Mail-art by IUOMA member Emily Townsend (Lakewood, Colorado, USA)
February 1, 2011 - Emily Townsend sent me a mail-art book announcing a call for her ongoing Goddess project (see the final panel of this blog for complete information). I knew about this interesting call, seeking material related to the goddess concept, from IUOMA postings dating back several months. I did not realize until now April 2011 will mark the four-year anniversary of this effort. These projects certainly take on a life of their own, and there is still an opportunity to submit your mail-art and Artist Trading Cards - seems ideal for all the people producing ATCs right now. The Goddess project has captured my imagination since I first heard about it. I thought that instead of taking yet another trip into the ether, I would post some stanzas from Robert Creeley's poem "The Door" (one of my favs) to accompany the scans of Emily's book. I think these lines are very much about the goddess:
Lady, do not banish me
for digressions. My nature
is a quagmire of unresolved
confessions. Lady, I follow
I walked away from myself.
I left the room, I found the garden,
I knew the woman
in it, together we lay down.
Dead night remembers. In December
we change, not multiplied but dispersed,
sneaked out of childhood,
the ritual of dismemberment.
Mighty magic is a mother
in her there is another issue
of fixture, repeated form, the race renewal,
the charge of the command.
The garden echoes across the room.
It is fixed in the wall like a mirror
that faces a window behind you
and reflects the shadows.
Where were You.
How absurd, how vicious.
There is nothing to do but get up.
My knees were iron, I rusted in worship, of You.
For that one sings, one
writes the spring poem, one goes on walking.
The Lady has always moved to the next town
and you stumble on after Her.
The door in the wall leads to the garden
where in the sunlight sit
the Graces in long Victorian dresses,
of which my grandmother had spoken.
History sings in their faces.
They are young, they are obtainable,
and you follow after them also
in the service of God and Truth.
But the Lady is indefinable,
she will be the door in the wall
to the garden in sunlight.
I will go on talking forever.
I will never get there.
Oh Lady, remember me
who in Your service grows older
not wiser, no more than before...
I will go the garden.
I will be a romantic. I will see
myself in hell,
in heaven also I will be.
In my mind I see the door,
I see the sunlight before me across the floor
beckon to me, as the Lady's skirt
moves small beyond it.
Thanks Emily for sending this. What a tremendous project!
(Sorry, bad link - trying to find one that works)