true poems flee
by pieces of moments
…And on the subject of birthdays, happy birthday to Emily Dickinson (one day late). Thanks to Mr. Keillor for reminding me of this fact this morning as I dashed out the door into the 61 degree weather (odd, no?).
Sunlight in an Empty Room (Passing Cloud for Emily Dickinson, Amherst, MA, August 28, 2004) | 2004, 100 fluorescent lights, filters, clothespins
The picture above is one I took of a Spencer Finch installation at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art (Mass MoCA) out in Western Mass (North Adams, to be precise) last year. It is an artistic representation of the scientific calculations of a span of time spent on the Dickinson’s lawn in Amherst, MA. If the viewer endeavors upon a 360 degree stroll around the blue mass, they experience by proxy the exact ratios of cloud and sun experienced by Spencer Finch as he lay upon the Dickinson’s lawn one day.
|MUSICIANS wrestle everywhere:|
|All day, among the crowded air,|
|I hear the silver strife;|
|And—waking long before the dawn—|
|Such transport breaks upon the town||5|
|I think it that “new life!”|
|It is not bird, it has no nest;|
|Nor band, in brass and scarlet dressed,|
|Nor tambourine, nor man;|
|It is not hymn from pulpit read,—||10|
|The morning stars the treble led|
|On time’s first afternoon!|
|Some say it is the spheres at play!|
|Some say that bright majority|
|Of vanished dames and men!||15|
|Some think it service in the place|
|Where we, with late, celestial face,|
|Please God, shall ascertain!
– emily dickinson –