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She sees in their eyes
I see in her closed eyes, a poet, a concrete garden statue of a young woman, cast with love, beauty in her streams, her flows of grayness, sweetness in her look, her pose, configured as though in meditation, in composing a poem of life, searching what she sees inside herself all that is outside. She sees rhythms of black and white within and without and ponders the colors of sympathy, love and understanding. She contemplates the fossilized vertebra upon which she sits, perhaps a brontosaurus once reaching its long, graceful neck and delicate face to the stream beneath, soft tongue lapping in and out of mossy shadows swirling smooth eddies whispering light and dark beckoning fresh images to her canvas flowing colors to find a place in the natural world for the women and men, so many women and men she sees gray no names trudging the path singing like walking statues music boxes inside just going just going just going everyone she sees trudges and sings. |
She sees in their eyes, the marchers, some of them, who clutch tightly honesty, love of self, of race, of humanity, a wanting for recognition as human beings, a fierceness, a wanting of change of change of change inside themselves, a wanting for love, fairness, respect, dignity, a need for wholeness, for life without a rot of fear so deep within that it is there in sleep, in walking, in art, in love, in dreams, in going to the store for a bag of peanuts, in eating a hamburger. In others she sees searching, looking into the eyes of their brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, for a relief of feeling lost, buffaloes in the middle of the herd, running to run, from the wolves, survival overpowering everything else, not being trampled in the thunder, not being sure where they are going, wanting to know, wanting to hope, feeling the warmth of companions, wanting to survive, wanting not to go on in the same way, wanting a clear, sharp, defined life, willing to die for it all. |
Still others, just there, to be counted, maybe reaching to feel it, needing to feel it, thinking of something else, waiting for it to end. In each one, passion for all, in each one, a need for control. She sees in the eyes of “The Thinker” what Rodin intended, then what Dante intended, then, in “The Circles of Hell,” and what she sees now, the folly of intention, the truth of human minds who see inside the eyes of art, mingling with its creative artist, releasing their souls into the souls of brush, chisel, and word, feeling for a taste of truth. She sees in me herself, and I into her, a poet, a painter, in my eyes a searcher for truth, so elusive, so undefined, so clear when it is absent. Painting & poem by Oklahoma Council of Teachers of English member Michael Angelotti. Contact: mangelotti@ou.edu |
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Access the online anthology HERE
2020 Geraldine Burns Award for Excellence in English Education Recipients
Sunny Bennett – Northeastern State University
Carrie Boyle - University of Central Oklahoma
Baylee Bozarth – USAO
Paula Carleen Heitland – East Central University
Jessica Crespino – Oklahoma Christian University
Lyndsie Denham – Oklahoma State University
Lauren Garner Brown – Southwestern Oklahoma State University
Stormy Howell – University of Oklahoma
Leila Kytta – Northeastern State University
Grace Lueck – Oklahoma Baptist University
Brooke Purkey – Cameron University
Brad Rowan – Oklahoma State University
Carrie Boyle - University of Central Oklahoma
Baylee Bozarth – USAO
Paula Carleen Heitland – East Central University
Jessica Crespino – Oklahoma Christian University
Lyndsie Denham – Oklahoma State University
Lauren Garner Brown – Southwestern Oklahoma State University
Stormy Howell – University of Oklahoma
Leila Kytta – Northeastern State University
Grace Lueck – Oklahoma Baptist University
Brooke Purkey – Cameron University
Brad Rowan – Oklahoma State University