Tag Archives: caroline nevin

This Is My Libertine Story

by Laura Carter

Schrödinger’s Cat by Caroline Nevin  (https://www.facebook.com/CINfulART)

Schrödinger’s Cat by Caroline Nevin (https://www.facebook.com/CINfulART)

 

Games retire into heart
and then the Copernican window
that never quite says what it can say
because the world is made up of obsolete angles.
I listen to Neutral Milk Hotel and think of the two-headed
Hegel, though I know that A does not equal what it is.
On the other side of the city, a couple settles down
and turns on the TV for the last time. And then they get divorced.
It’s as simple as that really, the fact that they have grown apart
because the night crept into them where it hurt.
There’s really nothing left of a city when you
see only the remains of the day, and then nothing left of those old remains.
Salvador and his friends are growing beards again in my latest longing.

*

Every night we kiss before the sheets become wet with
remnants of bodies lost in space
Before a loss
there is always a voice that comes from somewhere telling us that we should
stop
By we I mean me
and you the one I once remembered
but the dawn is an unruly fool
matched only by night
where things are almost simple and right with the new rain
and everybody
loves to wear a city and
even the sky is a new rooftop

*

A document is filed under sun and
nothing seems to change.
Outside, the world is what it has always been:
full of people needing to care
and be cared for, full of people needing to hug and be hugged and to be blessed
by something, if not others.
The old people
walk slowly to their doctors’ visits,
making ducks back into dogs,
telling off the sun because it’s so far gone and
the only thing left is
a body—not just one but maybe many
slouching toward a destination.

*

Modernity is made of old spikes—
you lose one, and then I help you heal where it fell
into the ground into a puddle of milk.
The other side of the revolution
is that a lover can be made of nothing
but himself—pure self—pure nothing but him-him-him-himself
and the world is brighter than an orange May.
A new romance is almost as alphabetic as
the time you escaped from the womb again.

*

A sun glistens in early
and you don’t know what to do so you make your coffee
and imagine what your next life will be.
Made up of the worlds of alphabet skies,
you’re not all there yet, but you want to be there oh so bad.
While you’re worrying about the next thing, I’m worrying about
where I put the keys to the car in case I need
to flee in the middle of the night and
drive to the station to write a letter.
The next thing I want to do is become ordinary,
as plain as new luxe
but not entirely live
as a wire is live, not entirely all that way.
The place near the desk where you put your chair spins.

*

As it turns out, the animals are awake
and listening to Cyndi Lauper on iTunes
until 3 in the morning, just because they can.
Everything for sale, until dawn
hits and their lovers turn over in their beds.
Neglect? you might ask. What’s the working world about?
It’s not the lake anyone needed.
It’s not even Times Square where the cultures are all blending and
and suddenly your Jungianism seems obsolete, retarded
by the station moving forward in space.

*

Someone wants to enter the door of the law for the last time.
It’s like shuffling what’s left—
with tears for ordinary
time schedules train stations left.
The latest groove is an exercise in fear,
when the world doesn’t want to take you in.
Someone enters the last door
and begs a little sustenance
as if remembering what a love was for.

laura carterLaura Carter lives in Atlanta, where she is poet-in-residence at WonderRoot Center for Art & Social Change until March. Her most recent chapbooks are out in 2014 with Dancing Girl and ShirtPocket Presses. She has published many poems online and in print journals, and she lives on the east side of the city with her two cats, Sasha and Sonya.

Flappers and Bees

by Caroline Nevin

Fanny

Fanny

 

Trixie

Trixie

I adore flappers & bees so it’s no coincidence that elements of bees and vintage girly delights are juxtaposed, and in most cases combined in many of my pieces. The intention is to create a conversational timeline between the past and the present and make evident the parallels that still exist today as we continue to adapt and respond to nature through social response. Here are some connections and parallels I’ve perceived between the importance of the work of honeybees, and the work of women in the 1920s.

Historically, dancing has and continues to be used as a popular form of expression and as an indicator of social behavior – as a sacred ritual, as a form of communication for social change and courtship activity, or just to let loose, dancing provides us with important cues that can actually be key to our survival, providing an evolutionary advantage. No one knows this better than honeybees, especially currently. Honeybees (scouts that just happen to be female and are known for their sociability) use the waggle dance for resourceful foraging by indicating to the hive where nectar and pollen can be found in abundance and also where the best new possible nesting locations are. This dance saves the whole hive valuable time and energy and in essence is a harmonious nurturing and preserving of the community. This is especially important now, given the struggles honeybees are facing in recent years through Colony Collapse Disorder after thriving for 50 million years, as a result of current farming practices specifically through the use of pesticides.

