Friday, 19 July 2013

A few places still available on the summer school

http://www.oxforduniversitystores.co.uk/browse/extra_info.asp?compid=1&modid=1&deptid=123&catid=938&prodvarid=567

There are just a few places left on the course, poetry confronting art, 7/8 August 2013 at The Ashmolean. There is just time left to apply for a bursary of the full cost of the course if you have signed up. Send an ekphrastic poem about an object in the Ashmolean to me at the e-mail address of this weblog, once you have enrolled. The best poem wins. I am very much looking forward to helping people find inspiration for creative poetry writing. Do remember to bring a camera or smartphone with you to the course if you have one. Don't worry if not, the museum can lend you one. cameras are not essential, but your images can help you develop your work.

Poetry confronting art; a summer school at The Ashmolean Museum 7/8 August

http://www.oxforduniversitystores.co.uk/browse/extra_info.asp?compid=1&modid=1&deptid=123&catid=938&prodvarid=567

Please contact Nick Owen directly on 07962532478 to learn more about this course.

Thursday, 18 July 2013

Diana Moore: Pan and his Pipes

http://www.ashmoleanprints.com/image/383266/italian-padua-inkstand-pan-listening-to-echo


Name of poet:                DIANA MOORE                           date sent in:  3rd June 2013



Title of poem:   PAN AND HIS PIPES


Name of object in the museum:   PAN LISTENING TO ECHO


Number and name of Gallery in the museum:   WESTERN ART, GALLERY 43






Pan and his pipes.  Pan and his pipes . Pipes, pipes, pipes.
Pan and his pipes.  Pan and his pipes.  Pipes, pipes, pipes.
He’s stopped and he’s stopped in his tracks.  Tracks.
What is it in the air that he lacks?   Lacks, lacks.

I have waited in the meadow with the flowers.  Hours
Sweet are the daisy and cowslip.  Slip
Here in the meadow, alone by and by
I sigh.  Sigh.

Where are you Echo my love?   I Love.
You are my only love. Am I your only one?  Only one.
Here am I for you always, to no other will I go.  Go.
Is that you singing in the leaves, don’t leave me.  Leave me.
Alone, I don’t want to be alone.  Alone.

What say you plants…?
Come Crested dogs-tail.  I ail.
Do you feel low, as I do, Musk mallow?
Are you ill for love, Tormentil?

Here among the Meadow Brome.  I roam
I roam and seek your presence.  Essence.
I have waited in the meadowsweet meadow.  Oh!
Echo, come take my hand.  And
I will wait for you here in the meadow. Oh! Woe!

©Diana Moore

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Diana writes and performs for both children and adults.  Her poetry workshops are fun and interactive.  For further information, or to book an event, please contact Diana via her website or on mobile:  07789 302995.  www.diana-moore.com

Information sourced from the Ashmolean research team.
Pan Listening to Echo
Attributed to DESIDERIO DA FIRENZE
(active Veneto 1532 – 45)
Padua or Venice, 1520 - 30

Long regarded as one of the most poetic small bronzes of the Italian Renaissance, the so-called Pan listening to Echo was the first bronze that Fortnum ever acquired. 

The classical god of the woods and fields is here shown in near-human form, with only his small horns, sharp pointed ears and tuft of tail betraying his true nature.   More commonly depicted in art as a satyr-like figure driven by his animal instincts, Pan is depicted in quite a different light in the story of his vain love for the nymph Echo, which appears in Greek pastoral poetry.  Around the beginning of the sixteenth century, the story enjoyed renewed popularity because of the enormous success of the poem Pan and Echo by the great poet Poliziano, first published in 1494.  These haunting verses, in which the echo responds to the lover’s lament, are a perfect gloss on the bronze and may well have directly inspired it.


Che fai tu Echo mentre chio ti chiamo? Amo.
Ami tu duo/ o pur un solo? un solo.
E io te sol e non altri amo: altri amo
Dunque non ami tu un solo? Un solo
Questo รจ un dirmi inon tamo: inon tamo
Quel che tu ami: amil tu solo? Solo
Chi tha levato dal mio Amore? Amore
Chef a quello achi porti Amore? Ah more.


Note:  The above is an extract from a longer (two-page) article.

Inspiration for the piece ~ a note from Diana Moore

I was taken with gentleness of Pan in this bronze, as well as the title Pan Listening to Echo.  I was curious as to why he is depicted in this almost human form (he has toes, while the satyr-like Pan god has cloven hooves).  I like the detail and quality (you need to see his back for the muscle detail).  I could see scope to write a musical piece, however, for this occasion, I have experimented with an echo poem.  I met with a native Italian to get a translation of the old poem (above) and this gave me a starting point for my own work.

