Ekphrastic Poems “Hopper Hooks” from Damien Donnelly for #NaPoWriMo

The Hopper Hooks – A Sequence in Three

1

Hotel

after Habitación de hotel, 1931, by Edward Hopper

She unpacks all that she can fit into a space not hers, these

sheets scented of other skin, that others left while passing.

She undresses before the window          pulls a black shade

 up against the light of a day    at odds with the night of this

room. Sound swims through heat    and laughter – too light

for a single weight – forces its way in, a wave-punch in the

gut of all she has swallowed. There are trains in her hands,

times of parting, but all she wants is to sink down, in there,

under the magnolia of a room not hers or theirs. The carpet

 is moss and she wonders if it will climb along the skin that’s

 grown tired of touch, until she becomes just another stain in

its thread, a disappearance, but for her scent    that someone

 will find while passing, though it won’t remember her name

https://www.museothyssen.org/en/collection/artists/hopper-edward/hotel-room

2

Violet Opening

after Automat 1927, by Edward Hopper

A hissing in the corner, serpentine heat slivering beneath a sky

of other unidentified objects  refusing her request to abduct. As

she stirs her tea, wormholes open behind her.  She did not pack

this time. Things do not travel well      on the run. Rings turn to

hooks to hold you back. Concessions in chapels of acceptances

choke later in a bedroom she never knew how to decorate.  She

ordered a bowl of fruit to disguise his cologne, still between her

thighs, hissing, snakelike. Unknown to him, it was his last time

in her garden, the violets trembling. Sitting crossed legged, tight

enough to strangle the years      she surrendered, wondering how

it might feel, one day, to bring to the tip of her tongue    the lips

of a woman. Snakelike. Table for two? the waitress asked, when

she’d entered and she’d said yes, as she’d said yes to everything

for 28 years. Empty chair opposite. Judgements. But she was off, to where she’d no longer be an alien       to the want of a woman.

https://useum.org/artwork/Automat-Edward-Hopper-2000

3

Hook

after Sun in an Empty Room, 1963 by Edward Hopper

He locked the door, after she left, after that time she never spoke of

but the disappearance of her scent from the sheets    in the days that

followed, twisted itself around the truth of her                    no return.

He locked the bedroom door, hoping to catch her shadow,   particles

of skin that had fallen, a droplet or two of sweat      cycle     saliva or

one of the many tears he knew she’d expelled                    in the dark

behind his back        after he’d cum & she, while in situ, appeared to

depart. He spied, at times, through the keyhole, how the outside light

slipped in, how it cast a door   upon solid wall from the shut window

and he imagined her frame, unfading into focus,             coming back

for things she’d left behind like the ring     that he hoped would hook.

https://whitney.org/media/960

Wolfpack Contributor: Damien Donnelly

5 poems & interview from Damien Donnelly in Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020

3 Poems from Damien B. Donnelly writer/host of Eat the Storms Podcast

 

Poetry with Images by Anna Rozwadowska

Photo by Faye Cornish (Unsplash)

Reflections

Tell you a story, begin with the I,
borrowing the night’s usurped reflection,
azure skies lead the way to stars being confined,
welcome to the land of dry deserts where cacti grow, only.

In dissonance, theories of unwelcome situations are dissipated,
hence, when we discover our truth,
cosmic bliss brings about transformation of the self,
as one questions and prods for clarity in the silver strands of time,
golden hues are perfected in reflections of sunsets in ponds,
yourself is a mere fragment of imagination in the pool of aura.

Red, yellow, white and blue, we are but colors of a great pattern, it emerges behind the scenario of light beings, where shadows have no place,
paintings excite the senses; smell and touch the blades of grass,
fresh dew in the morning, continuing effervescent dew on leaves,
transforming existence into butterflies, waiting to be reserved.

