The Poem ..... Mad as Mad ..... has been published in the book ..... Roads in a Yellow Wood ..... in Tasmania.

POEM ~ The Model ~ 22 Jun 2019

The Model

When Mr Brown retired
he took up art
went to many classes
life drawing too
where he found his heart

He loved the female form
rounded curves
like billowing clouds
like sand dunes
like gliding feathered birds

He loved the coloured pastels
gentle shades to form
the rounded curves he loved to see
merging pinks
into colours like the morn

Reddish tips for nipples and cheeks
weathered tones for feet
rugged strength for hands that work
finding their story
hair falling like a river fleet

At life drawing one day he dared ask
if a model would pose
in his studio for an oil painting
on a canvas stretched
in an antique frame of gold rose

The day was set and the hour made
for the model to be
in his studio by a bay of the sea
in his old shop
he felt as happy as a bumble bee

He rubbed is bald head
making it gleam
wondering about a scene
by the sea
or in a forest stream

A sunny day with seagulls down below
where the wind was blowing in
through the rigging of the yachts
sounding like a train
which always fascinated him

The pot belly stove was stoked
making the studio warm
with the paints squeezed out
of their little tubes
onto a palette hardly worn

A gentle knock at the door
"Do come in,
is it warm enough for you?"
"I think so."
She disrobed to begin

His heart fluttered to behold
her standing in sight
"Which way should I pose?"
"By the chair."
And the paint began to fly

Bristle brushes slashed the canvas
cutting through air
spreading paint with a palette knife
smeared with a rag
her naked beauty was captured there

Inspired by the model's presence
the artist grinned
this work seemed not to be by him
then the model glared
as her boyfriend barged in

"What are you doing here?"
they all said
then a hand smeared the canvas
the model screamed
the artist's bald head went quite red

Waking up in a hospital bed
a crack on the head
by a jealous model's lover man
with his troubled heart
and his beautiful painting now quite dead

The nurse shared the news
all on the radio
how the police came and arrested
both model and lover
for brawling in Mr Brown's painting studio

"And you arrived by ambulance,
unconscious too."
Traumatic memory haunted him now
with the cruel desecration
of a painting too good to be true

Pondering on this fickle finger of fate
and the many subjects for art
he decided that trees were safer by far
and that's how he found
a new passion for painting bark

Jaqi
Bluh

Saturday
22
June
2019


NOTE ~   I once had an art studio in an old shop by a bay of the sea, where the wind blew through the rigging of of the yachts, sounding like a train. But there was no train. The last train that ran in Bellerive was over a century ago. I have worked with the model in art all my life, male and female, but never had Mr Browns problem with a model. Adding the drama made the poem more interesting: but maybe there is a lesson in there for any hobby artist thinking to work with the model in art. The experienced artist remains alert to potential problems that might hop out to haunt. The British artist, Lucian Freud, once got into an argument with a taxi driver, and got a black eye out of that ..... which he made a painting of, as soon as he was back in the studio. Artist's are often rugged creatures, turning odd circumstances into art, rather than running away to paint bark, as a safe option.

POEM ~ Highway ~ 11 Jun 2019

Highway

Flying along the highway
maintaining steady speed
trees swoosh past
and other cars
racing by my steed

Driving into walls of rain
slows down just a tad
don't want to slide
or spin around
that'd be so bad

Oncoming truck and trailer
a menacing mobile mountain
rocks the car in passing
like an ocean wave
sprayed like a fountain

Windscreen wipers
swishing, swashing
sweeping through miles
music helps
time mindlessly passing

Stop at a roadside shop
ice coffee for the mind
must keep awake
must stay alert
the highway is not kind

On the road again
a car overtakes at speed
"petrol head" I mutter
stay within the limit
no need to push the steed

An accident ahead
slows down fast
flashing lights
crawls by
happy to get past

Back up to speed
appointment to meet
roadworks ahead
stalled at lights
waiting to proceed

Only slow drive is allowed
workers all around
upgrading the highway
wider than before
now slowly city bound

Away again at speed
and onto a country road 
past cattle and sheep
and long legged alpacas
grazing their paddock abode

At last the mountain seen
a brooding mother
where the city nestles
by a river to the sea
an aquatic father

Crosses the bridge
once knocked down
by a ship that veered away
one Sunday night
on it's steam to town

Into the madding traffic
into the car tower gritty
into a slow square spiral
into a parking bay
into a day in the city 

Jaqi 
Bluh

Tue

11
June
2019

NOTE ~ This poem sings of the drive from our country town, called Ross, along ther highway, into the city of Hobart, where Mt Wellington broods above the town like a possessive mother, and the River Derwent is a great harbour by the ocean. The Tasman Bridge was knocked down by a ship in 1975, which is still down there, with the bridge rebuilt over it.

