Manolis, Ken Kirkby & friends
Paperback 9 x 6 in
174 pages
ISBN: 9781926763217
$30.00
Buy Online
“The idea for this book has been circling the edges of my mind for years. The members of my tribe are a solitary lot and not readily attracted to acting as a group. In ages past we worked on the walls of caves. Having run out of caves we now work on canvas and wood and write on paper. This is perhaps a cautionary tale on the limits of what nature can provide. Each member of this tribe has a clear vision and strong view. Thankfully they are also blessed with the power to describe those views.
Many thanks to Manolis, friend, poet and publisher, without whose talents and enthusiasm this gem would not have seen the light of day.
It is my hope that each person who views this book will enjoy the results of our collective labours.”
KEN KIRKBY
“Brushstrokes on canvas, the wood chiseling of a wood carver, or poetic images on paper, create myths that take the observer-reader to that other realm of understanding beyond the sensory world. Mythography is the result of collaboration between nine painters, a wood carver, and a poet, who, via three different forms of art, contributed equally to the compiling of this unique artistic display.
My heartfelt thanks and appreciation go to Ken Kirkby for organizing the participants and for his gesture of trust in the interpretation of these artists’ works through my poetry.”
MANOLIS
ANCHORITE
Why you grew so tall
oh, great fir,
lonely guard of our secrets—
asked the blades of grass—
fir gazed upward to heaven
reached by her top and said—
to look upon the crispy water
the forest canopy
the mountain peaks
to delve into the higher values
in my anchorite’s meditation
to grasp magnificence
to dwell in God’s wish
to also bend and cry
to also germinate
Oneiric scenic endlessness
the ground conifer’s
meditation soothing
in air’s consoling absence
DEVOTION
Let my arms become a shelter
where the vulnerable
will seek refuge—
said the red cedar—
call me the tree of life
let birds sing in my shadow
let need turn into giving
even when the axe nears
my bark and falling the mighty
canoe I become to travel
river-bends peaceful
tranquil songs
of tenderness on moist lips
of people in love
Through second floor window
image crawls
into my eyes taking
charge of beauty’s feather
TRAFFIC JAM
In a lane exiting the highway
of cars with lights flickering
pastel colors and soft hues
not traffic signs or policemen
bugs and mosquito passengers
females applying make up
men arguing about roughness
of flow and all appear as gigantic
to the painter’s brush
as we do in the eyes
of enormities peeking
from their world of leviathan
down to our miniscule
like the infinite plus
gazing the infinite minus
with us
in the middle like big zeros
representing the great void of
colorful and eloquent nothing
