The many faces of RED
A long time ago someone gave me this poem:
The Problem in Describing Color
If I said––remembering, in summer
The cardinal’s sudden smudge of red
In the bare gray winter woods––If I said, red ribbon on the cocked straw hat
Of the girl with the pooched-out lips
Dangling the wiry, black-nosed lapdog
In the painting by Renoir––If I said fire, if I said blood welling from a cut––
Or flecks of poppy in the tar-grass-scented summer air
On a wind-struck hillside outside Fano––If I said, her one red earring dangles from her silky lobe,
If she tells fortunes with a deck of fallen leaves
Until it comes out right––Rouged nipple, mouth––
(how could you not love a woman
who cheats at Tarot?)Red, I said. Sudden, red.
— Robert Hass
That was long ago … today I am accepting what is, yet still trying to reconcile the contradictions of who in the quest of I am – trustworthy and yet I have lied and cheated, a lover and yet I have turned cold as a stone, forgiving and yet I have harbored a lack of forgiveness towards others (and worse myself) far too often.
With a blank canvas – a bald head, a stick figure captain – and all of the disguises I could ask for – scarves and wigs – it’s easy to see how you might be different and yet you all at the same time – and that’s all right.
June 13th, 2012 at 2:28 pm
I love this poem, Rachel–Thanks for posting.
So I’m finally starting a blog. No, that’s optimistic…I have a home page, hosted on my brother’s wordpress site, and I’m supposed to be blogging because he wants me to write more. But I don’t know what to write so I’m reading everyone else’s blogs. Yours has me hooked.
I started at the beginning and find myself riveted. I can’t put you down! I think you should replace initials with names (pseudonyms, to protect the “innocent”), and publish it as a memoir in a blog format. It’s a no-brainer. Maybe I’m just starstruck cuz I know you–all I know is I have 3 movies and 2 new books that I haven’t touched cuz I’m too fascinated by dangermond.org.
June 14th, 2012 at 8:57 am
G – thanks and I was thinking about your writing and I had a couple of suggestions of how to get started and then I thought of this poem and thought that she said it better than I might:
For the young who want to
BY MARGE PIERCY
Talent is what they say
you have after the novel
is published and favorably
reviewed. Beforehand what
you have is a tedious
delusion, a hobby like knitting.
Work is what you have done
after the play is produced
and the audience claps.
Before that friends keep asking
when you are planning to go
out and get a job.
Genius is what they know you
had after the third volume
of remarkable poems. Earlier
they accuse you of withdrawing,
ask why you don’t have a baby,
call you a bum.
The reason people want M.F.A.’s,
take workshops with fancy names
when all you can really
learn is a few techniques,
typing instructions and some-
body else’s mannerisms
is that every artist lacks
a license to hang on the wall
like your optician, your vet
proving you may be a clumsy sadist
whose fillings fall into the stew
but you’re certified a dentist.
The real writer is one
who really writes. Talent
is an invention like phlogiston
after the fact of fire.
Work is its own cure. You have to
like it better than being loved.
June 17th, 2012 at 6:38 am
Love this, Rachel–thanks. I wrote my first blog post about reading your blog. It’s called 200 Words for Sorry. Now i have to figure out how to post it!
June 17th, 2012 at 3:44 pm
Let me know when you do because it’s impossible to search for a blog and I’d love to read it.