Spine poetry

Susan Gaylord mentioned a challenge on her blog recently and I jumped right on it and sent link and challenge off to friends.  If you follow this link to her blog, I won't need to explain it all here.    It all has to do with stacking books so the titles form a poem.     Reminds me of the fun of found word poetry, so had to try it.    Here's a sample done from things scattered on my desk.

In this case it may be more like a very short story.     Look around your house and try this for fun.  It's not a messy challenge for a change.  And you do not need to find any supplies.   

Found poetry

My good friend and artist pal Roberta posted a challenge to the Lodi Mixed Media Group. She suggested we use a poem by Longfellow and "find" our own poem within it. Here is my poem.

Thoughts of youth
Shadowy whispers

I remember magic

I remember WILD!!!
And music

I remember the dead.
Shadows of friendships
And early loves.

I remember longings,
thoughts,
dreams.

Strange, sweet sighing
Joy.

Beautiful thoughts of youth.

Here is the original Longfellow poem.

My Lost Youth, by H.W. Longfellow

Often I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
And a verse of a Lapland song
Is haunting my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.
I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the black wharves and the ships,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the bulwarks by the shore,
And the fort upon the hill;
The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar,
The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er,
And the bugle wild and shrill.
And the music of that old song
Throbs in my memory still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the sea-fight far away,
How it thundered o'er the tide!
And the dead captains, as they lay
In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay
Where they in battle died.
And the sound of that mournful song
Goes through me with a thrill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I can see the breezy dome of groves,
The shadows of Deering's Woods;
And the friendships old and the early loves
Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves
In quiet neighborhoods.
And the verse of that sweet old song,
It flutters and murmurs still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the school-boy's brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair,
And with joy that is almost pain
My heart goes back to wander there,
And among the dreams of the days that were,
I find my lost youth again.
And the strange and beautiful song,
The groves are repeating it still:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.

New Altered Book started - White Crosses

I have a copy of a book "White Crosses". It's being altered to show a poem I wrote which is later in this post. I'll be posting pics as the book progresses in case you'd like to watch the process. It's still very much in the formative phase. Not much to show yet. I had an AHA moment, when I started to lay out the poem inside - I found words and phrases in the first chapter that worked as "found text". Just a few. Just enough.

So the book will be in three parts. First the found text portion (which was not something I planned, but something I lucked into). I'm drawing a highway on each page. The backs of the pages have been reinforced with masking tape, since they will get handled and I didn't think they would hold up without some kind of product to strenghten them. Then I painted over the tape. You can see the pages here.

The second section of the book will be my poem with images and who knows what! I'm playing with my favorite photo, using it upside down, right side up, color, black and white, and negative. The strength of this book will be the words (the message). Simplifying the use of images will help maintain that. I'm thinking of just using a raven, various crosses, perhaps a statue of a mourner, a black graphic hand, and the tree. And the highway theme will run through it in some subtle way, if I can think how to do it.

The third section will be a niche in which I will try to make a tree from a branch and put a little white cross on it to look like the tree in my photo. And maybe some dried flowers crushed around it. I work pretty organically, without very firm plans, because the books often take me in a different direction than I started - and usually those changes are for the better.

This is a draft of the poem. The Shrine at the Side of the Road. Copyright 2009 Janene Ford

Driving along a country road
on a sunny afternoon
without a care in the world
happily humming a little tune
as if nothing could interfere.

I know this road.
I've passed this way before.

The miles speed by
as my mind leaves the road
and drifts back and forth through time.
Thinking about all those yesterdays
and what I'll cook for dinner tonite.

a yellow sign
an arrow bent
reduce speed
sharp curve ahead

I see it there
by the side of the road
a white cross nailed to a tree
A shrine for a youth
whose path ended here
stopped by the black finger of fate.

It could have been me.
I've passed this way before.

In his old pickup truck
with a six pack of beer
his life suddenly snatched away.
He lost control
as he rounded the bend
and sped headfirst to his doom.

The impact! The crash!
His truck is now trash.
Broken glass, broken head,
pronounced DEAD!

It could have been me.
I've passed this way before.

How many lives were shattered that night?
How many people mourn?
How many tears were shed
for the brother, the friend, the son?

Nothing can be said,
nothing can be done.
That's the hardest part.
Nothing is slower to heal
than the hole in his mother's heart.

I say a little prayer
for the soul of the one who died
and the lives that were wrenched
by the tragedy,

as I zip past the sad little shrine -
that could have been mine -
had the black finger pointed at me.

I have passed this way before.

I'll pass this way again.

Two young men whose deaths were caused by driving under the influence a few years apart , and whose families I'm close to motivated my writing this. I pass both sites every few weeks. I wanted to express the feelings of the families, and at the same time, connect it to my feeling that I need to be more conscious of the road as I travel so I won't be up against a tree myself some day. I tried to weave both my fears and my sorrow for the loss of these young men through the poem. Please let me know if you think it works.

Found Text

In a previous post about adding words I mentioned "found text". It is one of my favorite techniques for altering a book. My friend Jackie and I exchange books in which we each alter a few pages using this technique and any other art techniques we employ - and then passing it back to the other person for a few more pages. We have done this several times. Right now one of the books that is going back and forth is a book of poetry. It has proven to be difficult. It's hard to isolate words that can string together into a thought. But, we love the challenge. Here are sample pages out of books we have done in the past.

For those of you who are intrigued with the idea, but are not ready to leave your marks in a book, I suggest you visit Erasures online. It is a site with many selected writings where YOU can play with the technique by erasing words you do not want to show, and leaving only your own found words. You can change it as many times as you want. You can also see examples of the words done by others with the same text. It's awesome and mind blowing how many different found texts can be picked out of the same text. We tried this as an exercise at a Mixed Media arts group meeting -and sure enough - each one was vastly different.

Mini Tutorial - Adding text

I love text in my books. I'm never satisfied with my altered books if they don't have some quotes, or words.
But how to apply them? There are many ways. Rubber stamp letters. Stickers, Rub ons, handwritten or printed, printing with your computer and printer (good for playing around with sizes and fonts), collage with cut out words or letters from magazines and other books or newpapers, stencils, purchased sheets of letters, or - the most fascinating - found words.

Find words on the page, then block out the other text and just let those words show through. This is such a fun way to alter a book. I use it at least once in each book. Some artists do entire books in this way and don't add images or other art work. You really should have the experience of trying it. I hope you have already visited the absolute king of found words, Tom Philips. Do take some time and look at what he has done.

I'm sure you can think of other techniques I've missed. I have cut out poems from books, or jokes from magazines to use.

Words can also be used in fabric books. Either sewn in, embroidered, or on transfers or beads. There are many methods to explore. Ribbons come with words, or you can stamp onto the ribbons or fabric itself.