Writing Saga # 25 / The House of Amethyst Poetry; Part Eight

   ‘When the artist is alive in any person, whatever his kind of work may be, he becomes an inventive, searching, daring, self-expressing creature. He becomes interesting to other people. He disturbs, upsets, enlightens, and he opens ways for a better understanding. Where those who are not artists are trying to close the book, he opens it, shows there are still more pages possible.’

                                                                      - Robert Henri; 1865-1929; ‘The Art Spirit’ *

                                                            * 

   ‘My wee friend Stargirl, the writer of Amethyst Poetry, saw the close links between the world of Art and the world of Poetry & Writing. So close in fact that she couldn’t really find any difference between them. She has written about this in her Foreword to her first collection of poetry: THE RAGGED WRITINGS OF EVERLAND. Writings were paintings, every bit as much the ones you saw on the wall. Writers were artists in the spirit of Writing, and artists were writers in the spirit of Art; she believed. Interesting words or interesting paintings and sculptures were imprints on the wall of the mind of the reader, and the viewer, alike; she told me.’

   ‘The House of Amethyst Poetry scribblings she has posted on her blog are perfectly crazy and astonishing; her forays into the realms of metaphor have always startled me, with delight. In her flights of originality Stargirl has soared the heights and left me far behind. But in the trailing tailwinds of her fiery comet I seemed to be gathered up at times and taken with her. Her joy is infectious, her liberty awe inspiring, and her love all encompassing has known no limits.'                                  

                                                                                                     - John Fynn

[ *  Robert Henri was an American artist, teacher, and outspoken advocate of modernism in painting. Henri was a devotee of realism and the usage of everyday city life as subject matter. He taught at the Art Students League in New York from 1915 – 1928, and had a profound influence upon early 20^th century painters such as Stuart Davis, Rockwell Kent, and Edward Hopper. His book The Art Spirit is a classic among all those who love art.]


   Continued in Writing Saga # 26; Part Nine

These are the titles of the next two ‘ragged writings’ of amaranthine poetry:

Spiraling Stairs

A Pearl Feather

Writing Saga # 22 / The House of Amethyst Poetry; Part Five

Here is a link to a pdf word document of 'little book:' . . .
(The pdf closes and opens in a new Tab at the top of your screen)

Little Book
A Little Book Open: An Opened Person An Open Book

 Continued from:   Writing Saga # 21; the House and its Rooms and its Environs…

  ‘There are moments in our lives, there are moments in a day, when we seem to see beyond the usual. Such are the moments of our greatest happiness. Such are the moments of our greatest wisdom. If one could but recall his vision by some sort of sign. It was in this hope that the arts were invented. Sign-posts on the way to what may be. Sign posts toward greater knowledge.’
                                                           - Robert Henri; 1865-1929; ‘The Art Spirit’

   The attic:   

   Here was the place of my extremes in expression, all rising up from my upstairs rooms and going through their ceilings! And the extremities whistling through were dancing-writing. When joy was so full I spontaneously danced and did cartwheels inside. I guess it’s not terribly normal to dance in one’s attic, but then I don’t rush to be normal. The writings that came out of the attic were the most incomprehensible when I was all-free and free-flowing, and the most simple and plain when I was not so free. But in the attic there was always a passion to ‘recall my vision by some sort of sign;’ and whether the sign was complex or clear, a dance of words would come to me, all at once. And though I couldn’t capture the half of it, or even a millionth part of it, at least there was some small sign of it . . . for my own pleasure even if for no one else’s.

                  

             ‘Cherish your own emotions and never undervalue them.’     - Robert Henri

  The cellar:   

   This was the site of my seeming dark ventures in communication which went below everything else. Here the 'ragged writing' which emerged was entirely composed of a kind of polarity in a total juxtaposition of two intimately experienced opposites: my own soul and my spirit, split, by suffering, divided asunder by the Light which came only out of Darkness; as the light of the stars shines only in the dark. Eventually this writing came together in the angel's hand and became little book . . .


  LITTLE BOOK OPENED.  


     I thought people would welcome it, as it made so shining clear what constituted living faith, which brought delight, and what didn’t: the difference between the holy and the profane illumined and exposed by the Life that is our Light, written inside two parallel columns on the two edges of each page both sides of the page. 

    Few welcomed little book. All the people I sent it to never replied, at all, sadly; and I lost friendships as they withdrew from me. That unnerved me and made me withdraw 'little book;' but at least no one killed me, not yet anyway. So now it lives hidden away on "a little shelf" in "the cellar," away in the place of my glorious "Darkness:" which is that Light that lights every person that comes into the world...the glory within the pitch-dark Most Holy Place, the Holiest of All...safe there within the ark of the covenant...a person.    

                                          *

These are the titles of the next two, very simple dancing ‘ragged writings’ out of the House of Amethyst Poetry:

Star Finder

Butterfly Bay

The Saga of Amethyst Poetry / Part Four: A New Art

        If art went abstract, couldn't poetry? If some streams of art turned 'incomprehensible,' but not without a battle for acceptance first, should I wonder at or fear initial rejection? Although these 'poems' are not abstract - for like the inventive artist every line or brush stroke is full of known meaning - I suppose they might appear so, at first glance! But I had experienced that the heart 'rent in twain' could carry the mind's every finding further and deeper, and that it wasn't necessary for the outer parts of it to understand, in order to perceive light via the spirit.

      In joy and wonder I was shown that the primary purpose of these poems, is not that they be literally understood, but that they literally make us littler. For the littler we are the lighter we become; and the lighter we become the happier we are, which isn't by more, but by less.