Linda Grashoff's Photography Adventures

Posts tagged “poetry

If You Go to Boston, Again


June 30, 2019

Once again I must thank Stephen Tomasko for sending me information about a photography show curated by Paula Tognarelli, executive director and curator of the Griffin Museum of Photography. (Thanks to Stephen, I answered the Griffin’s earlier call for entry to Abstraction Attraction. See my December 10, 2019 post.) Now my photograph “The Magic of Leptothrix discophora” has been accepted into the exhibition In Your Mother Tongue: A Word and Image Dialogue. If you were reading this blog back in August 2014, you may remember reading the poem that accompanies my photograph in this show. Like the photographs for Abstraction Attraction, all 45 entries are displayed in the Passageway of the Lafayette City Center in Boston. (The Passageway links Macy’s with the Hyatt Regency Hotel.) In Your Mother Tongue is up now through September 14, 2019.


The Humphrey Farm 3


August 16, 2014

A narrow tar-patched road divides the Humphrey farm. It doesn’t take long for even a small creature to cross over. My poet-and-writer friend June Goodwin has given me permission to share a relevant poem she wrote for me. Look below the photograph.

08032014 Wandering Northern Ohio-152-2

 

 Of

For Linda Grashoff

 

The bacterium Leptothrix discophora

lives on the interface

between air and water,

clutching dearly, direly to the Vermillion River.

 

Linda photographs its smear

often     again     more, lauding

the geography and fervor

of its plush pudding.

 

This is fools’ oil.

Stirred by a tool,

the gash won’t reseal

quickly, as with oil.

 

Also it can

enzymatically oxidize

manganese

and iron.

 

If it stayed in sun (no night)

and got hotter, hottest,

it’d solidify to hematite,

obdurate and silverest.

 

On some fall days

the physical effulgences

of earth flatten us

to thin, stained glass.

 

Then sun stunned,

I succumb to the illusion

that euphoria can remedy

aging and even perfidy.

 

I thumb the stems of leaves

that face the inevitable with equanimity,

not wanting, the way I crave

the light even as it’s lavishing me.

 

When the sun, that lyric,

hums, slant, from far down the street,

varicose tar patchings

resembling squashed Arabic

 

on a horizontal mosque,

glare metallically through haze,

writing unfamiliar phrases,

flummoxing the ox.

 

Linda tries obsessively to render

the wetness of water,

glorifying the physical

to a point almost finical.

 

Synchronous, as she explores,

I wander out beige, return

slurred by color, sweaty with metaphors

and made in the image

 

of.


Nothing Gold Can Stay


April 27, 2014

Janet and I drove in to the Little Manatee River State Park February 2. I say “drove in” because it’s inland from the places we usually visit. It’s also somewhat north. The foliage and feel of the place are just enough different from those at our regular haunts that we feel definitely “away,” even though this park is barely an hour from Sarasota. A stretch of the trail goes through blankets and blankets of various kinds of ferns, most of them green. But I could make a better photograph out of this one, senescing into golds and oranges.

 

02022014 LMRSP-42