I fall in the broad category of distant admirers, having only met Hall a handful of times. From what I know about him, art was more than a practice, hobby or profession – it was a gospel that he lived by. In his teachings and in the way that he lived, he inspired generations of students and friends to open creative doors of expression and exploration that they may have otherwise kept shut for the remainder of their lives. His profound influence and spirit will undoubtedly live on well into the future, but for today, I'm taking some time to look back and reflect on his memory.
Rest in peace.
(Hall's website, mostly a gallery of photography, is currently down, but will hopefully return soon. In the meantime, News from Nowhere has a fabulous gallery of his poetry and art - click on the graphics to move on to the next page.)
That First Kite
by James Baker Hall
in memory of Ralph Eugene Meatyard
That first kite was made of newspaper and strung
with fish line. I was lying next to it, alone. Sunlight
in the bright shape of a window, X-ed once
with the shadow of the sash, moved
slowly across the floor toward
me. A way had to be found
to make it work. We were trying. All this
took place in the attic where the cat brought
the birds.
My mother was downstairs
or out back in the cornfield
with a gun.
I didn't move. Who knew
where my father was.
Nothing ever worked.
I kept my eyes closed
whenever I thought
I was asleep
or flying. I awoke
when I felt the light touch
my feet, perfect, still
I didn't move. When it touched
my eyes I opened. The crosshairs
were on my chest, breathing. I saw
my heart. A cold wind rattled
the kite.
beautiful poem. jim was an amazing person. i remember how composed he was, but will never forget the sound of his smile when he took a photograph which he knew would be good, and the sound that always escaped his lips, 'yay!'
ReplyDeletehearts to him.