Photographic and poetic meanderings along the countryside or while flying an airplane.
Except as noted, all images copyrighted by and should be attributed to E B Hawley.
I had become many eons ago a traveling literary gnome, inquisitive about places I had and had not visited,
walking the same paths of peoples from the past, through places once grand and still grand,
photographing images that now show me the places about which I still dream . . .
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Gnome's Pen Digs Deep
It makes no sense to me now to worry about *not* writing a poem every week to hand in to my professor. I awoke at three o'clock in the morning with a few phrases swirling inside my head. Despite fatigue and clever warnings about writing something that has come to my head seemingly in a flash, I made my way to the other room and started tapping on the keyboard. The result seems a nice poem, ten per cent good, and the rest of its excellency depends on anyone else's taste. Taste brings me to another concern of mine these days: Define the term "taste."
Monday, August 27, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Gnome Soon to Exhibit
Friday, August 17, 2007
Gnome's Friend from another Dimension
So, this morning I was thinking that I needed to read aloud the poem I had started a couple of months ago while in Delphi, so I printed it, stood in the middle of the room, and began to read it out loud. At the same time, the volume of the stereo increased and I started to hear, loudly, Chopin’s Etude #12, so loudly, that I stopped my reading. It’s my friend Jeff; I know it’s him, because the poem is about him. The music ended when my poem ended, and the volume has now decreased. I sit here shaking my head and delighted, too, that Jeff likes my poem, and has even put it to music.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Gnome and Maasai Warrior
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Great Women of the World: Wangari Maathai
In reading Wangari's memoir, I came upon something she told to a reporter in 1992: "A woman politician needs the hyde of an elephant." Likewise, in the United States, women such as Elizabeth Dole, Geraldine Ferraro, today Nancy Pelosi and most notably Hillary Clinton, develop methods to shield themselves from the jabs of their detractors. With time (one of many true friends) and persistence, a woman develops a "thick skin" -- perhaps thicker than the skin of some of the men around her -- that enables her to proceed with the equanimity she needs to make weighty decisions, to sleep well during her naps and in the evenings, and to maintain emotional and physical health.
I consider Wangari's memoir relevant reading for everyone, environmentalists especially.
"Unbound, One Woman's Story," published by William Heinemann:London. 2006.
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Let Lovely Turn of Phrase Begin
JMHawley Gave Me a Kiss to Build a Dream On
Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.
Listen, will you? I think that . . . literature, poetry, music and love make the world go round . . . while mathematics explains things; I fill my life with them, then go walking in snowy woods.
Let us go then, you and I
like two etherized patients floating
through life, together feeling prufrockian.
DDB Jr. makes my world go 'round; during his absence, Pachelbel fills it up.
One summer I sailed across the Atlantic Ocean, then through the Gulf of Finland to reach Saint Petersburg; I pursued Joseph Brodsky in its alley ways. I dream of making that two summers.
I read “Biking to Electra;” found my way in a Jaguar car, and glanced at the flashing steel grasshoppers at sunset. I’ll follow K.O.P.’s footsteps after he followed N.Scott Momaday’s; find warmth and inspiration on a rainy mountain.
Throw chinese coins for the I Ching.
Save the whales, the spotted owl, the woman in toil.
Cast a fly for trout; my memories of fly fishing under the sunny blue Colorado sky remain; I yearn to build more . . . with more trophy Browns.
Listen for the swan’s calls on the Baltic Sea. Feel KKII's joy, his arms spread wide in Yazilikaya.
Good night, Jimmy Durante, where ever you are.