Daniel Hardman's Blog, page 4

rio at twilight

soft light, hard lights talk,

whisper songs of nearing night–

hills listen, preside

I’d been up on Sugarloaf (Pão de Açúcar) all afternoon, taking pictures of the Rio de Janeiro harbor. It was June, 2006 — winter. Dusk came early. I caught this photo just as city lights were beginning to twinkle. Corcovado, the hill with the famous statue of Jesus (Cristo Redentor) is prominent on the skyline.

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Tagged: city, corcovado, dusk, harbor, lights, rio de janeiro, smog

Camel in the Rain

photo credit: Daniel2005 (Flickr)

Be patient with my artless stroke,

and gentle with my timid heart,

and know it’s joy, and fear you felt

reflected in the words I spoke.

Oh, it was only yesterday,

I walked the desert heat.

The dry land sent me sand for suck,

and every dreary step

sent curls of lonely dust

in swelling, dizzy spirals

down my swollen throat,

to settle dry and bitter

and heavy on my heart.

Even my tears ran sand,

sharp and hard and empty.

And it was only yesterday

that starved for loving water,

somehow I survived,

and taught myself of solitude.

And now I see I learned too well;

Afraid, I pause and splash,

and shy the sweet, sweet wet,

and drink, and choke, and cry;

for I don’t know the water, yet.

Tagged: abundance, camel, joy, love, rain, shyness, surprise, uncertainty

castle in the clouds

mist maunders over–

castle juts, fades in and out–

trees, solid, green beneath

I took this from the side of a highway in Austria.

It had been raining all afternoon, and despite the mist, the color of the trees forest just popped, even in the softer light. The castle drifted in and out of the clouds like a ghost.

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Tagged: austria, castle, clouds, dream, forest, green, haiku, mist, trees

pacific lighthouse

clouded glory bursts

on wave-washed rock, green, clean spire–

which the true lighthouse?

Took this on a recent vacation. Pigeon Point, about 30 miles south of San Francisco on Highway 1, Dec 2012. My son Ethan helped me use Photoshop to make detail on the rock a bit more visible, and to make the colors pop, but this is not far from au natural. Amazing…

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Tagged: clouds, haiku, lighthouse, ocean, sunset, surf, waves

january dusk

blue snow stillness, bleak–

even setting sun subsides

to ice quiet dark

5:30 pm, Jan 19, 2013, looking across cornfields on the north end of American Fork, Utah. 5° F / -15° C.

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Tagged: cold, dusk, quiet, snow, solitude, sunset, twilight, winter

street geometry

I took this during a visit to Buenos Aires a few years ago. It was June (winter) there; hence the folks in jackets.

I like the interesting shapes in the photo–the triangle outlined in yellow in the foreground, the funky pentagonal intersection. The V formed by the skyline along the tops of the buildings is perfect for art teachers who want students to notice perspective.

See Flickr for larger sizes.

a screech of gulls

I was walking past the marina just north of the Exploratorium in San Francisco in late December, 2012. I noticed that one of the docks had a cluster of gulls trying hard to ignore the drizzle. A bunch of gulls is called a “screech,” but this one wasn’t screeching much. I thought it made a nice shot with the black and white pillars, the texture on the water, and the boats and trees in the background. The Golden Gate Bridge is hidden by the red-roofed building in the background.

Full size photo on Flickr.

Bread and Water

For Ken and Beryl Griffiths; see Ecclesiastes 11:1-2.

Ripples run with every loving cast–

Gentle smiles to firm up feeble knees,

Loving tears to strengthen weary hands…

Yes, ripples run–

A portion to seven, and also to eight…

And to one…

Gentleness,

Meekness,

And love unfeigned.

photo credit: DoimSioraf (Flickr)

Then moving one by one away

The ripples glide to distant shores

And there is silence, many days

And then the ripples come again–

joyful strides of confidence and faith

grateful tears, conviction, proven hearts…

Yes, ripples run–

From the fifteen.

And the one…

Friendship,

Love,

And bread.

Doggy

It was painfully sunny, and Rafa tugged thankfully on the brim of his broad sombrero. He was thirsty, but the water had run out on him hours ago. For the tenth time he wondered where Octavio could be. Hadn’t he said that the would meet by the hill a couple hours north of the ranch? Hadn’t he said at three o’clock? Well, it was six already, and there was no hill. No Octavio.

Photo credit: sbisson (Flickr)

And now Rafa realized that he was completely lost. He had let the horse wander without paying attention to its course. He saw by the position of the sun that they were headed west. Maybe that explained his friend’s absence. But he wasn’t really content with that explanation–no–because surely he had been going north when the ride began, and though he had swerved off course, he should still have seen that hill.

He climbed wearily from the saddle. He couldn’t stand another minute on horseback. He had to walk for a minute, rest his sweaty, aching back. He trudged alongside the animal for a few minutes.

Then he saw the snake. It was curled around a rock, sunning itself lazily. Almost without thinking, Rafa picked up a stone and threw it at the reptile. He wanted to hit it in the head, but the stone fell about six inches short. The serpent flinched in surprise, and gazed around, seeking to discover its adversary. When it spied Rafa, it began to rattle its tail rapidly.

