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Photographing Poetry
I'm working on a series for school called "Photographing Poetry". I would like to discuss technique and also artistic ideas. I enjoy getting ideas from everyone although I'm looking more to the surreal side of the images and not completely depicting each prose for the poetry does that for itself. The poems are: Forgotten Soul By Tricia Brenning She feels so used, so unclean. The world is cruel, it seems so mean. She scrubs and washes, but the filth won't come off her skin. She thinks everyone can see it, tell where she's been. She hangs her head and wishes she could cry. She has long since stopped wondering why. She knows the cruelty that the world can give. The hardships you must endure in order to live. She jealously stares at women who have innocent eyes and beautiful smiles. They know nothing of what it means to survive, to overcome life's trials. The harsh reality slaps her in the face every time a man looks her way. She knows all the moves, just what to say. How to turn him on, how to put that glint in her eye. How to delicately tremble, to fake a moan, imitate an orgasmic sigh. Yet inside she is calculating how much all this work will cost. Her mind is cold, her innocence lost. There is no true passion in her touch. She is an empty vessel for their poison, and they treat her as such. It's sad to think this is her life today. Tonight she'll sleep with the light on, to keep the shadows away. The seductress, the whore, the prostitute, the forgotten soul. Nothing will take away her numbness, nothing makes her whole. She'll awaken tomorrow and do it all again. Making her living off of the pleasures of men. Rag Doll By Tricia Brenning Pound a little harder to get your message through. Squeeze a little tighter, dispel the rage inside of you. She is but a rag doll, yours for the beating. She should have the sense to hide when you temper is heating. The look of fright in her eyes should soothe your ego well. One more hit should make sure she'll never tell. Take another drink, pass out on the bed. Lose consciousness, sleep like the dead. Your demons won't follow you into oblivion. The alcohol numbs the brain, soon all thought is gone. Have no fear that she will leave, she is yours alone. You know she'd never make it out there on her own. The noise you barely hear is the creaking of the floor. Remain oblivious, soon you'll care no more. Moments pass in silence, all seems to be as it should. You think everything is fine, soon you'll sleep for good. The blinding light shines soon after the first shot is heard. The gun falls to the floor, she uttered not a word. She sits on the porch in a nightgown, awaiting the police. She does not cry or tremble, she is filled with peace. So many years built up to the moment that has finally passed. She feels no fear for what lies ahead, she is free at last. As the sirens fill the air, a smile slowly creeps across her face. The rag doll stands on sturdy legs, finally free from her case. The Mask By Tricia Brenning I awaken in the morning, dreading the brand new day. Wondering how I will get though, if I will be hurt in some new way. I open my eyes slowly, light my cigarette, and sigh. I know I must get up, but do not know why. I watch the smoke swirl above my head, in circles weaving in the air. I hear the sounds of morning, but find I just donât care. I feel the familiar ache in my chest that tells me itâs time to rise. Itâs time to put on clothes, to make up my disguise. I get dressed and brush my hair, my teeth, and wash my face. I smoke another cigarette and stare into space. I go to the mirror, and start to apply my mask. I find this a very tiring task. I put on my make-up, curl a hair or two. Put up my pony-tail, leave the top askew. I look into my eyes, and silently degrade. Only a few more things, and my mask is made. I smile at myself, fake, but who can tell? I put a flirting glint into my eyes, and perfect the shell. No one will see the ice beneath this mask of flesh. I fix my eyebrows so they perfectly mesh. I slip on a necklace, ear-rings, and a bracelet, hearts of course. Talk to myself, and find my voice is hoarse. I get a bottle of water, light another cigarette. I look at the clock, not time to leave yet. I check my appearance one more time, just to make sure it is in place. Make a few minor adjustments to my face. Add a little lipstick, to ensure I donât look pale. Tap my fingers as I wait, damn, chipped a nail. Itâs time to leave, to face the day. Itâs time for act one of this daily play. I am always onstage, never miss my cue. Making sure no one lifts the mask, no one has a clue. The show must go on, and so I play my part. Never letting on that I have a shattered heart. My tears will go unshed, my mask hiding my hurt and pain. Hoping I will one day be able to go without the mask again. Any advice from my fellow photographers and models? Any great ideas