Rose Poems from "Shadows - Leaves - Roses" Exhibition in Monrovia - to September 22, 2013

At the opening of my exhibit of photography and poetry at the Scenic Drive Gallery in September 2013, I read  a selection of poems that were either unpublished or appeared in Miriam's Iris  (the ones with numbers in titles), or Rose Always. 

Amor 6

the more I love

the more dangerous

life becomes

in its graphic beauty

carved with a dagger

stolen from time

the blade cuts

old wounds open

it slides on the skin

of the moment 

 pierced by knowing 

© 2006 by Maja Trochimczyk

Desert Rose

I grow roses in the desert

They wither in merciless sun

Their petals, scorched by the heat,

crumble into dust

from which they came

The magic of water and light

brings them back.

Open blossoms smile at me

shyly

One after one after one

they come to make love

with the air

They shrivel

to stay unchanged

clinging to life that left them

© 2001 by Maja Trochimczyk

Rosa Incognita

it had to be the eleventh,

the time of perfect absence

of all time’s measure,

the number so uncounted

that doubly prime –

the day of fullness

in a second there is

a universe never heard of

in a glimpse  –  a mystery

fully apprehended

once for all understood 

found and lost together 

all times swirling

in a glorious wreath of the present

St. Augustine was right –

sometimes God

makes a hole in Heaven,

for us to peek in

© 2000 by Maja Trochimczyk

Ellenai 6

with the noise

of unfurling wings

silence descended

turmoil within

my frightened self

dissolved

into the glass surface

of tranquil seas

at sunset

angels account for

moments such as these

love’s cruel sweetness

my days are numbered

I’m caught again

emptied

of thought and sorrow

poured

into the last vessel

of midnight calm

(c) 2001  by Maja Trochimczyk

Mira Mataric, Susan Dobay, Rick Wilson, Kathabela Wilson at Scenic Drive Gallery

The opening reception of my exhibition "Shadows - Leaves- Roses" featured a poetry reading with the accompaniment of Rick Wilson on fujara (bass flute from Slovakia) and shakuhachi (Japanese bamboo flute), divided into two parts: "Shadows and Leaves" and "The Geometry of Roses." Jean Sudbury provided an interlude between the two poetry presentations with her violin transcriptions of pieces by Chopin, Dvorak and Elgar.   Mira Mataric read her translation of "Memento Vitae" - a poem that is a subject of an international translation project and already appeared in Spanish, French, Polish and Serbian versions. The attendees enjoyed the show and the reception, thanks to the hospitality of Susan and Endre Dobay.

The exhibition;s program features the following explanation:

"The play of light and shadows, reflections on the water, miraculous shapes of rose petals, the veins on a leaf… This exhibit presents a close-up view of California landscapes – limited to the elemental shapes and colors found on a yucca flower, or a petal. These wonders are found in Sunland and Tujunga, distant from the urban core of Los Angeles, yet a vital part of the metropolis. The profusion of gardens and wildlife areas permeated with intense sunlight transform these small towns into places of magic – captured with a digital camera."

For the record, I admit to being influenced by Georgia O'Keefe and her monumental, sensual flowers. Yet, I want my roses to be just right, not too big, not too small, something to enjoy in my home or office. Something simple that's all around us, and taken for granted... yet, incredibly, intensely beautiful.

                         

An interview with Susan Dobay about my artistic interests is on YouTube: http://youtu.be/nY7cp-taPbs

The exhibition is on display, available by appointment only, until September 22, 2013 at the Scenic Drive Gallery, 125 Scenic Drive, Monrovia, CA (off Myrtle, exit from 210 go up towards the mountains, turn left into Scenic when the road starts to turn. scenicdrivegallery.com

 

Reading love poems for roses, all red.

Jean Sudbury's performance at the opening of the exhibition.

