|
frank j cunningham |
|
about us news articles advocacy photoessays gallery books links contact |
|
Wintertime, Huru’s ship
As time draws on more buildings block my sweeping panorama of swaths of grey, green, blue - Squared stamps of their indifference to other’s views.
On moors I pass by way of blended paths Evolved by nature’s needs Unmarked by common tread.
Keeping weary watch for new protrusions of mans delusions, on distant horizon line. A shrinking rim - hemming in my island watch.
‘Til one day, my disbelieving eye spied a turning tide - A sculpture had arrived.
Stark stab of hope that island folk both young and old throwing off the yoke of conforming tastes would reach to grasp straight from the heart What great art is - Entwined in nature bare.
A modern man, not of the sea but squatted on hill brow had docked ‘longside his stoned reside - A man’s endeavor Twice house’s height A steeled Hurrah
Long spiking girders Orange painted bright - blending effortlessly, smoothly with treed and twigged terrain.
To some obscene To me shocking right - Hanging ramrod straight Curved by surrounding nature’s lined up hills, shapes of trees and blending man-made dreams.
Such monumental might lightly caught my eye as I tacked by.
No jarring halt, just thoughts run wild - Di Suvero’s Hurus foraging, surveying all at steady pace - Steely eyed Samurais.
Their whales interned with island bones Reminding all, what we create weighs heavily on island’s constant being.
Scenes twist and churn and leap about - chased generations back, to visualize returned whalers spouting tales of sights unseen.
Stretching to unfurl tradition bound minds - of common acceptability. So they would shake and quake ‘til barriers fell and broader views prevailed.
Today, this work of one - anchored but not aground. Towering above rooftops - adrift in air.
Not a whaling ship No blubber shown No function to its parts
But as a carcass whole A beacon to those plunging the depths of mankind’s netted thoughts.
So pause one’s oars Check one’s course Nature sets the space - The Lady breathes again.
This Poem was originally Published in The Inquirer & Mirror (Nantucket)
|
(Richard & Ronay Menschel Collection)
|