Decades on from the Tasman Bridge disaster, the memory of the tragedy still haunts the state
Phoebe Hosier, 5 January 2018, ABC News Online

https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-01-05/memory-of-tasman-bridge-collapse-lingers/10684234
"It's 44 years today since the Tasman Bridge disaster, but the memory of the traumatic event still lingers in the minds of many Tasmanians, who say they're fearful or anxious when crossing the bridge. It was in 1975 when the ore carrier Lake Illawarra struck the bridge, taking out two pylons and 127 metres and three spans of the bridge. Five motorists and seven crew members died. What caused the Lake Illawara to go off course is unknown, but historians have said strong river currents and inattention on board could have contributed.” ~ 

JAQI ~ I was living in Howrah when the bridge fell, 3 miles south, and we heard the noise. The next morning I paddled out onto the river in my canoe to see the gap in the bridge. Ferries on the river made a revival, while the Tasman Bridge was being repaired.

Tasman Bridge Collapse 40th anniversary newstories ~ FILM ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z_t6ReVkWmg

Song from the time ~ Ferryboat Shuffle ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cmzpuBH-Jis

Tasman Bridge disaster turned to opportunity for Bob Clifford and his boats ~
https://www.news.com.au/national/tasmania/tasman-bridge-disaster-turned-to-opportunity-for-bob-clifford-and-his-boats/news-story/d7e3e5330f832e2fbdea0f7fc0f8e66c

Hobart Floating Bridge, 1963 ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg0NHLek74c

Tasman Bridge Reconstruction (1978) ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJZIN2xRN2s

Memories of the old Hobart Floating Bridge ~
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M22But7VeAg

POEM ~ Boulder ~ 6 Jun 2019

Boulder

Once asleep inside my Mother Earth
snailing along through endless time
until the long slow birth revealed
a face to the air and rain so fine

Left there standing tall upon a hill
with rabbits bounding round about
and trees for friends that grew so tall
then falling down when their time was out

New trees grew from seeds of old
where birds would nest in spring
and rest on me to dance about
or stand to watch and sing

Then one so sunny morning
as I soaked in the rays of heat
a child came climbing up the hill
and found I made a really neat seat

Looking out across the countryside
and down upon the farm below
where a family field of vines
made wine with a glow

The lad would tap with a rock
and listen to the ring I would sing
resounding through the forest deep
an ancient tune of the stones that ting

One day an earthquake shook the hill
quaking ground fell away from me
and I rolled on down the slope
through vineyard and tree

Just missed the little house
tumbled through a stone wall
into the vineyard coming to rest
where grapes mark the end my fall

My friend the lad was rather angry
hammer blows instead of song
summers rolled through time
new grapes came along

Feet pressed, juices flowed
to make the wine that glowed
and the lad went away to learn
arts of life and new skills honed

Returned a man so tall and strong 
with hammer and chisel in hand
carving stone into new shape
new life for rock to stand

Then one day he stared
his chisel and hammer rings
began to crack hard upon me
chipping away the rock that sings

A year went by among the vines
barrels filled with newer wine
and I reshaped from old
into goddess sublime

Where the people sing
with summer's hot days
dancing around their statue
now in the heart of their plays

In the midst of the vines
I sing with the wine 
with a ting in time
a happy rhyme

Jaqi
Bluh

Thu

6

Jun

2019

NOTE ~ The boulder in this poem is reflective of a similar event in Italy a few years ago ~

