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 . . .

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Prelims at the Den of Sinners

       I begin my studies for the photography in a book about the stained glass windows at one of the local sinners' dens. I hope to discover and show the allusions in the Bible, and with any luck, meditations on the images by the head honcho there, who is a brilliant man; then I will bundle it up in a gorgeous-looking book to donate to them. The book might raise a little bit of money for them, but of more importance to me, it might educate the sinners who attend there, including some of the regular players in the weekly production who, one would think, would know, on what the images in the stained glass windows represent -- further than, duh, somethin' from, like, the Bible. ("Pretty, aren't they? I hadn't noticed until you pointed them out to me.") 
       It is my hope that the book will provide information about the windows and why they are there for the glory of God. If some do not understand what not to do in spite of Jesus Christ itemizing it in ten points, and the priest drumming it in to them every Sunday, surely they might understand the pictures? If they can't read, and if they can't hear, could they, would they . . . SEE? And if not, how dare they allow that fine fellow, Jesus of Nazareth, to die for nought? As the head honcho asked in his sermon this morning: "How serious are you about your faith?" And would deeper knowledge -- any knowledge at all -- about the windows serve as an inspiration to check on one's faith and relationship with God? 














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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.