Pomegranate # 3 Sculpted Beauty

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Comments (15)

M and R on April 11, 2009

Art. R

M and R on April 11, 2009

My pick of the pomegranate photos. R

gezginruh on April 11, 2009

Sculpted beauty...Just with one word;sculpted beauty...Just one word! FüsunK.

Ian Stehbens on April 12, 2009

It has grown on me, Robyn - at first it seemed that it wasn't a part of the story. Yet it is special for me - artistically, and I would love to frame it and hang it.

Dad

I would never have imagined myself photogrpahing a pomegranate, FüsunK, but you inspired me, and so I am pleased that you have taken this beauty and others into your Favourites. Thankyou. Thankyou!

Ian

gezginruh on April 12, 2009

Dear Ian,your nice comments makes me so happy.Thank you very much for your photographic processing..

Have you ever read Odysseas Elytis's book named"The Mad Pomegranate Tree"?

Warm Regards FüsunK.

Ian Stehbens on April 12, 2009

No I haven't my dear friend. I wonder if it is available in English on the web? I'll LOOK for it.

Ian

Ian Stehbens on April 12, 2009

THE MAD POMEGRANATE TREE

(by Odysseas Elytis and extended to terra australis by Ian Stehbens)

1. Inside these all-white backyards swept by warm southerly winds

whistling through vaulted rooms, tell me, is it the mad pomegranate tree

that quivers in the sunlight scattering her fruit-bearing laughter along

wind-like whisperings and denials, tell me, is it the mad pomegranate tree

of throbbing foliage born right with the dawn's bells

that opens up all her colours at the top, shivering triumphantly?

2. As girls stark naked rise through the meadows

to harvest the clover with their blond hands,

touring their sleep's frontiers, tell me, is it the mad pomegranate tree

that puts the lights inside their fresh baskets without their knowing,

that makes their names flow over with bird songs, tell me,

is it the mad pomegranate tree that challenges an overcast world?

3. In front of a zealous day that adorns herself with feathers of seven kinds,

binding the eternal sun with thousands of dazzling prisms,

tell me, is it the mad pomegranate tree

that picks up a mane of one hundred whippings as she races,

not once gloomy, not once grumbling, tell me, is it the mad pomegranate tree

that hollers the novel hope at its dawn?

4. Tell me, is it the mad pomegranate tree that greets in the distance,

waving a handkerchief of refreshing fire's leaves,

an ocean about to give birth to countless ships,

made of waves that again and again depart and go

to southern shores never smelled of, tell me, is it the mad pomegranate tree

that makes the riggings squeak high up through the transparent air?

5. With a gleaming bunch of fruit that celebrates in fire so high,

haughty, full of peril, tell me, is it the mad pomegranate tree

that right in the open demolishes the demon's storms with sunlight,

that stretches out from end to end the day's crocus collar,

many-a-times embroidered with sown songs, tell me,

is it the mad pomegranate tree that hastily unravels the day's silks?

6. Amidst underskirts of early April and cicadas of mid August,

tell me, she who plays, she who rages, she who seduces,

shaking all evil darkness off the terrible threat,

releasing intoxicating birds into the sun's bosom,

tell me, she who spreads the wings against the chest of all things,

against the chest of our deep dreams, is she the mad pomegranate tree?

7. Along these distorted tracks of steel buckled in the western sun, tell me

is it the mad pomegranate tree that has rolled its ripe fruit

down the buckled rails, sending mirage-maddened miners

disgorging from the shafts at the change of shift to chase the lusts of flesh,

casting dice or tossing coin, there ephemeral dreams to dash,

tell me then is it the mad pomegranate tree that casts intoxicating spell of bitter discontent?

8. Is it the mad pomegranate tree, whose fruit seeks solace in what is not,

aspiring to be transcendent above all other fruits of the field,

that in the heady swelter of a summer vineyard, the laden vine is splashed with red

that challenges all muscatels, sultanas and isabellas,

only to become not fruit of the vine, but grapefruit with its bitter taste to squint the eyes,

Tell me is this then the folly of the mad pomegranate tree estranged by salt encrusted terra rosa.

9. Tell me who sent the haughty red fruit ascending among the hard gummy capsules of the eucalypt,

plump fruit sprung from the branches of the mad pomegranate tree and flung among the red honeyed blossom so high,

Tell me is it not the mad pomegranate tree that threw off operculum and stem

falling to the wet earth with sodden thud to be hung out to dry by fairy wenches

that all may glimpse the sadness of discontent and persona so contrite.

10. Now bonds itself to a covenant writ large in blood-red skin of pomegranate flesh

for now a new humility is found that delights in identity transformed

and generously accepts the primeval intent that looks for purpose

in giving life from generation to generation not living for itself;

tell me is this not the pomegranate tree same as before but with chastened will its purpose to fulfil

a blessed fruit that fills its cornucopian purpose in blessing all, that from the tree, its fruit receive.