Tantalizing yet ready, the person steps into uncharted waters,
behold the wave that reaches for the earth in a pointed direction,
bereft of shimmer inside the moon’s glow, warmth in summer air,
how we as modern man become transient beings of reflection.

photo by Jessica Felicio (Unsplash)

Consistency

Snow particulates surround the crispy aftermath of a blanket storm,
pines bear the weight of thunderous white clouds, whilst,
precipitation undermines winter’s grasp,
a choke hold on vines in a spectacular village in Tuscany,
grasping the gregarious quality of oneself,
it is the understatement of conditioning that interests the body.

Palliative care being the needy when a heart strikes,
consistency in rainbows become a fantasy for the dreamer,
one’s essence is physical, a manifestation of the divine,
love in scholars resides deep into the adjacent forest, text book.

Canopies of trees and stars inside the underneath,
sensations behold winter`s glance inside the allotted,
curvature in the simple majestic, bellows spiraling,
as if a willow had more than it`s share of heaviness,
catapulting the manifestation before desire.

Pulling oneself from the bridge into the alley way,
dust settles the innocence of blushing roses,
the commonality of banality is transformed besides fields of lavender,
fresh bundles of floral arrangements open the trachea and sing.

photo by Adrian Infernus (Unsplash)

Reaching

Subtitles become our thriving in the realm of the idiosyncratic,
as vestibules of light, we are beings made for reflection, moth to flame,
consistency is a vibration of utter rigor, maple trees discovered in baths,
cloak and consideration is given to the earthen world,
one we can touch and hearthrough fine attunement to the green blue.

Perhaps it truly is that, we are hanging roses on the perch of isolation,
only but to unravel the constant bravery that takes us across fire and water,
winds blow into the atmosphere, clouding vision alike,
pressure builds into matrimony as we discover harmony in the alone.

Elemental are the sacrifices of humanity, a deserted crack in the wall,
chambers of a ghost town that draws the insider into banality,
remembrance of hinderance inside humility and baseness,
it is the separation of the world and the I, that creates space for passing.

Through violent disruption the chaos of humility is assembled,
quartiles for trees and the deciduous, quartiles for ascension,
bravery outlasts the sacred soul, dancing through infinity,
it was you all along that made my knees, shake.

3 poems by Anna Rozwadowska from Fevers of the Mind Anthologies : Sabotage, Unphased, Harmony

Audio/Visual Poetry: Arrogance by Tova Beck-Friedman

Arrogance

Be fruitful and multiply. Fill the earth and govern it. Reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, and all the animals that scurry along the ground.” Genesis 1:28

a permission to pillage
was given        after all 
masters of the universe we are 
superior in the miracle of creation

we consume and discard
devour and deplete  
detritus floats the waves
cast-off polymers 
mistaken for food
clog fish guts 
synthetic rings choke sea turtles 
magnificent beast hunted for its ivory
succumb to destruction
other species exist no more 

and Gaia 
grieves patiently  
until she can no more 
with a swift gesture 
she wakes up nature
to rebel             revolt
hurl calamities our way

we are not humbled
nor see the light

as the world suffers
as we bury 
the dead 
who succumbed 
to sickness 
and the ones lost
seeking refuge 
in a piece of land
still fertile still safe

what thought crosses our mind

ah, arrogance



Visual Poetry by Tova Beck-Friedman “Disparity”


Bio: Tova Beck-Friedman is a visual artist, filmmaker, writer and poet. In recent work she fuses poetry and moving images to create cine-poems. Her work has been shown internationally in film festivals, museums, galleries and on television. http://tbfstudio.com @tbfstudio https://www.facebook.com/tova.beckfriedman https://www.instagram.com/tbfstudio/

Visual Poetry by Tova Beck-Friedman “Disparity”

Disparity

on a rainy night
they stand
gazing into destiny 

molded figures 
set apart
isolated 
fragmented

in the distance
mortal flesh 
awaits tomorrow  


Bio:
Tova Beck-Friedman is a visual artist, filmmaker, writer and poet.
In recent work she fuses poetry and moving images to create cine-poems.
Her work has been shown internationally in film festivals, museums, galleries
and on television.

http://tbfstudio.com
@tbfstudio
https://www.facebook.com/tova.beckfriedman
https://www.instagram.com/tbfstudio/
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