The city was a fist, I lived on its wrist, and I took myself a good long look around

--a few things around Blacksburg, VA.

I'm a bit like the peephole, that falls in love with all the eyes that look through

I took the shot above at the Holiday Motor Lodge in Pearisburg, VA(see my post from September 23). I darkened the contrast a little, but otherwise I haven't manipulated the photo. In the original shot, the camera exposed for the window reflections, leaving the fountain overexposed. I decided to ratchet up the shadows a bit, and this is the result. I think it's kind of eerie; I like the multiple reflections of the road, the powerline, the sky, and the white "Magic Mart" sign.

Maybe the photo does nothing for you; that's understandable, it's somewhat gimicky, silly even. In any case, if it doesn't speak to you, perhaps these W. Carlos Williams poems will. I read them in my American lit. class today. I'm not sure any of my students liked them. I think it takes some time and maturity to appreciate the honesty and clarity of observation in Williams' poetry--an interest in photography also doesn't hurt; like many of the photographers I enjoy (Eggleston, Evans, Wessel, etc.), Williams was interested in presenting the beautiful, often overlooked things in his locale in precise, unadorned language. The following poems make this obvious, particularly the second one, which would make a fine epigraph to a collection of Walker Evans' photos. The line breaks and spacing aren't quite what they should be in the poems. Blogger seems to want to left-justify everything. Sorry.

Danse Russe

If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,--
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
"I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!"
If I admire my arms, my face,
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
again the yellow drawn shades,--

Who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?

Pastoral

The little sparrows
hop ingenuously
about the pavement
quarreling
with sharp voices
over those things
that interest them.
But we who are wiser
shut ourselves in
on either hand
and no one knows
whether we think good
or evil.

Meanwhile,
the old man who goes about
gathering dog-lime
walks in the gutter
without looking up
and his tread
is more majestic than
that of the Episcopal minister
approaching the pulpit
of a Sunday.

These things
astonish me beyond words.

When I saw those thrashers rolling by/ looking more than two lanes wide/ I was feeling like my day had just begun...

A Prayer to Escape from the Marketplace
--James Wright

I renounce the blindness of the magazines
I want to lie down under a tree
This is the only duty that is not death.
This is the everlasting happiness
Of small winds.
Suddenly,
A pheasant flutters, and I turn
Only to see him vanishing at the damp edge
Of the road.

Having Lost My Sons, I Confront The Wreckage Of The Moon: Christmas, 1960
-- by James Wright

After dark
Near the South Dakota border,
The moon is out hunting, everywhere,
Delivering fire,
And walking down hallways
Of a diamond.

Behind a tree,
It lights on the ruins
Of a white city
Frost, frost.

Where are they gone
Who lived there?

Bundled away under wings
And dark faces.

I am sick
Of it, and I go on
Living, alone, alone,
Past the charred silos, past the hidden graves
Of Chippewas and Norwegians.

This cold winter
Moon spills the inhuman fire
Of jewels
Into my hands.

Dead riches, dead hands, the moon
Darkens,
And I am lost in the beautiful white ruins
Of America.

Words
--by franz wright

I don't know where they come from.
I can summon them
(sometimes I can)
into my mind,
into my fingers,
I don't know why: or I'll suddenly hear them
walking, sometimes
waking--
they don't often come when I need them
when I need them most terribly,
never

Year One
--by Franz Wright

I was still standing
on a northern corner

Moonlit winter clouds the color of the desperation of wolves.

Proof
of Your existence? There is nothing
but.

An anchor lets you see the river move...

I took these photos last Tuesday. I've been feeling kind of blah lately, so rather than revisit the familiar territory of Pulaski, I decided to drive up Rt. 460 toward Pearisburg and Narrows. About the only thing in Pearisburg that caught my eye was the Holiday Motor Lodge. The bright colors and 60's architecture initially pulled me in, but the place also appeals to me because it has history and texture (and a little soul), whereas most things these days are shiny and bland.