Boulder smashes through Italian farm

BBC News, 31 January 2014

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-25975251

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CCKgjZ7JVKM

POEM ~ Aurora Dentata ~ 25 May 2019

Aurora Dentata

This painting is strange

you may feel the same

one by James Gleeson

in a plain gold frame

Called Aurora Dentata

a haunting creation

like a shark out roaming

through the ocean

You can look up dentata

and be surprised

at a myth with teeth

undisguised

But what is its meaning

what does it say

is there a message

a moral at play

An old Irish gardener

said he knew

held up his hand

and declared it was true

Had fingers missing

was a gunner in the war

on a flying fortress

through clouds of gore

He had earned the right

to spin a tale

and turn the listener

a little pale

Makes for reflection

on the horrors of war

when unbridled passion

comes to the fore

In the quiet of the gallery

in the play of art

Aurora Dentata

screams from the heart

Is it just another painting

or a comment on war

of the forces of Nature

exposed and raw

Jaqi
Bluh

Saturday
25
May
2019

Note ~  'Aurora Dentata' (1986) is a painting by the Australian surrealist artist, James Gleeson (1915-2008). He lived an amazing life, with his greatest works being created in his older years. He would not go quietly into the night.

POEM ~ Butterfly ~ 9 May 2019

Butterfly

I fell into happiness once
landing in a pool of bliss
where the swimming was nice
like a kiss

When a butterfly landed
flapping her wings
where the sunlight of love
silently sings

We were alive in the sunset
colours of the rainbow
sitting on the sand
seeing you glow

Laughing in moonlight
at silliest things
moonbeams were flying
as if they had wings

By the fire that danced
with flickering lights
your hair forest gold
whispered delights

Stars swirled around
through the velvet night
where knowing you
was to know your light

Then a yellow dawn
revealed you were real
not just a dream
who I could feel

For a moment at day
it seemed you would stay
but like the dew must melt
you were away

Stunned in happiness
dripping with bliss
on the edge of a pond
with a lingering kiss

Jaqi
Bluh

Thursday
9
May
2019

NOTE ~   Sometimes imagined, sometimes real, sometimes both, moments in life happen that leaves a tingling sensation in the imagination, echoing forever.

POEM ~ Ghost Cafe ~ 4 May 2019

Ghost Cafe

Walking alone in an icy wind
wrapped in a shivering blanket,
where will I go on this empty street
of stones like a dead grey carpet?

Winter trees reach out like bones
to take what breath they can
where I gaze at a ghost cafe
to the tune of a gusted tin can

I remember once it bubbled with life
the sound of laughter in happy light
but those people left to follow the gold
and now all that's left is the shadow of night

We spoke there once with delight
about dreams of a palace of art
did you too fly away to the gold, with
memories falling like leaves from the heart?

I can remember your laughter over coffee
as your words danced around on the table
and ideas rose like magic candles
burning as brightly as a mystical fable

The past clatters shut like a metal roller door
on haunted spectres of memories,
pulling the blanket tight from the cold
I fight on against this wind's cold treacheries

My fire of light still burns within against this night
where visions bleed oily colours of paint
in my studio with strength to match heart and soul
with a canvas stretched tight as a drum for a portrait

A study of life in pain and joy, in dark and bright,
in stone and vine, in glass and wine,
in song from the heart, spread out with paint,
creating a feast for the eyes, to greedily dine.

The painter, stands alone, hums in silence,
as loud as an old cathedral organ hive,
driving out the icy wind of frozen reveries,
turning new soil for the seeds of life.

Though I walk alone in icy winds
wrapped in a shivering blanket
as an artist I know these empty streets
and dance upon the grey stone carpet

Jaqi
Bluh

Saturday
4
May
2019

NOTE ~   Does this poem speak of the loneliness of an artist, surrounded by a chaotic carnival of memories, and yet defiant with an inner strength. People may look upon this crazy character, and think them mad, but, what if in their studio they are producing works worth many millions of dollars, not because paint is gold, but because if those works are loved, it is this love that turns the dried oil paint in sheets of gold. It is love that makes art live through millennia, and gain its money value. If the art is not worth the love of generations, then it dies, and sinks into oblivion. But, often the artist is lost from sight in life, behind the finely oiled opinions of others. And like Paul Gauguin's landlord, after the death of the artist, drags a trunk full of the artist's work down to the sea, and pushes it all off the end of a jetty, to float away into oblivion. How many millions of dollars sank in that blind act of madness by a sane landlord? There are many individuals lost in life, who may have inner treasure, hidden from sight.