Shadows - Leaves - Roses Photography Exhibition in Monrovia, September 1-23, 2013

SHADOWS - LEAVES - ROSES

PHOTOGRAPHY EXHIBIT BY MAJA TROCHIMCZYK

SCENIC DRIVE GALLERY, MONROVIA, SEPTEMBER 1 – 23, 2013, OPENING RECEPTION: SEPTEMBER 1, 2013, 4-6 PM. 125 W. Scenic Dr. Monrovia California, 91016.  www.trochimczyk.net  www.scenicdrivegallery.com

The play of light and shadows, reflections on the water, miraculous shapes of rose petals, the veins on a leaf… This exhibit presents a close-up view of California landscapes – limited to the elemental shapes and colors found on one petal, a yucca flower, or a leaf. These wonders are found in Sunland and Tujunga, distant from the urban core of Los Angeles, yet a vital part of the metropolis. The profusion of gardens and wildlife areas permeated with intense sunlight transform these small towns into places of magic – their charms captured with a digital camera.

Maja Trochimczyk, Ph.D. is a poet, music historian and non-profit director, who takes pictures of what she likes to see in her neighborhood in California. An author of four books on music and four volumes of poetry, Maja is a recipient of many prizes, including honors from the City and County of Los Angeles and Poland’s Ministry of Culture. Her photographs previously appeared in PoeticDiversity, The Houston Literary Review, Epiphany Magazine, Polish Music Journal, and books by Moonrise Press. She participated in two group art shows: at the Scenic Drive Gallery in 2011 (“Poets –Artists” Exhibition) and at the Colburn School of Music (KRAK Art Group music photo exhibition associated with the American Paderewski Piano Competition in May 2013). This is her first solo photography exhibit, which will be accompanied by a reading of her garden-and-rose themed poems during the opening reception on September 1, 2013.

MAJA ABOUT THE INSPIRATION FOR THIS EXHIBITION:

A poet and music historian, I like to share the delights I experience every day in my new life in California (after almost 20 years, still "new"). This sense of bewilderment with life and nature is shared by children and convalescents. I once saw an older, frail woman shuffling along the sidewalk, with a hospital pallor still marking her face. . . She glowed with childlike wonder, admiring everything she saw. "Look at this leaf" - she said to me, "Isn't it amazing? Everything is so beautiful today..."

 My first solo exhibition features a selection of thousands of pictures taken in response to this admonition.... "look at this leaf..." I also look at the play of light and shadow, the reflections on the water, and the miraculous shapes of petals of my roses. Sometimes, I write poems about what I see and the Opening Reception will feature some of my poems, especially those inspired by roses, and the love that they carry in their multi-petaled hearts. 

With a simple digital camera I take pictures of what I like to see in my neighborhood in California. An online journal, PoeticDiversity made me the Artist in Residence in their August 2009 issue. Photographs of roses appeared in the Epiphany Magazine, No. 16, October 2012 and in The Houston Literary Review, June 2009 visual arts issue. I participated in two group art shows, at the Scenic Drive Gallery in 2011 (Poets -Artists) and at the Colburn School of Music (associated with the American Paderewski Piano Competition in May 2013). 

I used my photos as illustrations in my poetry books, Rose Always and Miriam's Iris, published by Moonrise Press. I also designed all the Moonrise Press covers, often featuring my own photographs.

    

 A Study of Leaves, Descanso Gardens, 2012 

 Sunland Seasons in 30 Photos, Autumn 2009 

 Rose and Roses in 48 Photos, October 2010 

 Artist in Residence at Poetic Diversity, 2009 

Nature photography also livens up my online chapbooks, Poems and Stories, Glorias and Assorted Praises, and Poems for my Friend. My news photography of charity and music events have appeared in various papers and newsletters in the U.S. and Poland. But my favorites are roses... 

ROSE WINDOW

I place you in the heart of my rose, dark red one,
with dew drops on its leaves.
Like a tricked-up baby
from Ann Geddes' postcard
you rest, snugly wrapped
in the comfort of my love.
"That too shall pass," they say,
"That too shall pass.
The rose will wither,
love will fade away."