In Narrows, I walked around the pond downtown for about an hour, attempting to get a shot of a goose with its head beneath the water. The geese were having none of it, though; apparently they weren't in the mood to pose for photos, and they had no desire to splash around in the water like normal geese. They raised their heads and started sqwawking a bit louder when I approached them, probably anticipating a few crumbs from my convenience store sandwich. I was hungry, though, so instead of sharing my bologna and enriched bread, I tried to chase the geese into the pond so that I could get the goose-with-head-submerged shot that I wanted. I succeeded in rousing them from beneath their shade tree, but instead of heading for the pond they bolted across the highway and down into a feild where some children were playing kickball. After getting chased around the field by the school kids, a few geese relunctantly waddled back across the road, casting sidelong glances at my camera as they veered toward the opposite end of the pond.

The goose hunt was fun for a while, but I gradually lost interest, so I walked through town and took the shot of the door. It's a pretty boring shot, but I like that someone scratched "Me and God" into the paint. It also fits with the other shots in the post. I suppose the theme of the post could be "Cars, Stars and Bars," or something like that. I initially avoided the car at the VFW building, then realized (I think, anyway) that it's a better shot with the car than without it. The car sets up a nice tension between war, patriotism, and the car as a symbol of American power and prosperity. It's particularly fitting that the car is large, expensive, and American made.

In any case, that's some of what I was thinking when I took the VFW shot--at least in a vague, non-specific way. When I took the motel shots, I was thinking of a couple photos from Alec Soth's Niagra and Tema Stauffer's photo of an old sign for the Palm Air Motel in Florida. She uses the phrase "cheerful tawdriness" to describe her photo, and I may have been thinking of something like that when I took the Holiday Motor Lodge shot.

I'm thankful for my country home, it gives me peace of mind. It's somewhere I can walk alone, and leave myself behind.

The photos above were taken behind my trailer in Ellett Valley. For the last few years, I've lived in towns--first Blacksburg, then Radford--but I'm happy to be back in the (relatively) country. When I lived in Radford, I would sometimes lie on my balcony and pretend that the drone of traffic below me was a waterfall or a rushing stream, but the illusion wouldn't hold. The smell of exhaust or low thump of someone's stereo invariably pulled me from my little exercise in poetic transformation. In any case, I no longer have to worry about transforming my surroundings (at least not while I'm at home). There's a creek a few hundred feet behind my place, and a mountain just beyond that. I like it. I like spending my evenings watching the shadow cast by the sun inch over my yard and climb the mountain in the 4th photo.

I took these photos on Monday. I had my camera set on 1600 ISO because I had been doing some stuff in low light the night before, so the colors are bit too punchy, oversaturated. Still, the shots give some of you (friends/family) who haven't visited an idea what my new place is like. The 3 photos below are from McCaffee's Knob, which is a 30 minute drive and 45 minute hike from my new place. I took them about a month ago.

The owls have been talking to me, but I'm sworn to secrecy...

--More pics from Pulaski. I took most of these a few weeks ago, but didn't post them. I posted a few more earlier today; keep scrolling down if you're interested. Also, a few Basho poems:

I.

At a hermitage:

A cool fall night--
getting dinner, we peeled
eggplants, cucumbers.

II.

Autumn moonlight--
a worm digs silently
into the chestnut.

III.

The morning glory also
turns out
not to be my friend.

IV.

Stillness--
the cicada's cry
drills into the rocks.

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night

I realize my posting has been sporadic recently. Part of the reason is that I've been busy with my job, but I've also been in a kind of general funk. The light has been beautiful for the last couple of days, but I haven't felt very inspired. In any case, since I haven't shot much recently I decided to go through some of the stuff I did over the summer and post it, even if it's not particularly good.

At some point during the summer, I had the idea that I would go for a walk around Radford every night and shoot things up close with the flash. I wasn't sure what I would get, but I was excited about the possibility of seeing things in a different way. I didn't really follow through with the project, but I did go out and walk around a couple of nights and the photos above are from those walks.

I'm also posting the lyrics to the song-line above, REM's "Nightswimming," from Automatic for the People. When the album was released, MTV and the radio stations constantly played "Drive" and "Man on the Moon." I like those songs, but I've always thought "Nightswimming" was the best song on the album. When I listen to it now, I remember walking aimlessly around my mom's neighborhood at night, lost in an adolescent fog and longing for something I couldn't name. Part of what I liked about "Nightswimming" was that it seemed to express the way I felt, and the resonance was particularly strong during those night walks, with the rise and fall of the guitar, piano and Stipe's plaintive voice blending with the trill of insects and the steady hum of air-conditioners.

