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Summary - "Still Life Moving"
Title: Still Life Moving
Genre: Art (Pastels) and Poetry
Author: William Kloefkorn
Illustrator: Carlos Frey
US Price: $16.00 (Paperback)
ISBN 0-9766513-3-5
Publication Date: April 2007
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Summary:
This booklet attempts to illustrate, with words and paintings, some of the connections that can be made between cultures even as they strive to keep their identities intact. Standing Bear said it best: “My hand is not the color of yours, but if I pierce it, I shall feel pain.” But there can be joy also, if the connections promote friendship, respect, and understanding.
William Kloefkorn has published more than twenty collections of poetry, among them Alvin Turner As Farmer, Drinking the Tin Cup Dry, and Sergeant Patrick Gass, Chief Carpenter: On the Trail with Lewis & Clark. His work has appeared in many periodicals, including Prairie Schooner, Harper’s, North American Review, and Georgia Review. Three memoirs were published by the University of Nebraska Press: This Death by Drowning, Restoring the Burnt Child, and At Home on this Moveable Earth. He is an emeritus professor of English at Nebraska Wesleyan in Lincoln and serves as the Nebraska State Poet.
Carlos Frey, born in Oklahoma and raised in Kansas, lives now and does his painting in Wayne, Nebraska. Though his academic training was in sculpture, his passion for the past forty years has been in painting, his favorite medium being pastel. He has studied with a number of prominent artists, including Harley Brown and Frank Webb, and his work has earned him a variety of awards. The paintings in this book derive from a series of photographs he took while attending ceremonies and celebrations conducted by Native Americans in Nebraska.
Excerpts:
DRUMS
large hearts thumping
not only for the one who is dancing, but for all of us, daybird,
nightbird, roostercrow , owl. O how—with the eye of ourselves—we
admire the dance, with the ear nearly worship the drum! And
beneath us, sure enough, the feet that we say we own
start their tapping, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, rat-a-tat, rat!
In the throat then begins a complementary hum, guttural, steady,
no one beyond oneself hearing it, no one beyond oneself
aware of the tapping—because each is tapping also, and also humming,
each of us entering the dance, yet not dancing,
all of us, all of us, all of us, one! |
Though out of sight I nonetheless hear them,