Respectfully, I disagree.
I know the symmetry
of velvet petals
is but an opening
into a different universe,
a cosmic window,
timeless.
I see it in the shyness
of your smile. Yes.
You are that lucky.
In the morning
when the curtains of mist
open above silver hills
carved from time
like a Japanese woodcut,
you taste freedom.
You found your true self
under the detritus
of disordered life.
Isn't it strange
that you've been saved
by the perfection
of just one rose?

http://www.moonrisepress.com/rosealways.html

On Henry Brant's Music Stand and Summer Diversions

In the spring of 2004, I drove to Santa Barbara every week with a tape-recorder to interview Henry Brant (b. 1913, d. 2008), one of the most original “mavericks” of American concert music.  Henry had just won the Pulitzer Prize for his monumental orchestral composition, Ice Field, premiered in 2001 in San Francisco with the support of the Rockefeller Foundation and Other Minds Festival (with Michael Tilson Thomas conducting). 

The Ice Field, for 100 musicians dispersed throughout the concert hall, from the stage to the top balconies, was inspired, like so many Brant’s pieces, by an apocalyptic, violent environmental event, the breaking of the ice field. He also wrote music about hurricanes, meteor showers, waterfalls, sun spots, and the destruction of rainforest.

The Ice Field is made of clashing layers and eruptions of sound from many directions. In the words of the composer,  the piece features: “extreme high register outbursts, extreme low register volcanic suggestions, melismas both sustained and jagged, spatial textures of polyphonically dense complication, and sections of unmistakably jazz character presented in harmonically strident contexts…” I spent a fair number of years studying Brant’s unique spatial music among other approaches to connecting music and space.  

Brant loved the music of Charles Ives (1974-1954), a pioneer life-insurance-salesman-turned-composer (or vice versa) whose “Unanswered Question” (1906) is a 20th century classic, and “The Fourth of July” should be in every American home. Is it? I was amazed after moving here that my American students have never heard of Ives. Who heard of Brant in his centennial year?  I learned about Ives and Brant in Poland.  

My home country’s Parliament declared 2013 to be the year of composer Witold Lutoslawski (1913-1994), and his centenary was celebrated around the world, including the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Alas, the U.S. Congress did not declare 2013 the Henry Brant Year.

Kathy Wilkowski and Joel Hunt with Brant's materials. Photo by Maja Trochimczyk

My book of interviews will be among very few commemorations of Brant’s unique and visionary talent. Emerging Brant scholar, music theorist and saxophone player Joel Hunt will transcribe them.  The details of life and music will be thoroughly reviewed by Kathy Wilkowski, the composer's dedicated widow, who finally finished cataloging his works before shipping the manuscripts and documents off to the Sacher Stiftung in Basel... Yes, a book will definitely be lots of fun.

I have not written any poems about Brant yet, though the old music stand with Brant’s German inscription is begging for some verse (a gift from his widow, Kathy Wilkowski).  Let me try...

Maja Trochimczyk with Kathy Wilkowski and
 the Music  Stand. Photo by Joel Hunt.

The Music Stand

~ for Henry Brant, in memoriam and for Kathy Wilkowski

(c) 2013 by Maja Trochimczyk

Three ornate cast-iron legs

Dark, polished wood inscribed in German

Luften! Nicht Schleppen!

The faint red ink of the composer's warning 

Fades away, erased by death, melting into 

Timelessness - Lift! Do not Drag!

It stands in the corner, beneath a portrait 

Of a lady in an intricate golden frame. How do they

Bear surviving? Oh, the mindless cruelty of things!

Lift your eyes, child, when you speak to me.

Don't drag your feet. You'll wear out your shoes 

And who's going to pay for them to be fixed?

Do not drag me into this sorry affair
You are too good for that! Sing, sing, 
Sing along! Lift your spirit up to heaven!

Who knows what the music stand has heard? 

Who gave a German name to this antique wood?

