VVP: Art 434 & Engl. 410

Website for Vision Voice and Practice: An Interdisciplinary Course in Art and Creative Writing

Tuesday, February 20, 2018

Cross-Genre Conversation

In this project, students made digitally created works that referenced (or responded to), in some way, the poetry of Marianne Moore and the boxes of Joseph Cornell.

~

The Parrot

Green—
Lima bean
Hue—feathers decorate his lightweight
Frame, fit for flight. The crate
Imprisons him and renders feathered

Wings
Useless things.
Scarlet spots tinge his lime; yellow gold
Seeps in the creaséd fold
Of feathers and highlights his head’s crest.

White,
Like moonlight,
Contrasts sharply with his tropical
Colors, like a strong call
for him to soar out into azure

Sky
Or else die
Without ever recognizing the wealth
Of wings, the need for health
In catapulting his soul into clouds

Where
Misty air
May baptize him with dew drops. Yet he
Loses the mystery
And ecstatic freedom. How can one

Find
In confines
The satisfaction which is beyond
The crate in which he’s bound?
Some early mornings where the alarm

Squawks
(Parrot flocks!)
Me to awakeness, I resent those
creatures’ obnoxious noise.
But I peek out window blinds at the

Herd
Of the birds
Perched together on the power lines.
It’s part of God’s design,
And I accept their songs of freedom.

- Bri Mikalson

~

THE COLORFUL GREEN PARROT

perched on a brown, wooden branch
  in front of The Hotel Eden—
  splattered in spots of white;
beak gripping a long black wire,
  looping through branch; through bird to box,
and pointing upward
as the bird stares at the box of rings.

Off-centered spool holding black
  in a box of white and flattened
  spring, the destination
of the parrot’s eyes, connecting
  ball orange, rolling from end to
end, hoping to reach
its green friend. Isolated, they remain.

- Roy Chung

~

- Sara Nordstrom

~

"Moore's Box" - A Game  [click link to play!]

- Eugene Lee

~

- Josh Knopf

~

- Greg Ambrose

~

- Lauren Morford

~

- Dorea Marshall

~

the sea became my home so often
the sand my rest
the waves my life.
my hair tells of where i sleep,
sand pours out like water.

i put my feet in to take me away,
and on to other things,
but i am brought back.

- Jacob Sanchez

~

 - Ashley Brimmage




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