by Ethel Mortenson Davis
This last, fading light is enough to carry us across the field, across the world, enough to lift us from ourselves, our mitered lives in this small changeling of a disappearing evening.
Enough
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Places We Recognize
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
When we are desperate and can’t recognize the world, we climb into words, grasp letters, covet paragraphs to find smallness. When we are desperate we go to this small garden to gather ourselves in the act of cleaning away dying plants — to repeat our worth — in places we recognize, like the wounded fox that crawls into the small culvert.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
The Reaching
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
Four Windows Press Publishes Door County Poets Collective Anthology
The Door County Poets Collective has released its newest book, Halfway to the North Pole! A unique poetry anthology, it’s available at Sturgeon Bay’s bookstores and through either Write On Door County or fourwindowspress1.com. It is published by Four Windows Press, the small publishing company Ethel and I own.
There are a lot of Door County’s most important poets represented in the book as well as other poets that have been loyal visitors over the years. Estella Lauter, the instigator of the Collective, in her “Preface” describes the theme of the anthology: “We hope these poems, while providing some anchors in parts of the County you know, will introduce you to places, people, and issues you haven’t noticed and might want to know better on your own: places like Mud Lake, Three Springs, Bjorklunden, Mojo Rosa’s; people like Increase Claflin or Norbert Blei; efforts to bring back the Monarch Butterflies, preserve the night sky, cut or treat infected ash trees, keep the Boreal forest. Door County is not only a beautiful place where culture and nature support each other; it is also a complex community of people and other creatures who come together to care for the land and water that sustain our lives in all seasons. Halfway between the hottest and coldest places on earth, we like to think we have the best of both.”
New Logo for a new website
Ethel and I have put up a new website for the small publishing effort, Four Windows Press, we keep developing. Our granddaughter, Phoebe Wood, has come up with a logo for the website, which is located at http://www.fourwindowspress1.com. Ethel likes the logo as a work of art!
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One More Time
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
A baby wren came to sit in the burning bush to show me she has grown into a strong bird. With graceful gratitude she came to show me light in my dark world — just as a matched pair of horses pulled John Lewis across the Edmund Pettus Bridge, so he can be a light in our black world just one more time.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
Home
a pastel by Ethel Mortenson Davis
Filed under Art, Art by Ethel Mortenson Davis, Ethel Mortenson Davis
The Framing
In Memoriam Kevin Michael Davis
Doors at Chaco Canyon photograph by Kevin Davis (2/16/1982 – 7/21/2010)
“The Framing” a poem by Richard Brenneman
This is the anniversary of our son’s death in Poughkeepsie, New York from cancer ten years ago. This is always a sad day for Ethel, I, and our daughters, Sonja Bingen and Mary Wood, every year. This blog was started in honor of Kevin, who was a wonderful web designer, photographer, artist, and poet. This year we are publishing one of Kevin’s most iconic photographs, a doorway found at the Chaco Canyon ruins in New Mexico, and Richard Brenneman’s wonderful poem about the photograph, remembering someone who was deeply, deeply loved.
THE FRAMING
by Richard Brenneman
Ekaphrastic poem celebrating the Kevin Davis photograph, “Doors at Chaco Canyon”
I Picture this -- seen through the lens of a camera; eye sighting perfectly this line of sight, image remaining after. The photographer has entered into this, his picture. A framing frames the ancient remains, frame within frame like stone ghosts from the living to the not living. II During the day, the doors, like sideways viewed Chinese boxes, point the way to the sky, or a blank wall where the lords of death (or alternatively, the lords of life) are lodged beyond, whether in kiva, hogan, teepee, pyramid -- the mountain of gods. III At night invisible, you can barely see the framed gates. Above, the moonlight, a few stars shine bright: Polaris, Sirius, Aldebaran. The gods of old-time have come for you -- you who framed this image. Time into framing, gate, window, doorway -- starlight seeps out light from unseen life in sunrise or twilight, you who sighted this in your view finder. IV If we look at this image askew, we can almost see you as shadow, invisible among the dust motes, the whirling dervishes slipping through the frame of time, the ancient gateways to join the lords of life, of death to ascend timeless, bodiless to the stars, to become framed as infinite starshine.
Filed under Art, Photography, poems, Poetry
Flicker
by Ethel Mortenson Davis
At dawn a loud crash sounded against the house. A flicker lay struggling on the ground, his life ending. A beautiful bird with speckled chest, yellow tail, and red feathers on his head looked as though his spine was broken. I put him in a quiet part of the garden. His weak cries were fearful. Later that day, when I checked, he seemed closer to death. The next morning when I went to collect him, he was gone. I want to think he got up and flew up to the top of my tree, but probably a cat or fox found him on their trek across the country.
Filed under Ethel Mortenson Davis, poems, Poetry
