Friday, February 26, 2010

TC: Joseph Ceravolo: Ho Ho Ho Caribou


File:20070818-0001-strolling reindeer.jpg

for Rosemary


Leaped at the caribou.

My son looked at the caribou.

The kangaroo leaped on the

fruit tree. I am a white

man and my children

are hungry

which is like paradise.

The doll is sleeping.

It lay down to creep into

the plate.

It was clean and flying.

File:Greenland waterfall.jpg


Where you...the axes

are. Why is this home so

hard. So much

like the sent over the

courses below the home

having a porch.

Felt it on my gate in the place

where the caribous jumped

over. Where geese sons

and pouches of daughters look at

me and say "I'm hungry




Not alone in the

gastrous desert. We are looking

at the caribous out in the water

swimming around. We

want to go in the ocean

along the dunes.

Where do we like?

Like little lice in the sand

we look into a fruit expanse.

Oh the sky is so cold.

We run into the water.

Lice in heaven.



My heel. Ten o'clock the class.

Underwater fish

brush by us. Oh leg

not reaching!

The show is stopping

at the sky to drive in the

truck. Tell us where to

stop and eat. And

drink which comes to us out

in the sand is

at a star.

My pants are damp.

Is tonight treating us

but not reaching through the window.

File:Herd of Caribou.jpg


Where is that bug going?

Why are your hips

rounded as the sand?

What is jewelry?

Baby sleeps. Sleeping on

the cliff is dangerous.

The television of all voice is

way far behind.

Do we flow nothing?

Where did you follow that bug


See flying



Caribou, what have I

done? see how her

heart moves like a little

bug......under my thumb.

Throw me deeply.

I am the floes.

Ho ho ho caribou,

light brown and wetness

caribou. I stink and

I know it.

"Screw you!'re right."



Everyone has seen us out

with the caribou but

no one has seen us out in

the car. You passed

beyond us.

We saw your knees

but the other night we

couldn't call you.

You were more far than a

widow feeling you.

Nothing has been terrible.

We are the people who have

been running with


More than when we run?



Tell us where o eat to stop and eat

The diner is never gonna come.

The forest things are passing.

I did drink my milk

like a mother of wolves.

Wolves on the desert

of ice cold love, of

fireproof breasts and the breast

I took like snow.

Following me

I love you

and I fall beyond

and I eat you like a

bow and arrow withering in the


File:Vaccinium vitis-idaea 20060824 003.jpg


No one should be mean.

Making affection and all the green

winters wide awake.

Blubber is desert. Out on

the firm lake, o firm

and aboriginal kiss.

To dance, to hunt, to sing,

no one should be mean.

Not needing these things.

File:Albino raindeer.jpg


Like a flower, little light, you open

and we make believe

we die. We die all around

you like a snake in a

well and we come up out

of the warm well and

are born again out of dry

mammas, nourishing mammas, always

holding you as I

love you and am

revived inside you, but

die in you and am

never born again in

the same place; never


File:Eriophorum scheuchzeri.jpg

Ho Ho Ho Caribou: Joseph Ceravolo, from The Paris Review #44, 1968

Strolling reindeer (Rangifer tarandus) in the Kebnekaise valley, Lapland, Sweden
: photo by Alexandre Buisse, 2007
Waterfall, Norde Isortoq, West Greenland: photo by Rene Moerkhoej, 2007
Peregrine falcon (Falco peregrinus), Asturias, Spain: photo by Francisco M. Marzoa Alonso, 2005
Rainbow trout (Oncorhynchus mykiss): photo by Ken Hammond/USDA (U.S. Dept. of Agriculture)
Herd of caribou (Rangifer tarandus), Arctic national Wildlife Refuge: photo by U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, 2008
Lemming (Lemmus lemmus), Norway: photo by Frode Inge Helland, 1987
Caribou (Rangifer tarandus), Suomi, near Ihari, Finland: photo by Lukas Riebling, 2005
Arctic fox (Alopex lagopus): photo by Marcel Burkhard, 2005
Cowberries (Vaccinium vitis-idaea): photo by Jonas Bergsten, 2006
Albino caribou (Rangifer tarandus) leading a train, Jämtland, Sweden: photo by oskarlin, 2005
Common cottongrass (Eriophorum scheuchzeri): photo by Franz Xaver, 1991

Monday, February 15, 2010

TC: Final Farewell


Great moment in Blade Runner where Roy
Batty is expiring, and talks
about how everything
he’s seen will die with him --
ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion,
sea-beams glittering before
the Tannhauser Gates.

Memory is like molten gold
burning its way through the skin.
It stops there. There is no transfer.
Nothing I have seen
will be remembered
beyond me.

That merciful cleaning
of the windows of creation
will be an excellent thing
my interests notwithstanding.

But then again I’ve never been
near Orion, or the Tannhauser Gates,
I’ve only been here.

ginza neon night rain by Move Lachine.

Hong Kong Skyline: panoramic view: photo by Diliff, 2007
Ginza neon night rain: photo by Move Lachine, 2008

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

TC: Jim Dine: Old Me, Now


I was seventy-four in June...

Age talks about how long a person has existed. These self-portrait drawings are about how many times, I’ve regarded my face minutely and have corrected and erased to get the feeling I want to show most accurately. I now am able, after all this looking, to enlarge my head to become a field of form and chatter and for it to be compared to a vast forest or a limestone quarry, for instance.

Finally, lying is not an option nor is decoration. I am committed to setting the record straight. Don’t worry, I will.

-- from Jim Dine: Old Me, Now: Self-Portrait Drawings, 2008-2009

I am an old man. I avoid mirrors.

Pretty is pretty. But the truth is the truth. Often not pretty.

Instead of looking away from the unprettiness, Jim Dine has made the weight and pull of time into an instrument of vision.

The unrelenting honesty of self-perception is absolutely heroic. Take a hard look at On Ardmore Ave (2009). It will stare right through you.

Hard looking is the mode as well as the subject of this work.

The titles of the drawings tell the story.

Eyes Gone Over, Thin Red Lips, Old Rider, The Stain of Time, Staring in the Evening, Dark Song, Singing Hard Times, Faded Eyes in My Head.

There is a short film I once saw that presents Rembrandt's self-portraits in a swift slideshow, showing the features changing subtly with age as the artist, watching himself with unwavering truthfulness, grows old. Flesh and bone coalescing in an accelerated version of unforgiving meltdown, the unkind work of time upon the human face. It's very moving to see. And Old Me, Now made me think of it.

"Finally, lying is not an option, nor is decoration..."

This may well be no country for old men. Small wonder then that Jim Dine's book comes from a publisher in "The Old World". It speaks to us from Beyond the Limits of Positive Thinking.

Nothing is personal then
And everything is true
Including love's great circumambience
And the skull in the mirror

The mortal intimation
Of souls of beings long since lost
In a forgotten past
And the deep pink nescience

Of the thought evacuated tissue
Glaring back at you
Through the empty eyeholes
In the mask

The New Man: Jim Dine, 2009, from Old Me, Now: Steidl & Partners/Richard Gray Gallery, 2010 (photo by Arthur Aubry via Richard Gray Gallery, Chicago)
Paris After Aldo Died, 2009,
from Old Me, Now: Steidl & Partners/Richard Gray Gallery, 2010 (photo by Arthur Aubry via Richard Gray Gallery, Chicago)