Our last two pictures were from living artists, and have a modern look to them (nothing wrong with that). But I thought I'd try something a little different today: a photo from the past (the early 20th century), from the French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson (1908-2004). Allow me to mention this photographer for a moment- he was master and (pioneer) of modern photojournalism. Waiting for just the right moment, capturing the drama of humanity with just the right composition and balance, he left quite an interesting legacy. No, I didn't browse through hundreds of his photos to find this one, (though I personally think this is one in a million for various reasons). But, if you want a picture that can tell a story, then you might want to take a look at his work.
Still, though this image captured my attention when I first saw it, I've delayed coming up with any actual writing ideas for it until now. Here it is:
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Well, I hope no one is completely disappointed (I didn't raise much expectation earlier, did I?), but today there is no story. Sorry. I wrote a poem instead. As such, it just barely makes it to the 200 word minimum I mentioned before. And, I'm not particularly excited to post a poem, because, for some reason, I always feel more acutely when working with poetry than other types of writing, that poems need heaps and heaps of refining- to be distilled till they contain only the essence of words, and are able to vividly evoke images and sensations. Oh well. We aren't listening to inner editors, and I'm not stopping the challenge. Here is my raw attempt at free verse:
Clatter, splatter, ring-a-ling-ling!
Sight and sound mingle in the street:
A jangling mix
of sacred and the commonplace.
Souls jostle against souls
through the smog and incense smoke
clay vessel against clay vessel
each hiding a temple within:
temples clean
temples dusty
temples empty
temples rusty
temples forgotten and
temples burning bright their little lamps of peace.
The Bethlehem star gave itself for a light
How can we refuse to do the same?
The street may be dark
the shadows deathly
but still must heralds
march before the heavenly.
No more do we see
Pillars of fire and smoke
to lead through the desert.
But a cloud of incense
proclaims from the censer’s embers
The Presence of Heaven’s King,
Red candles through all watches of the night are ardently
glowing.
Sigh, says the clay,
Tears, whisper the mortal eyes,
Groan, goes the human heart.
No place is there for the Joy of God
In the sad and busy street
Move on, move along, get on
with you
None of this foolishness, ‘invisible sacredness’
from you;
it takes courage to carry the light to the street
But the street is soul-filled
The souls un-filled,
Aching for the Hidden Beauty.
Go before them, small candle, small lamp
And let your smoke carry to them
the scent of the sacred
Let them hear the altar bells ring,
singing in the street
Behold your Heavenly King.
Yes, it probably makes more sense if you understand the religious imagery of it, but I hope its not too opaque if you don't .
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