A New Way of Looking: Ekphrasis
I learned a new word recently, courtesy of a friend and Wiki:
Ekphrasis or ecphrasis is the graphic, often dramatic, description of a visual work of art. In ancient times it referred to a description of any thing, person, or experience. The word comes from the Greek ek and phrasis, ‘out’ and ‘speak’ respectively, verb ekphrazein, to proclaim or call an inanimate object by name.
Nowadays it might be a snapshot of a scene, a work of art, or any creation that puts you in the head of the participants or an object and tell’s you what is actually happening within it.
So I thought, why not pick one of my collages as a prompt and write about it?
The one I chose is called “La Fleur” and here it is:
©2008 Lin Neiswender
Here is my poem about the collage:
The Photograph
Rose Pink my Papa calls me, his little blossom
I smile inside but not for the photograph
The buttons on my shoes are too tight and pinch my toes
My little dogs are lucky, they can run free with bare paws
On the fresh green grass, and rush into the house
When they are tired, heads out the window
Listening to the bird sing
But even they are dressed too fine for comfort
Tight bows of Mama’s fine silk ribbon tied
Around their necks, choking them as does
My lace collar choke me
Still a little girl’s first love
Is her Papa, and so I endure
The scratching of the lace,
The tightness of the shoes
All so Papa can take his photograph
Of his La Fleur Rose
©2012 Lin Neiswender
RoadWriter 
Lin, love the collage and the poem you wrote. Thanks for sharing them both with us.
Thank you Peggy. Appreciate your comments!
Here’s a quick take on the collage, Lin.
Bird at the Window
Of buttons and bows
and stranger things,
this girl’s world
full of pretty and pinks
Still, my tights itch
my collar scratches
I’m not happy, my face shows
I don’t care if it matches.
Like your poem on the collage, Anne! Interesting to see another view.
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And mine:
I won’t go kiss Grandmama
Or let her smack me with her fan.
I cannot breathe when she does
–her mouth takes all the air
And coats me with a smell
That stays until my next bath.
Her dogs chew at my boots,
They do not know how to play,
And tear at my smock,
Steal my buttons,
When I try to run away
Can we go home soon?
Please, Papa, please?
I want to go with you to the garden,
Hear you tell me
all the pretty flowers’ names.
Smell their true sweet scent,
Forget Grandmama Rose
Until we must come back again.
Michele, what a fabulous poem-reply! Hope everyone reads it!
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