Lifted before and after the rehearsals

In the most unlikely places - the top balcony, 
On the stage, between the aisles, under 
The maple tree in the courtyard

On the roof, by the pond - music transcends 

Space, weaving distant streams into a tapestry

Of sound and whimsy, crashing icebergs

Fountains and volcanoes. Here, four boats 

Of flutists float along the river Amstel, 

Under the din of Amsterdam's carillons 

There, a South-Indian trio, with a jazz band 

Gamelan, and Caribean steel drums. Don't forget 

A hundred trombones orbiting in a circle

A hundred guitars strumming an elegy 

For the rosewood trees killed to make them

They died in the rain-forest that will not grow back

Luften! Nicht Schleppen! Look up to the sky

Catch your vermilion days in a lucid net 
of notes, words - found, scribbled, counted

Lift! Do not Drag! Keep your spirits high

with the Angels and Devils, Verticals Ascending

Instant Music and Unanswered Dreams

Mojave Valley Yucca, Photo by Maja Trochimczyk

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Not to get overwhelmed with existential and environmental drama, I wrote a rhapsody on the flavors of summer.  The flavors of past summers in Poland, mixed in with intense, fragrant summers of Southern California. 

Mojave Valley Yucca. Photo by Maja Trochimczyk

The Flavors of Summer

(c) 2013 by Maja Trochimczyk

Pink clouds of raspberry sorbet float in
A large bowl of cherry soda at the museum.
“The signature recipe of my Grandma”
She offers, “the taste of my childhood.”
Not my flavor, not my taste.

The cold sweetness fizzles on my tongue
In the idyllic country of Ramona, the siren
Of almond blossoms and winter sunshine,
The tragic heroine from pages of an old romance,
And a tourist attraction, rolled in one.

Foreign story, distant times.  I long for
Hand-picked cherries bursting with delight
While my bare legs dangled from the tree branch.
I dream of my mom’s famous zupa nic, soup nothing –
Egg-white clouds frozen in a yellow yolk sky.

I see scarlet droplets scattered in a forest clearing
Wild strawberries hiding under fern fronds
Discovered in a burst of sunlight, bittersweet
Treasure preserved in small jars of confiture –
A teaspoon for each dark night of winter.

Bittersweet grapefruit ripens on my tree
Pink juice wells up under sunny yellow skin.
Birds got to the apricots before I did, leaving
A memorial of round holes in soft orange fuzz.
I find comfort in the scent of lavender and rosemary.

The dangerous whir of hornets (run if you hear one)
Morphed into a low din of bejeweled hummingbirds
Bombing each other away from the sugar water
In a ruby feeder, among flowercups of mandevilla
And white star jasmine climbing the roof of my patio.

I let the grass grow tall in my backyard this July
To remember the orchard of my aunt, the juice
Of cherries and pears on my chin, angry circles
Of yellow-jackets that sting and sting again
Unlike noble honeybees, dying with honor.

My neighbors of immaculate lawns and pristine
Driveways look at the Slavic jungle with disdain
And a warning: “Beware of snakes. Rattlers are hiding
In your grass. They are thirsty. They come from the desert. 
Watch out for the snakes of California summer.”

 

 

As the readers may have noticed, the inspiration  for this poem came from attending a Ramona lecture by Dydia Delyser at the Bolton Hall Museum… Who heard of Ramona? A fictional heroine of a 19th century novel by Helen Hunt Jackson, an activist, Indian Affairs inspector (who in vain bombarded the Congress with documents and reports about abuse and injustices inflicted upon Native Americans).  Mrs. Jackson decided to fictionalize the many grim and tragic events from the history of Mission Indians that she described in her somber reports and books. 

Escodillo Museum, Ramona's Marriage Place in Old Town San Diego.

The end result, a tragic love story in a novel "Ramona," became an unofficial guide to Southern California for visitors by train and the automobile, and a myth. Charles Fletcher Lummis, D. W. Griffith, and other luminaries became fascinated by the story, that became the subject of three movies. The book itself had more than 300 editions and spawned a tourist industry, with Ramona-themed locations and attractions in Ventura, San Diego, and other counties.  In addition to the various places and companies named after Ramona, her story has survived the past 80 years in the town of Hemet that has held the annual Ramona Pageant in late April. 

I visited San Diego and stopped by the Casa de Estudillo in the Old Town Historic Park. The U-shaped house is filled with artefact from Californio life - the Spanish-themed house includes a small tribute to Ramona, the novel that saved the building, known as "Ramona's Marriage Place" to the book's readers and lovers.

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Photos by Maja Trochimczyk, unless otherwise indicated.

