My Artsy-Fartsy Weekend

I like the arts, but I’m definitely no patron of the arts. More of a patron of the farts than anything. Claude Monet is my favorite artist, but when it comes right down to it, I may not be able to tell a Monet from a Manet from “Mony Mony.” However, I found myself at an art exhibit Friday night where a neighbor had a painting exhibited. That’s me on the right looking almost lifelike.

Besides my neighbor’s painting, there were other works of art I also liked. Here’s one I think I remember seeing in the movie Beetlejuice.

I love the colors in this. Too bad it was too warm in the studio, and it melted a bit.

This one is definitely not PETA approved.

Here’s more animal art. I think this one is called Horse’s Head & Horse’s Ass. I’m not quite sure why my mouth is like that. I think I may have been having trouble getting both the head and ass in the selfie.

I was running late, but found this clock to be completely useless to check the time.

I definitely decided to leave once I happened upon this piece that I feared might elicit a nightmare or two.

On the way out, I found this piece thoroughly enchanting and contemplative, although I found the opinions of others on this one to be a bit watered down.

Then on Saturday morning, I found myself at a poetry workshop, complete with finger snapping.

I was unprepared to participate, but I found it interesting enough to hang around and learn about anaphora. It turns out there are antibiotics that can take care of a nasty case of anaphora.

I dallied long enough to get roped into writing a poem about March using anaphora. I chose to write about March Madness basketball with no intention of sharing it … until the host called specifically upon me to share. So, here you go …

As the February 28th calendar page fluttered to the ground,

March arrived.

And Dick Vitale said,

“Let there be an NCAA basketball tournament.”

And the selection committee both thrilled and pissed off communities across the nation with their selections.

And the work pools were filled with hopeful bracket entries.

And the play-in games began.

And my bracket was busted on day one,

But March Madness was good.

While I understand that it’s not my best work, or the best work of any random ten year old, it at least makes more sense than this poem that we had to analyze. And don’t complain to me about the weird line breaks. I didn’t do that. I learned that’s called enjambedment which I think means annoyingly confusing.

Ode to Julián del Casal (excerpt) – José Lezama Lima 

Allow him, greening, to return;

permit him to leave the party

and come out to the terrace where they sleep.

the sleepers he will watch over and complain,

noticing how the chill morning gathers.

the errant spark of his errant green

will trace circles in front of the sleepers

on the terrace, the silk of his lapel

sheds the water gone over by the triton

and another triton on his back in dust.

Let him return, half plum tree

and half pineapple lacquered in front. 

Allow him to accompany without speaking,

permit him, softly, to turn 

toward the fruit bowl where the bears are

with the plate of snow, or the reindeer

on the writing stand, with the amber backscratcher

in back. His happy cough

sprinkles the Japanese warrior mask.

Inside a dragon of golden threads,

he walks quickly with the rain’s requests

all the way to the Golden Shell at the Teatro Tacón,

where rigidly the chorus girl will place

his flowers on the swan’s newark,

like the mulata of the three shouts in the vaudeville

and the neo-classical breasts hammered by Clésinger’s

pedantry. It all passed

when it had already passed, but the dawn also passed

at its exact snow point. 

I volunteered to read it aloud, because I told the group I would be unable to offer any comments about the poem as I have no freakin’ idea what it’s about. However, I am drawn to the concept of an amber backscratcher, although I may just be fondly remembering Amber Backscratcher from my high school Biology class. I seem to recall neo-classical breasts hammered by Clésinger’s pedantry, although they may have been mine.

I think I’ve had enough of the arts for a bit and vice-versa.