[The artwork above comes from a fantastic -- fantastically rich, but also just literally fantastic -- Web site called The Hermitage, from the mind and imagination of artist Rima Staines. She and her companion Tui seem to have a life straight out of fiction, as you can see from her blog. Check out their "wandering house," which is to a motor home as a cottage is to an office, and her handmade clocks (!).]
From whiskey river:
Generations
Our stories lie down in the orchard,
their time is not now, but something is
coming, something is going away. Theyrise to the stars, and wait to be told.
There are listeners who know how little
we know, how much we are feeling.We had to go our own way, a little off course,
always, no matter how specific the directions
seemed at the time. In this universe if we’re lucky,we will live in our children’s stories,
their tales that will turn us to legend,
some absurd truth that has nothing to dowith our plans, our meticulous records.
No matter what stories we discard or keep,
they will give us a life we cannot imagine.
(Jeanne Lohmann, from The Light of Invisible Bodies [source])
Not from whiskey river:
Shaking the Tree
Vine and branch we’re connected in this world
of sound and echo, figure and shadow, the leaves
contingent, roots pushing against earth. An applebelongs to itself, to stem and tree, to air
that claims it, then ground. Connections
balance, each motion changes another. Precarious,hanging together, we don’t know what our lives
support, and we touch in the least shift of breathing.
Each holy thing is borrowed. Everything depends.
(Also by Jeanne Lohmann, found at the same page where I confirmed the above.)
Also not from whiskey river:
…You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing.
Only your eyes are unclosed to see the black and folded town fast, and slow, asleep.
And you alone can hear the invisible starfall, the darkest-before- dawn minutely dewgrazed stir of the black, dab-filled sea where the Arethusa, the Curlew and the Skylark, Zanzibar, Rhiannon, the Rover, the Cormorant, and the Star of Wales tilt and ride.
Listen. It is night moving in the streets, the processional salt slow musical wind in Coronation Street and Cockle Row, it is the grass growing on Llareggub Hill, dewfall, starfall, the sleep of birds in Milk Wood.
Listen. It is night in the chill, squat chapel, hymning in bonnet and brooch and bombazine black, butterfly choker and bootlace bow, coughing like nannygoats, suckling mintoes, fortywinking hallelujah; night in the four-ale, quiet as a domino; in Ocky Milkman’s lofts like a mouse with gloves; in Dai Bread’s bakery flying like black flour. It is to-night in Donkey Street, trotting silent, with seaweed on its hooves, along the cockled cobbles, past curtained fernpot, text and trinket, harmonium, holy dresser, watercolours done by hand, china dog and rosy tin teacaddy. It is night neddying among the snuggeries of babies.
Look. It is night, dumbly, royally winding though the Coronation cherry trees; going through the graveyard of Bethesda with winds gloved and folded, and dew doffed; tumbling by the Sailors Arms.
Time passes. Listen. Time passes.
(Dylan Thomas, from Under Milk Wood; complete text here)
Finally: the little fantasia below — on the places from which stories come — won the 2006 CAEAA award in the “Best Classical or Stop Motion Animation in a Student Production” category:
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P.S. When I found Rima Staines’s site, I was happy — among other reasons — because I thought the illustration-wonk elves over at 7-Imp would fall over in delight when I shared the link. Not surprisingly, they had already fallen over. It’s so hard to surprise elves, of any stripe, with news from their own forest!
Oh, I’ve liked The Hermitage for a while. She did a video too-about children lost in the woods. Did you see that? She’s brilliant.
When I was a teenager, I read this book called The Truth about Unicorns and the woods in that story are almost a character. For better or worse, that novel had a huge impact on my writing.
Love the woods.
recaptcha today: coholism read
Maybe that should be–readcoholism.
marta: I’m guessing that the book you’re talking about is this one. (There’s another one by the same title, but it’s more recent I think, and also is non-fiction.)
If I were fabulously wealthy, once I saw to it that all the books of writerly friends were well-published :), I’d try to convince Rima Staines to illustrate this book (full text also in a bunch of places online; it’s out of copyright now): Phantastes, by George MacDonald. Early in the book, the protagonist’s bedroom starts to turn into a forest…
I never forgot that image.
Heh… my own reCaptcha this morning is Crotty noodling. A quick Google search turned up a Wikipedia entry on “Crotty” — apparently one form of an ancient Irish surname. Now, those were some people who could tell stories about forests…
I like that film! That story-maker’s tree cottage seems like a place Rima would like or live in herself.
And I’mcrazy about this:
“In this universe if we’re lucky,
we will live in our children’s stories,
their tales that will turn us to legend,
some absurd truth that has nothing to do
with our plans, our meticulous records.”
OH YES, I’m an illustration-wonk elf! That seems to be all I post about anymore at 7-Imp. But it’s too fun. I’m SURE one day, John, you’ll scoop me on some great illustrator. You know too much. Your curious mind will introduce me to a lot, I think, in this life.
@John –
That’s the book! I’ve posted about it. Actually after I posted about it, the author left me a comment and we exchanged a few emails. That was incredible.
And I’d love to have someone illustrate my book. Yes, I can make a few pictures, but illustrating is whole different thing. I could never pull that off.
I really loved that animation movie. It was perfect.
Jules: That poem is great, isn’t it? I like the way — intentionally or not — the they turns out to be ambiguous, on the one hand seeming to refer to “our stories” and on the other, to “our children.”
We shall see on the scooping. I remain skeptical.
marta: Okay, now, I’m going to just sort of play along here and not state the obvious — which, if I did state it, would raise a question as to whether “you” could be “someone.” But I’m not saying that, you understand?
cynth: My only regret about it was that it was over too soon. I know it was “just” a student film, but there are often stories about 2- and 3-minute student films being expanded to 15 or even 30 minutes. Dang, why not this one?
reCaptcha says: BRETTBART awards. You know — the ones they give out for best comic Westerns?
@John – illustrating my own book is a task I don’t have the energy to face.
This was my first encounter with the Hermitage. What an enchanting place to visit — I love the vibe there. Thanks for the pointer…