11. Tell me is this the mad pomegranate tree same as before,

its illusory frontiers of existence explored

discovers triumphantly its delight,

in opening up all her colours at the top,

new life abundantly to spawn,

a truly blessed fruit?

Coda Tell me then, is this mad pomegranate tree

a blessed fruit fulfilled?

gezginruh on April 12, 2009

As girls stark naked rise through the meadows

to harvest the clover with their blond hands,

touring their sleep's frontiers, tell me, is it the mad pomegranate tree

that puts the lights inside their fresh baskets without their knowing,

that makes their names flow over with bird songs, tell me,

is it the mad pomegranate tree that challenges an overcast world? ................................................ ................................................ not once gloomy, not once grumbling, tell me, is it the mad pomegranate tree

that hollers the novel hope at its dawn? ................................................. ................................................

Dear Ian,you're an unbelievable! :)

It is one of the poems that i like most...With love..FüsunK.

Ian Stehbens on April 12, 2009

My dear FüsunK,

I am pleased that I could extend the poem that you like so much, and extend the inspiration of your art reflecting it in verse for you. I am sure the Greek to English and the English to Turkish creates some awkward phrasing, but nevertheless it is wonderful to engage with you on this plane.

And further more you have inspired through your Big Red Pomegranate, another poem that expresses the bonds between Turkey and Australia, "In Memory of a Red Pomegranate"

I look forward to your response.

Appreciatively,

Ian

gezginruh on April 15, 2009

My dear Ian, sorry i'm late.. The lines you wrote about "In Memory of a Red Pomegranate" makes me feel extremely happy.Very impressive and artistic. I need to read a few times to understand thoroughly such an incredible poem. But now that i know your heart's in Istanbul,enlighten me on my desk...

I'm grateful. Füsun.

Pomegranate

Ian Stehbens on April 21, 2009

My dear friend Füsun,

I am back home, after a week away, and delighted that you are happy.

Let me interpret "In Memory of a Red Pomegranate" for you.

The poem has some surreal thread in it that is the Red Pomegranate, filled with seed and hope and a future generation of offspring. There are also many symbols, and plays on words. But there is a story in the poem, that gives it its flow.

The story tells of a young Turkish man who has a sense of having Byzantine roots. When he leaves the household of his parents, he finds his independence is not fulfilling, though he has become popular, especially with the local women. So, he leaves the green slopes above Istanbul, and sails away passing Gallipoli and the Cape of Good Hope on his way to Australia. He has been lured by the wealth of the silver mines of Broken Hill.

In Australia he settles, but because of his familiarity with horses, he becomes a boundary rider on a large sheep station on the red dust plains near the Barrier Ranges. He falls in love with a Broken Hill miner's daughter.

Then comes World War I. He joins the Australian Army and leaves his grieving lover behind. It is his fate to be sent to the Middle East in the Light Infantry with his horse. But another twist and he is sent to Gallipoli to fight the Turks of the Ottoman Empire! There he dies, in a battle fighting his own countrymen, men of the same red blood! How stupid is war! And while his body is buried in the Turkish soil, his heart has now returned to Istanbul. His lover's tears wet the red dust of the Australian Outback. But his spirit rises and returns to green Bursa, of the Ottoman world.

His story, his ballad, is now sung above in eternity.

And there is meaning too: War may have destroyed the future and eliminated the next generation of offspring. But there is a stronger truth. Enemies become friends. Enemy nations are linked in mutual respect. And hope is even stronger than memory. Hope outlives failure and enmities. Peace is a possibility.

Thank you for your friendship,for your inspiration, and for your amazing creativity. I trust this gift is a suitable gift.

Ian

gezginruh on April 23, 2009

Thank you very much dear Ian for your explanations about In Memory of a Red Pomegranate "Now that i know you heart's in Istanbul" enlighten me on my desk. I know that there are many people in many parts of tthe world who really feel. There's peace on my desk.There's freedom on my desk. There's hope on my desk.

A huge pomegranate on my desk is illuminated everywhere with its accumulation. To the beautiful future...Stay with hope dearest my friend...Füsun.

Ian Stehbens on April 23, 2009

There's love and hope on your illuminated desk, now dear Füsun. And a red pomegranate will never be the same again.

Ian

Olga I. Yakovenko on April 28, 2009

Fantastic poesy and all the story! Very interesting and poetic! Olga

Ian Stehbens on May 3, 2009

Thanks, Olga, I am pleased that you appreciate the poetry and the fantasy!

Ian

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  • Uploaded on April 10, 2009
  • © All Rights Reserved
    by Ian Stehbens

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