Greek Mythology
There are a number of stories of Echo in Greek mythology.  Firstly, Echo had her power of speech taken away by Zeus’s wife, Hera  (see the tale of Echo and Hera);  secondly,  Echo fell in love with Narcissus, but Narcissus was only in love with himself.  Thirdly, Pan fell in love with Echo but Echo did not love him back and that is the angle I have chosen to write about, Pan’s vain love for Echo.

There is a more harrowing tale of Pan and Echo in which she is torn to shreds for rejecting Pan, and there is yet another story that suggests Pan and Echo were married and had two children…!

Saturday, 15 June 2013

THE LAST NIGHT, A NIGHTINGALE by Vahni Capildeo

You begin with a design:
the artist’s strokes
a kind of preening that elicits
frictive glosses from your close-up wings.
Whoever drew you also caged you,
this freehand desert-colour time-box
partly pinkish, like your eggshells.
Through a set of lilac lines,
and dawn, and dusk,
you look sideways.
Sweet, invasive and entirely silenced thing,
I’ve company to place beside you –
not yet.
Passerine bird,
in your passage from Persian to English
you’re no longer a nightingale, though you’ll warble
and curl your toes.
While you perch,
I’m minded to bring you a tree and a night
and a song to be yours: the memorable one
flung out by your namesake from a moonstruck twig
that time our deaths were forecast on the news
so we went for a walk, and rested in you

our everything lyrical forever.

Sunday, 9 June 2013

Emperor by Nick Owen (second draft)

Just a sketch
Guidelines for street art
A welcome for the Spanish Governor

And the most compelling object in this old museum

These are the lines of battle                                 
Lines of sorrow
And defeat

No face has endured more

His eyes
Look back into his soul
Look outward in fear

His will to power holds him hanging by a thread

His lips
Set firm
Are yet resigned to what must come

The crown sits awkwardly
Tipping backward from his forehead
Ready to fall

He knows nothing of surrender to the Self

He holds high his sceptre
An almost empty threat
A sword without an edge

He will never know the peace of letting go

His body bent
Right foot inching forward
His head torn sideways

Death distracts him from left field
Armour and authority
Hold no sway with this assailant

The orb, the world
Held in his hand
Is eaten by shadows

His liver is all shadow
This wounded King knows
Nothing of the grail

His inner world
His outer world
A wasteland

Only fear
And an ego of steel
A habit of rulership

Fight off the darkness

He needs to feed on the world he mastered
Draw its mother milk to his embrace
No sustenance comes

Soon he will be food for worms

Despite his conquests in this world and time
He must return again to dust and slime

For in this portrait we can clearly see
He found no moment in eternity.


©Nick Owen 2013

Updated Readings for June gallery Readings

Gallery readings for June 15th
12.30-13.45      14.30-15.45

Poet                  Name of poem              Object                         Gallery

Gabby Tyrell            Netsuke (Manju)                    Netsuke                                      ?

Nick Owen                Emperor                          Emperor (Rubens  sketch)         Dutch gallery

Jennifer A McGowan    Morning at the Maru-Aten Temple  pavement painting          Egyptian Gallery

Andrew Smardon       Aestel                             the Alfred Jewell            Room 41 England 400 - 1600


Giles Watson            Morrigan         Bronze Raven's Head- Shaped Spout,                                                                                
                                                                                  First Century B.C. Hod Hill, Dorset.  Gallery 17                                                                                                                                                                                                     
                                                                                                        (European Prehistory)

Olivia Byard       In true Colours.    The forest fire by Piero di Cosimo     Renaissance gallery.


Diana Moore    PAN AND HIS PIPES          PAN LISTENING TO ECHO                        WESTERN ART, GALLERY 43

Vahni Capildeo      The Last Night, A Nightingale    Red-vented Bulbul.     Gallery 33, Mughal India.


Paulette Mae       no title yet               The Cast Gallery... the casts in general  around the 'Old Fisherman'.


In True Colours (‘The Forest Fire’ by Piero di Cosimo) by Olivia Byard

I have always known such creatures
prowled in the forest; felt their flint eyes
watching; sensed them stir behind
thick boughs. Now here is proof.

Spilled out by fire into the fading day
they scatter in search of other lairs.
The cannier, with human face, look
almost shamed to be exposed like this;

yet lions and lumbering bears
race out unthinking beside a bellowing
domestic cow. In such a scurry
nightmares dissipate

to their fragmented parts. Yet
when, the fire tamed, plants begin
to reclaim those scorched-out tracks,
these creatures sneak back in,

conceal themselves in undergrowth
nest among burgeoning branches,
and wait, with silent intent,
for the dark dreams to quicken.


Olivia Byard

Published by The Flambard press