On Irony and Love Songs with Grapefruit and Pomegranate

Some people… wrap themselves in a thick blanket of irony of sarcasm and greet every expression of sentiment or affection with a sneer. We’ve all seen our share of these tough guys and gals, who curse or ridicule every expression of what really matters. “How banal, how boring!” they say, when they hear a sweet love poem, like the one below (first published in the Emerging Urban Poets 2010 Calendar). I remember, I was like that, too, deeply wounded and hiding my pain under a mask of worldly indifference. There was no hope, no future, only the reward for work done in the present. All love declarations I heard were a gigantic lie. The Universe was wrong, all around me. We lived in Hell. Or so I thought.  In my new life vision the Hell part has been upgraded to the level of Purgatory, the place of atonement, relentless testing, endless life exams. Yet, there is hope, there is love, and there are glimpses of Heaven.

The concept of “irony” (from the Greek term εἰρωνεία eirōneía, “pretended ignorance”) is a great invention of romantic heroes, starting from Lord Byron, who protected their vulnerability with an armor of disaffection, finding themselves alienated from the whole world. It still is a useful literary device, but why is it wrong to be ironic in life? To spend your life so well armored, that no real emotion may pierce it? That’s exactly why. This separation from others, this distance, alienation, is the plunge of the soul into the emptiness of a spiritual void. Ugly things become possible: indifference, cruelty, unwillingness to help others, to care for anyone at all, but your own career goals or physical comfort. 

I was going to say I “hate” irony but that’s not true, I do not hate anything, nor anyone. I have pity instead. I consciously cultivate in myself an ability to be filled with love and compassion for everyone. (Do I fail in that? Of course, but it is not giving up that matters…) The moral choice of refusing to be ironic, in life or art, may have unpleasant consequences. Some “real” poets would think me silly, and my love poetry sappy and trite, as I happily write a next sweet line while listening to the rich mezzosoprano of Patsy Cline or Ella Fitzgerald, warm as liquid honey: “I’ll be loving you… always… with the love that’s true… always….” 

These words were once addressed to a real person, just as my encounter in the garden really happened… but I don’t think we need to know such details, to feel refreshed and nourished by love.

The bitter-sweet pink grapefruit and the baby pomegranates from my garden are a perfect illustration of our topic for today.

A Portrait in Brackets

               “… you promise eternity almost, from the embrace.”

                     Reiner Maria Rilke, The Second Elegy, Duino Elegies

I love every hair on your head

every wrinkle, the round scar

in the middle of your forehead

like Cain’s mark – you are

the chosen one, the untouchable

The little freckles on your nose

shine – endearing, childlike

It was supposed to be

summertime when they came

Here’s summer all the time, already

My love stirs for your full, half-open lips

waiting for my kisses, as I caress

the sharp contours of your cheeks –

I hold them in my cupped hands

looking straight into your eyes

There is no world

only us and the birdsong

at noon in my garden

I love the quiet confidence

of your fingers, skillful hands

like my father’s – solid, able

to fix things, take care of me

I touch your skin, tracing a line

down the nose, soft lips, and chin

I brush against the prickles

of your goatee, before reaching

a sweet spot on your neck

Below your shoulders, under

the smoothness of hard muscles

the bell of your heart welcomes me

The blood sings in your veins, love

surges towards me – I do I do I do

I rest my head on your chest

and listen to your heart

that beats and beats and never

stops playing the music 

© 2009 by Maja Trochimczyk. Published in 2010 Calendar, Emerging Urban Poets, Pasadena.

A Lesson for My Daughter

After a ruby-colored glass of Merlot

I told my daughter the secret of the Universe.

I solved it at noon, by the river

Questions, as I thought, do not matter

The right answers to life are “Yes”

And “I Love You”

If you build a circle of “Yes” all around

Affirming who you really are

You will be safe

If you say “I Love You” to everyone

near you –  very quietly, so they can’t hear

but you know

You will walk in a sphere of gladness

That no insult or curse

May pierce

You will find yourself hidden deeply

Where love blossoms, laughter bubbles

And joy overflows

© 2006 by Maja Trochimczyk 

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This article and two poems are published in the June issue of The Voice of the Village.

Photos from my garden - grapefruit and pomegranate.