you can send my way would be fantastic! Thank for the help! Oct 12 06 08:37 am Link nice poems... thanks i'm going to try injecting poetry into my shoots somehow, i'm building props for a asian calligraphy shoot, a 'venus-on the half-shell' shoot (botecelli), acting out a poem could be cool too Oct 12 06 09:11 am Link I think that the written word, and photography speak to different parts of the soul. If you can find a way to bridge those to parts you have done an amazing job. Oct 12 06 09:19 am Link I have the luxery, at this point, to have several people able to critique my work and that helps tremendously. I will find a way to keep you all posted as well and get your ideas as I work on it. Would you all like that? Oct 12 06 09:24 am Link bump!!! I would really like some feedback on this, please! Oct 12 06 12:34 pm Link Feedback bump. I need ideas! What would you like to see as a viewer? What would you sugest as a model, as a photographer, as an artist? What advice can you give? Anything that strikes you...I would like to hear your side. Oct 12 06 12:34 pm Link Another feedback bump, does anyone have any ideas? Oct 12 06 02:21 pm Link I sculpt and draw as well as shoot, and do write poetry. Many of my poems are inspired by a particular scultpure/drawing or vice versa... Here's a few examples:  and  and  Emotion Thought Connected It was never your fault. It is time to give up your weapons against yourself. Frozen in time, A vague, fragmented soul. You lay deep within, In pain, abandoned. Little one, do not be shamed. Although she went away, Mommy has always loved you. Now you curl, fetal position, Protecting you from daddy's rage. Still the hurt, in your heart, Fear not, you will soon stand tall. The earth shakes, now you topple. But with courage, self-nurturing, You can grow stable. And in loving yourself, And parenting yourself... May you find your: Swayed back straightened. Foggy mind cleared. Slumped head raised. Scarred skin smoothed. Vague feet grounded. Divided soul wholed. Emotion thought connected. (c) October 2000, Caroline A. Martin   (sculpure unfinished)   IN MEMORY OF MIA September 1990 - October 16, 2003 I dreamt of you throughout my life since childhood days when you were ripped away by a mother who believed I was unworthy of any gift given from love. For many years the monsters came I hid through silent attempts of protection always dreaming of you, my white, blue-eyed kitty who would lift me to another world. A world where innocence could find safety and hope amongst green grass hills and salt water oceans. In a shelter is where my independence came as I looked into blue eyes, you pleaded back, "please take me, hold me, make me your own?" How could I deny your wish? So off we went, to find safety and comfort where we never could find it before. Stumbling along a wayward path always at each other's side. You have seen me grow, have seen me hide you have seen me smile, be angry, ashamed. Yet through it all, you were always there supplying unconditional love. Then two years back the bad news came white-coated people saying you were sick. My mind wandered... how bad could it be when you were still playing fetch with me? Two years passed, your belly enlarged yet playful you remained forever my friend. Always curious, you were more affectionate sleeping with me each day and night. Than last week you looked "off-color" your face, chest and legs ever thinner. Your tummy became rounder and hard to the touch You vomited often but never complained. What should I have done the vet said you were fine. But in my heart I knew she was wrong henceforth the game I played. When would it be your time and how would I know? I couldn't bare the thought of letting you go. But always, my Mia, you protected me again. I felt your absence in the middle of night. Woke screaming for you, "where are you my girl?" "Please come to me!" but no answer. So began the search, I'd hoped you were fine but knowing inside, it was your time. Calling your name, you didn't respond then I saw you sleeping eyes wide open. You looked at peace, I prayed you didn't suffer as I cradled and rocked you in my arms. But you didn't awake despite my best wishes Another lesson learned that somethings can't be undone. I will always love you, hold you in my heart forever. With tears in my eyes, I say "Good Night". (c) 10-16-03, 11:00 p.m., Caroline Ann Martin  Weathered Pains as rain falls on dry windowed panes tears collect in a heart of frozen water begins to defrost ripples surface and face presses against weathered glass eyes peer out to dancing trees and life's congestion as we sit solitary alone © 12/02, Caroline Ann Martin  Seashore Shells your tongue pierces through skin slices into my heart and cuts me to pieces like a leopard and its spots your mouth never changes only waxes and wanes seemingly through manipulation yet I need you to make it better believe me please these shattered parts of self pained