pagan pieces, pre-classical from northern Europe, of unknown function, all the way to the modern day where Bourgeois (one of her wonderful spiders seemingly skids across a wall), Moore and Matisse amongst others, were represented. The exhibition paid respect to both Asian and African artefacts too, the Nigerian pieces were astonishingly beautiful.

Perseus and Medusa (a copy of Cellini’s original) was also imposing, him holding aloft her serpent head, with serpents seemingly also spilling from her headless neck as he stands triumphant over her fallen corpse.

But my favourite piece, was the first piece, which get’s a room of its own as you enter the exhibition. The Dancing Satyr, a Greek classical piece pulled from a fisherman’s net off the coast of Sicily, fairly recently (1998). He’s incomplete, the leg he balanced on, both arms, part of the head and his tail are all missing, but this does not diminish him. The powerful realism really struck me, the definition of the muscles in movement of something beyond human, the detail in the face and hair. It was quite astonishing really.

It’s a great exhibition. Well worth going to!

Photo from the Royal Academy Website

October 7th

 

Restless Little Owl

calls to Selene’s bright shilling

the oak slumbers on

There was an owl, probably in the oak, in the early hours. The moon, even though it wasn’t full, was bright. Shining right through the tree. I noticed my breath steaming for the first time this autumn. It’s getting cold.

September 21st

A penitent stag

the huntress fixed him, cursed him

run mute to your dogs

Yesterday I briefly visited the National Gallery, I wrote a one tweet poem for their competition relating to the Ovid / Metamorphoses exhibition they have there at the moment. The original poem I wrote is below. The above is the abridged Haiku version!

Of the Titian artworks on display, I chose the scene relating to Diana and Actaeon, the hunter meeting his match when he spies on the Goddess of the hunt Diana, who by way of punishment, turns him into a stag. He then gets stalked, run down and devoured by his own dogs.

(pic from wikipedia)

My original “one tweet” poem below, less than 140 characters of course.

#titianpoem He gasped, she turned, her fierce wisdom fixed him, froze him, a penitent stag, the huntress cursed him, run mute to your dogs

Co-incidentally I’d bought a second hand copy of Ted Hughes’ adaptation of Ovid’s work a couple of months ago. Before I visited I’d read a few passages. It’s steeped in Hughes’ descriptions of nature, of the wild. So vivid and powerful. My favourite passage from Diana and Actaeon was actually on the wall.

I copy an extract here (from the national gallery website), the late Ted Hughes is a wonderful poet.

……Actaeon
Stared at the goddess, who stared at him.
She twisted her breasts away, showing him her back.

Glaring at him over her shoulder
She blushed like a dawn cloud
In that twilit grotto of winking reflections,

And raged for a weapon – for her arrows
To drive through his body.
No weapon was to hand – only water.

So she scooped up a handful and dashed it
Into his astonished eyes, as she shouted:
'Now, if you can, tell how you saw me naked.'

That was all she said, but as she said it
Out of his forehead burst a rack of antlers.
His neck lengthened, narrowed, and his ears

Folded to whiskery points, his hands were hooves,
His arms long slender legs. His hunter's tunic
Slid from his dappled hide. With all this

The goddess
Poured a shocking stream of panic terror
Through his heart like blood. Actaeon

Bounded out across the cave's pool
In plunging leaps, amazed at his own lightness.
And there

Clear in the bulging mirror of his bow-wave
He glimpsed his antlered head,
And cried: 'What has happened to me?'

No words came. No sound came but a groan.
His only voice was a groan.
Human tears shone on his stag's face

……..

August 22nd

 

an aspiration

to ascend on angel wings

carried to the stars

Went to a great exhibition at Compton Verney, called Flight and the Artistic Imagination.

It captures the spirit of humanity’s longing to fly, from the earliest times, in antiquity, to the modern day. And how flight has been an influence.

There are works on display by diverse artists, among the great and the good, Goya, Da Vinci, Paul Nash, Delacroix to name but a few. The beautiful piece below, a paper collage, is by Matisse. It depicts Icarus. Perhaps flying, perhaps falling into the sea. His heart glows red, a nod to our mortality when faced with such lofty ambitions as wanting to fly. Icarus didn’t listen to his master craftsman father Daedalus. He took the wings his father made for him and flew too close to the sun. The wax on the wings melted and he crashed into the sea and died.

August 7th

someone else’s dreams

follies chiselled out of ice

Icarus falling

July 17th

 

“I’m just visiting”

said Apollo as he raced

the sun chariot

A rare pleasant day, not too hot, a gentle breeze, the sun was out too. Respite from the rain.

It’s getting to the time of year where I often think I’m repeating themes. I haven’t checked back, but I’m pretty sure I’ve written a Haiku about Sun Chariots… I know I’ve mentioned Apollo, but it doesn’t matter to some degree, this is how I feel today, this is what I wanted to write.

June 17th

 

I thought of the owl

Athena’s wisdom watching

a soul between worlds

May 1st

Vision in the spray

eggshell clouds crack, vapour fades

Apollo’s favour

It had been bucketing it down all day. As I was driving home after playing football (I scored a pearler, curled right into the top corner) the clouds parted to reveal a radiant sun. Shame it was so late in the day, but at least the Sun god blessed us.

March 26th

 

Aphrodites pearl

Ares chariot charges

Blood against the sky

 

I noticed a couple of friends on twitter / facebook suggesting going outside to have a look at the planets clear in the sky. And yes, there was Venus, massively bright, next to the quarter moon, Jupiter just below and higher up, Mars, twinkling pink/red. We walked to the edge of the moors where the light pollution would be less and although I’m not really a stargazer I have to say I was impressed.

Perfect for a haiku about Greek gods. Why Greek gods? Well, flippin’ Romans, what have they ever done for us? Coming over here, nicking our women, nicking our Gods….

February 5th

Underworld thoughts pulse,

Synapse rivulets, ice splits,

Hephaestus forges.

 

We went for a walk in the snow earlier, back through the moors, to the pond too. There were some amazing designs in the surface of the pond, where the ice had started melting. It looked like something below the earth had shuddered, creating these synapse like splits in the ice. Way below in the underworld, Hephaestus was working I think. Making presents for Aphrodite. Poor Hephaestus. As an extra treat, here’s an additional poem that just jumped out of my original narrative to support the Haiku.

It was weird that on the first snowy day of the year I thought of the blacksmith of the gods and his furnace. Check the pic below too.

 

Hephaestus

There’s something under the water,

Under the earth,

He’s making, forging,

His hammer burning,

His arm, soot stained, pained,

Giant hands mould metal,

Precious stones,

Armlets, crowns, rings,

Beautiful gifts for his love,

Spurned,

Aphrodite laughs,

He drags his lame leg,

Furnace burned,

Heavy brows, focused,

Thick neck sweating,

Tries again.

©Mel Melis 5-Feb-2012