Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Every Riven thing



OK so I'm going to grab a few minutes to share with you some images that struck me from a recent trip to the MFA that was between an MD visit & an Alexander lesson. I especially liked the new "Allure of Japan" show that explores the influence of Japanese art American artists around the turn of the 20th century. I'd hoped there would be images available on the MFA website to include here, but found only this:



And I never seem to stop finding little crooks & nannies in the museum that I hadn't seen before - or at least don't remember noticing. In one hallway on the way to my favorite galleries of works from the "American Renaissance" I happened upon a work by Alma-Tadema (who knew he was Dutch?) that I loved:



And in those wonderful AR galleries looked closely for the first time @ the photo at the top of this entry, Orpheus by George de Forest Brush, 1855–1941 & to one by another lesser known American artist Elizabeth Lyman Boott, 1846–1888.



I also wanted to share a wonderful poem "Every riven thing" by Christian Wiman, who was interviewed by Krista TIppett recently.

God goes, belonging to every riven thing he's made
sing his being simply by being
the thing it is:
stone and tree and sky,
man who sees and sings and wonders why

God goes. Belonging, to every riven thing he's made,
means a storm of peace.
Think of the atoms inside the stone.
Think of the man who sits alone
trying to will himself into a stillness where

God goes belonging. To every riven thing he's made
there is given one shade
shaped exactly to the thing itself:
under the tree a darker tree;
under the man the only man to see

God goes belonging to every riven thing. He's made
the things that bring him near,
made the mind that makes him go.
A part of what man knows,
apart from what man knows,

God goes belonging to every riven thing he's made.

You can here him explain the origin of & read the poem here:


The transcript of the entire interview, as well as some of his other poems are here.

1 comment:

  1. I haven't been to MFA in a little while, but I did enjoy the new wing. Because of the way things were re-arranged, I noticed a few things that I hadn't taken time to really see before.

    Love the poem. And because this is National Poetry Month, here is one by May Swenson. I recently found it and it really spoke to me:

    Question

    Body my house
    my horse my hound
    what will I do
    when you are fallen

    Where will I sleep
    How will I ride
    What will I hunt

    Where can I go
    without my mount
    all eager and quick
    How will I know
    in thicket ahead
    is danger or treasure
    when Body my good
    bright dog is dead

    How will it be
    to lie in the sky
    without roof or door
    and wind for an eye

    With cloud for shift
    how will I hide?

    ReplyDelete

The second day of Christmas

The Young People's Chorus of New York City singing the 12 days of Christmas, and Jingle Bells