Buzz.fm

Buzz.fm

When I contemplate the roaring twenties, I automatically think of a group of gadabout flappers kicking up their heels and dancing The Charleston, much like a swarm of bees. It is the epitome and image of the liberated woman. Women were evolving from the strictures of the Victorian era. In that time, women were seen as chattels of their husbands. The flappers began to emulate the freedom that men had so long enjoyed. They were seen in “speak easy” bars, they smoked, danced and engaged in ‘unmentionables’. They cut their hair short in the flapper “bob.” Until then, women had long hair that they wore up, restricted in a bun. The flappers showed their knees, as long hemlines were replaced in favour of short, loose dresses, which was in revolt of the long heavy skirts and corsets worn by Victorian women. This also coincided with women getting the vote (suffrage) and women working outside the home. Women came together in hive like behavior as they banded together to fight for their rights in a gesture of alliance and posterity, foraging together – and indeed their life depended on it. Women today depended on the work they did to ensure advancing the rights of women.

Saucy Queens

Saucy Queens

Which brings us back to the bee. I’m not asking you to get your picket signs out and start a revolution. Picketing isn’t for the faint of heart. Although if you feel so inclined, please do! I’m suggesting the gentle gesture of planting a bee friendly garden that will attract honeybees. You can even start with one potted plant if you don’t have space for a full garden. And secondly, refrain from using pesticides. This is for your benefit as much as for the bees.

You may find there is a vagueness to the comparison I’ve drawn, but the most important thing to know for now is that I mean to amuse through my art pieces while raising awareness about bees, and the essential importance of their ability to nurture and sustain nature and community in their fragile states. Things will become clearer as I elaborate on these ideas in future musings. Things will become clearer as the idea unfolds and develops. In the mean time, I leave you with the Bee Knees to contemplate the profound act of synchronicity and connection that occurs through the social expression of dance – a mirror to nature…and ultimately, us.

Frances

Frances

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Garnet & Ashes

Garnet & Ashes is a sprightly line of vintage inspired mixed media original fine art & reproductions.  A venture of Caroline Nevin; a contemporary artist and BFA graduate from Concordia University, Montreal, Quebec, Garnet & Ashes utilizes a nudging, playful approach with a mélange of bee imagery, vintage treasures and ephemera to arouse and ignite the senses and inspire reflection on notions of identity and memory, discordant habitats and reevaluations of archaic social structures.

Caroline Nevin

Caroline Nevin

 

 

www.garnetandashes.com

www.instagram.com/garnetandashes

www.twitter.com/garnetandashes

www.facebook.com/garnetandashes

www.pinterest.com/garnetandashes

https://www.etsy.com/ca/shop/GarnetandAshes

 

 

 

 

 

 

Liminal

By Nicole J. Johns
Image by Caroline Nevin

Queen of the Grotto by Caroline Nevin

Queen of the Grotto by Caroline Nevin https://www.facebook.com/CINfulART


 
The Trouble with Bridges

to have lived in this town
is to never trust a bridge again.

we have seen
when bridges fail, like people.

we feel the give and shake
as we sit idling in traffic.

bumper to bumper
so close together, we are.
 
 
gusset plate crumbling
like a thin, rusty communion wafer.

tumbling, braking, crashing,
praying.
 
 
Bridges don’t collapse in America.
 
 
this must be some third world country,
or a terrorist attack.

we know better,
the sonic boom alerted and altered.

we sit disconnected, staring
at taillights and that murky water.

wondering, knowing, our river
is full of secrets.

and we are merely suspended–
above
 

Liminal

find the dark space—
crawl inside

iniquity.

we go down,
together. into

liminal space
language, no one

has ever written—
or spoken.

language is born.
language is reborn.

straddle the gap,
quiver along the line

 

Rush Hour

what does it mean
to tell you this?

to sit static
on the interstate

and think of the place
i used to call home

a time and a space
rolling in memory

the person i was
three lives ago

gone.

all of us
have multiple lives

we are all reborn
of former selves

our old lives
creep in on us

during rush hour
while waiting in line

would you have loved
the person i once was?

 

Poetry Village

I want to join a poetry village,
where metaphors
Run wild through a dim forest,

A plethora of frenzied poesy,
poems composed by poets,
Strung out on coffee, cigarettes,
gin and tonic, and love.

Verbs race through the air,
knocking into the walls of huts,
Nouns primly sip tea with a poet.

A genre goddess knocks at the door,
bringing with her a custom made muse,
A replica of the woman I fell in love with
over lunches, late nights and dancing.

Erogenous alphabets float
through the atmosphere,
a cacophony of rolling consonants blending.
Redundant entanglements are forbidden.

Nicole J. JohnsNicole J. Johns is originally from rural western Pennsylvania, but now lives in the Twin Cities of Minnesota, where she teaches English at the University of Wisconsin-River Falls. She received her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of Minnesota and her BA in English/Creative Writing from Penn State-Erie, The Behrend College. Her first book, Purge: Rehab Diaries (Seal Press, 2009) was nominated for ForeWord Magazine’s Book of the Year Award in memoir, and has been described by Library Journal as an “unflinching work rooted in feminist self-reflection.” Nicole has also published poems in numerous literary magazines, including The Evening Street Review, Ellipsis, and Lake Effect.

Check out her Website and her Facebook page or say “hi” on Twitter (@nicolejjohns). You can writer her at nicolejjohns@gmail.com.

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