memories within seashore shells will live even upon his death like one fell swoop will crash over ground where I lay in tears salted air brings fresh memories you and I a Jones Beach summer waves crash knees as I sink ever lower your hold safely lifts me to sky at end of the day to shower we go no boundaried violation your fingers urge head pressed against you needing to choke wishing I were seashells still at the shore wanting to be safe or never more (c) 12/5/02, Caroline Ann Martin Oct 12 06 03:28 pm Link Who is Tricia Brenning? Is she working in collaboration with you, or are you just using her poems? What is your relationship with her? Oct 12 06 04:16 pm Link I've done some photos inspired by a famous 17th century poem, "To His Coy mistress." In particular the line about worms trying "thy marble vault." Dunno if you'd call it poetry, but many passages from Lewis Carroll lend themselves to imagery. And. . . I'd like to photograph "Piazza Piece," a poem by John Crowe Ransom: --I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying To make you hear. Your ears are soft and small And listen to an old man not at all. They want the young men's whispering and sighing. But see the roses on your trellis dying And hear the spectral singing of the moon; For I must have my lovely lady soon, I am a gentleman in a dustcoat trying. --I am a lady young in beauty waiting Until my truelove comes, and then we kiss. But what grey man among the vines is this Whose words are dry and faint as in a dream? Back from my trellis, Sir, before I scream! I am a lady young in beauty waiting. Oct 12 06 04:25 pm Link Brian Diaz wrote: Tricia Brenning is my best friend and she has given me permission to use her poems. She's trying to get published right now and she has given me artistic freedom to take what I will from the poems and make them into my own images. Oct 12 06 05:01 pm Link Okay, then I'll deffer my critique of the poems you're planning to use and simply say this: In my view, poetry should use abstract words to bring forth concrete images in our minds, while photography should use concrete images in the world to bring forth abstract ideas in our minds. Oct 12 06 05:40 pm Link Brian Diaz wrote: No, please, be honest with me. Niether of us will be hurt and I want all i can get from this. As a fellow artist you should understand the importance of honesty when it comes to these kinds of things. Oct 12 06 05:44 pm Link There needs only to be one thread on this topic, and I'm moving this to General Mayhem. BD, MM Moderator Oct 12 06 06:21 pm Link Brian Diaz wrote: Sorry about that, I'm just trying to get people's honest opinion. Oct 13 06 09:11 am Link No one has ANY ideas? Oct 13 06 03:30 pm Link Brian Diaz wrote: Hi hi Oct 13 06 05:31 pm Link I've had a lot of people tell me they don't like the rhyming in poetry; that it sound too much like Halmark stuff but that's the way she writes and always has. That's the way it comes to her and flows out of her. She doesn't pick and choose words thinking, "Oh, this one rhymes well." It just happens. But it's not so much about the poetry that I want critiqued, its more about ideas of photographs that I can get. I have several sketches laid out and several ideas but I want/need more so I know that I am giving the poems justice. Oct 14 06 02:39 pm Link I have done some experiments in integrating original poetry with photographic elements. In some of these the image suggested the poem, in others I shot the photo to fit an existing poem. Here are some examples. Let me know what you think...    all words & images copyright 2004-2006 Papa Vic Photography Oct 14 06 03:22 pm Link Caroline Ann Martin wrote: your prolific and multi-faceted creativity and artistic expression just blows me away... you are an Artist-with-a-capital-"A"! Oct 14 06 03:25 pm Link I have alot of my poetry published, 2 books, countless magazines, etc... I am now doing a coffee table book, with 1 page being a poem and the other side being a picture that stikes me as connecting with the poem. A picture about a poem does not have to have anything to do with the literal words of the poem, try capturing the feeling the poem gives you. As for a poem rhyming, haying rhythm, following standards. If everyone's poetry followed those standards then how would anyones work stand out? Pick one, pick none, do as you please, just like photography, there are the standards to follow, but not nessesarily, break what you want, be the leader(sorry this is an old speech I gave to a group of young poetry students). Oct 14 06 03:37 pm Link Lazyi Photography wrote: As a fellow poet Tricia asks what you personally think of her work (you can email me, I will relay the message). Thanks. Oct 14 06 08:32 pm Link An artistic photograph IS poetry, no? Oct 14 06 09:16 pm Link Cspine wrote: No. Poems are made of words. Oct 15 06 11:09 am Link Oct 21 06 10:21 pm Link |
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