Rain: Poems and Photographs. /  by M Durquet

The First Rain 
by Yehuda Amichai
The first rain reminds me
Of the rising summer dust.
The rain doesn't remember the rain of yesteryear.
A year is a trained beast with no memories.
Soon you will again wear your harnesses,
Beautiful and embroidered, to hold
Sheer stockings: you
Mare and harnesser in one body.
The white panic of soft flesh
In the panic of a sudden vision
Of ancient saints.

Morning Rain 
by Tu Fu
A slight rain comes, bathed in dawn light.
I hear it among treetop leaves before mist
Arrives. Soon it sprinkles the soil and,
Windblown, follows clouds away. Deepened

Colors grace thatch homes for a moment.
Flocks and herds of things wild glisten
Faintly. Then the scent of musk opens across
Half a mountain -- and lingers on past noon.  

Like Rain it sounded till it curved 
by Emily Dickinson
Like Rain it sounded till it curved
And then I new 'twas Wind --
It walked as wet as any Wave
But swept as dry as sand --
When it had pushed itself away
To some remotest Plain
A coming as of Hosts was heard
It filled the Wells, it pleased the Pools
It warbled in the Road --
It pulled the spigot from the Hills
And let the Floods abroad --
It loosened acres, lifted seas
The sites of Centres stirred
Then like Elijah rode away
Upon a Wheel of Cloud.

Inspired by Nabokov: Thinking About Spirals /  by M Durquet

After reading Lolita, I  remember feeling that this novel was really about time and our relationship with time.  In Vladimir Nabokov's autobiography, Speak/Memory, he writes about the spiral: "The prison of time is spherical and without exits." He continues: "The spiral is a spiritualized circle. In the spiral form, the circle, uncoiled, unwound, has ceased to be vicious; it has been set free."
the Milky Way
Louise Bourgeois
Delaunay

Threads /  by M Durquet

Rummaging through boxes of photos today, I came upon these photos I made years ago. The one on the left is from Joshua Tree National Park. The one on the right is a "cliche-verre" or photographic drawing of sorts that I made with ink on plastic of a dying flower in a vase. Years later I instantly saw a connection. Could it be we are affected by the same forms, spirit, lines, over and over again, responding to some more than to others? Maybe these are about rising and falling, staying alive though being crippled in some way, existing in a space and environment that is stronger than we are.

Growing Up and Old /  by M Durquet

Years ago I photographed Léa Campistron in Les Aldudes, the Basque Country...with her grandfather Léon Arambel, who emigrated to California in the 50's to work as a sheepherder for 13 years, then returned home. They've lived next door to each other for all of her life.

Here they are in 2010: We should all be so lucky.

Haitian Women /  by M Durquet

Two women from Deschapelles, Artibonite Valley
As I was going looking through my old photographs, I found the one above, where this woman and her shadow appear, her hands solidly placed before her. Hands are often a focal point or recurring element in my photos from Haiti.