Photo credit: Mauro Luna (Flickr)

Rafa sat down on a rock and began to speak.

“You and I, we’re brothers,” he murmured in a rough, throaty voice. The snake just gazed at him, without moving, except for the tail. Rafa took off his sombrero and fanned himself slowly.

“We’re brothers, yes. You’re here in the desert, without a friend. And me too.” There was a long pause, and then: “Snake, you and I are brothers, because I’m all alone. They abandoned me out here, and I’m going to die. Do you hear me, snake? I’m going to die.”

He picked up another rock and threw it. This time his luck was better: he didn’t strike the snake, but the stone kicked a little puff of parched dust into the animal’s unblinking eyes.

Now the snake slithered quickly toward Rafa. The horse, which had been patiently standing a few yards away, saw the reptile and ran away skittishly. Rafa tried to call it, to get it back, but the horse paid no attention to him. In a few minutes it disappeared over the horizon, leaving a little cloud of dust and an ominous silence.

In the confusion, Rafa forgot about the snake. Later, when he had given up on the horse, he collapsed on a large rock, and he remembered. Where could it be? Almost as soon as he thought it, he heard the quiet, sinister rattle. It was very near–yes–very near. Slowly he rotated his head left. It was there, a foot from his ankle. Ready to bite him.

Rafa’s thoughts raced. How to distract it, without provoking a strike? Then he remembered the sombrero. Slowly he tilted his head to the side, more and more and more. The sombrero was stuck. He sweat profusely. The sound of the snake was a thunder in his ears now. Every agonizing second it grew louder. He dared not move his legs. Or his arms. With infinite caution he raised his chin, and leaned once again. This time the sombrero was looser because he was sweating so much. The sombrero wobbled briefly, then fell.

As he had hoped, it fell almost directly over the animal. The snake, feeling the hat a threat, struck at it. Rafa sprang with all of his strength in the other directly. When the snake emerged from under the sombrero, Rafa had scrambled away. The snake stared coldly at him for a moment, its tongue flicking in and out. Then it slithered off to hide behind a cactus.

Rafa, out of danger at last, let loose a rapid string of obscenities, and ran in the other direction as quickly as his tired legs could move him. He was bathed in sweat when at last he stumbled to a halt, a mile to the south.

Now it was getting dark, and in the distance he heard the wild howl of a coyote. From nearby, another answered. And then another. Rafa began to sweat again. He hated coyotes worse than anything. He breathed raggedly, shallowly, but he broke into a run. His boots hammered at the loose stones and sand, and his spurs shook in tinny counterpoint. He ran faster.

Photo credit: jimsc (Flickr)

He heard another yip, much nearer now, and Rafa turned to the right. He kept running in his terror, without seeing where he was going. And then he stepped wrong. He felt his ankle twist weirdly in the boot. He lost his balance, felt himself falling.

His head struck a large stone. Blood oozed from a gash in his forehead. Rafa wasn’t very lucid, but he could still hear the sound of the coyotes, approaching. He wanted to get up, but his arms and legs wouldn’t respond. He tried to open his eyes. For a moment he thought he had failed, but then he saw as if through a fog the dim red light of the moon.

And he saw the stars. He was that there were many stars that night. He thought that probably more than he had ever seen before. He thought that they were beautiful.

He saw the little pebbles on the ground, near his eye. He saw the little pebbles, all ruby red for some strange reason. He thought that he would like to know the reason for it. He would like to know why there were so many little ruby red little pebbles here in the desert. He thought that it would be good to sell them in the plaza on Saturday. He thought that he could make a lot of money, and get very drunk.

He thought that he didn’t like to be lonely–he had never liked to be lonely. He thought that it was very nice, very lucky, that the little doggy had come to keep him company. He thought that he would have liked to say not to stay so far away. He tried to call it closer, but he couldn’t speak.

The little doggy seemed to understand anyway, and it came slowly forward. Rafa thought that it was a very nice little doggy. Yes, it was a very nice little doggy.

Albaricoque (Apricot)

photo credit: michelle molinari (Flickr)

No, artistas de Babilonia,

sus pinturas no me llaman:

por el rojo perfilada,

en la sombra amortajada,

con matiz de azul, velo de púrpura,

su casi-sonrisa casi escondida.

No, no me llaman,

pues you la he visto.

Y yo la pintaría—

albaricoque

sí—albaricoque y blanca—

luciendo con la timidez

de virgen primavera;

sonrojándose,

riéndose,

abriendo

a la melosidad del verano

y en ternura esperando

con la promesa

de hueso

y de árbol

y de albaricoque venidero.

English translation, by the author:

No, artists of Babylon—

your paintings do not call me:

silhouetted by the red,

shrouded in the shadow,

with shade of blue, veil of purple,

her half-smile halfway hidden.

No, they do not call me,

for I have seen her.

And I would paint her

apricot—

yes—apricot and white—

shining with the shyness

of virgin spring;

blushing,

laughing,

opening

to the mellowness of Summer

and in tenderness waiting

with the promise

of stone

and tree

and apricot to come.