"Nightswimming"

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
The photograph on the dashboard, taken years ago,
Turned around backwards so the windshield shows
Every streetlight reveals the picture in reverse
Still, it's so much clearer
I forgot my shirt at the water's edge
The moon is low tonight

Nightswimming deserves a quiet night
I'm not sure all these people understand
It's not like years ago,
The fear of getting caught,
Of recklessness and water
They cannot see me naked
These things, they go away,
Replaced by everyday

Nightswimming, remembering that night
September's coming soon
I'm pining for the moon
And what if there were two
Side by side in orbit
Around the fairest sun?
That bright, tight forever drum
Could not describe nightswimming

You, I thought I knew you
You, I cannot judge
You, I thought you knew me,
This one laughing quietly underneath my breath
Nightswimming

The photograph reflects,
Every streetlight a reminder
Nightswimming deserves a quiet night, deserves a quiet night

Live as if someone is always watching you; eventually, you will find that both of you will need to come to some compromise.

Since I haven't posted in weeks and I'll most likely be too busy to post tomorrow, I've decided to post twice today. The above shots are from a recent walk I took around Pulaski. I'm currently enrolled in a photo class, and I'm using a Holga for the class, but I decided to take my digital (for color) and the Holga on this most recent outing to Pulaski. Earlier today, I posted some shots from the Hillsville Labor Day Gun Show and Flea-Market. Keep scrolling down and check them out. Since this is my first post in a while, I feel like a song is in order. Here are some Bill Callahan lyrics for your enjoyment.

I Want to Tell You About a Man

I want to tell you about a man
You won't find him on your MTV
He doesn't drop acid
He doesn't even read Dick K. Phillips
He's not a seminal member of New York's new wave scene
He doesn't publish a phantazine
His name is Jesus Christ
His name is Jesus Christ
Don't make me say it twice
His name is Jesus Christ

--Also, a couple more Pulaski pics that didn't flow with the ones above. Keep scrolling down for the labor day stuff.

Have you been drinking? No, nor sleeping. The all seeing, all knowing, eye is dog tired and just wants to see the colts...

PHOTOS BY MARK COHEN





I realize posts have been non-existent for the last few weeks. The main reason is that I started teaching a few weeks ago and I've been busy with that, but I'm also taking a photo class this fall and for the last couple of weeks I've been shooting with a Holga, a cheap medium-format film camera with light leaks and a flimsy plastic lens. I'm excited about using it, but it's also taking some getting used to. Since buying my digital camera, I've grown to love shooting in color, and with the Holga I'm back to shooting black and white. It's a different tool than the digital, and it works better for some shots than others. Right now, I'm in the process of getting comfortable using it and finding out what I want to shoot with it.

Although I've been shooting mostly with the Holga, last weekend Josh and I went down to Hillsville, VA to photograph the Labor Day Gunshow and Flea-Market, and since I didn't have film for the Holga, I used my digital. I've been looking at some of Mark Cohen's photos recently (see the photos at the beginning of this post), and I thought the flea-market, with its vibrant colors and braided currents of people, would be a good place to imitate his style--not concentrating on the people so much as the organization of shapes/colors within the frame. The potential was there, but my skill with the camera wasn't. I saw some interesting things--a poodle licking salt off of a middle-aged man's leathery back (Josh nearly got this shot), a boy holding deer horns around his head, various people with a rifle in one hand and a cell phone in the other--but I didn't get many shots I'm happpy with. The main reason I didn't get anything is that I didn't have the nerve--or perhaps the rudeness--to just click the shutter in people's faces. I also like walking around things and thinking about the perspective I'm taking and what I'm leaving in/out of the frame, and the flux of the flea-market didn't afford me the time for my usual deliberations. In any case, here are some of the results.

My Labor Day shots






(should have waited for a single cloud to float into the frame with this one)