Luminous Cows

The Cow With Parasol by Marc Chagall

You could see cows then in Montmartre
when lights called the world to Paris.
Young hearts came, consumed with their art,
their sight defined Her as heiress.

When lights called the world to Paris,
they found their ideas in cafés;
their sight defined Her as heiress
through canvas, brush, paints and wordplay.

They found their ideas in cafés
in Her energy and freedom.
Through canvas, brush, paints and wordplay
inspiring artistic outcome.

In Her energy and freedom
musicians and artists said they
created inventive outcome
whether written, sculpted or played.

Musicians and artists said they
must make the unseen become known,
whether written, sculpted or played
by weaving their souls in art’s bones.

Must make the unseen become known,
must live and die imbued by art.
By weaving their souls in art’s bones,
they transformed the cows of Montmartre.

Picasso to Chagall, Apollinaire to Hemingway they put the cow and the bull in their art; and Gertrude Stein made “cow” a whole new symbol!

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 1/2012 * All Rights Reserved

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Kreisler – Liebeslied

DancingKitchen

The notes float like wood shavings
settling on cuckoos,
and a plank table carved out with hearts,
the bow flies across the strings
weaving strands
sugared icing on apple strudel
the kitchen warms around us

through the window the
world mounds in
whiteness,
bright as a young girl’s eyes
soft as ermine muff against a white velvet cape

drapes our stage with a snowy symphony
that backdrop to our winter waltz
where our grandchildren watch, wonder
giggle with embarrassment

we laugh as we lilt over
worn trails that have
seen our dances through these
many years

now the fiddler plays clearer
with each passing year
jonquils await under the snow
there lie landmarks of our
love and labor too

a garden sleeps until
spring pulls it to color
but for now we keep the hearts and flowers
bright and warm
with kisses in our eyes and
honey flowing through our hearts
What waltzes sweeter?

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 12.24.12 *

 

Piazzola

Tango © telegraph.co.uk

Fire hate and love death
hate fire and love desire
tango holds me in its ache
and life the blood on my tongue

the melt of your moustache
into your face where those hard
drops of you land
turning a grimace
or smiling
through the dread of stare

our steps shake mortality
to broken stones while pillars
all around us burn

our own shadows
pull us into them syncopating
strings into arms
and feet
shaking prisoner passions
into buckles and clasps
lying on   the floor
the filigree of love overlays
the face of destiny and time

twisting keys with grains
of black film in sets of thirty nine
crashing steps as my rose
grows wings,
flies..then
stops!

© Gay Reiser Cannon * 2012 * All Rights Reserved

Astor Piazzola – Tango Oblivion