Welcome to Chapter 18 of my Book Passages series. A few times on this visual journey I have gone off the main road to visit some interesting passages that could only be found on the back roads of this incredible trip. Those images and passages are reflected in the radio dialog "God", the recent passage from Mary's novel and now William Schulman's poem.
For those who may not know, William (Bill) Schulman is my father-in-law and has been one of my biggest supporters on this Book Passages journey. Also for those who may not know, Bill is an incredible artist and retired educator. Even now he continues to create new work on a regular basis with his brushes as well as his pen. Check out the links I've provided which help provide some background to the man behind the poem starting with one of my favorite paintings by Bill and a brief review from Gary John Gresl on the Retrospective Show Bill had at the Charles Allis Museum about five years ago .
This visual interpretation of Bill's poem is fittingly abstract just like much of Bill's art work is. It's as much a visual interpretation to the artist as it is to his poem. I feel I nailed it. If you are looking for a narrative illustration you will probably be disappointed. If you appreciate the abstract play of his words to my visual reflection it may become one of your favorites as it has mine. Either way it should provoke some kind of response and if it does then please share your thoughts in the comment section of the blog. Your opinions help shape the dialog for others to enjoy and contemplate.
Reflections by William Schulman
Reflections hold rigid,
my Ronson fails once more.
The candle sputters but will not light.
All seems light, yet the numbing dark
interfaces my veins and arteries.
Blood has coagulated in blue-ivory,
bed-ridden fancies collapse in my coma,
Rigor mortis stains my breath,
my last follicle twitches in vain.
All parasitic lice begin to starve.
Reflections pool in my ankles in strange ways.
They stretch me out on a snooker table-
I crush the chalk with a clenched fist.
The green cloth is blue in the pockets.
Dull clicks become icier.
The Van Gogh light shade glows citron.
They rack me up.
The yellow ball hurts my eyes.
I have an immense desire
These are not a series but two separate options. Which one speaks to you more? Please comment.