The Writing’s on the Wall: Poetry & MoNA
Photo Credit: Duane Kirby Jensen
The Museum of Northwest Art has long been enamored with poetry: from the years of partnership with the Skagit River Poetry Foundation to showcasing student poems in the Outside In Gallery to the more recent poetry open mics, poetry has resonated within the white walls of the Museum’s galleries.
On Sept 7th, MoNA hosted a free Poetry Writing in the Galleries event, in which poet Susan Rich offered a short introduction to writing poetry about art. This free event drew 60 participants who came to the Museum to be inspired by the art in the galleries and write poetry ‘under the influence’ of art. MoNA has collected their poems in this digital publication, with a selection of five featured in this blog post. We’re excited to share some of the inspiration with you as part of The Writing's on the Wall: Poetry Program, which includes upcoming events such as This Machine is Made for Earth: The Madrona Project at MoNA and Spoken Word at MoNA: An Open Mic Exploration of At the Seam.
Cumming Mural photo by Tim Mickleburgh
Inspired by Mural of Skagit County Agriculture 1941 by William Cumming. MoNA, gift of the Breckenridge Family.
Skagit Valley Mural, 1941
William Cummings
Museum of Northwest Art
You who have wielded the maul these eighty-odd years,
your work boots heavy below bent knees—
you can set it down now.
And you with the milk can—your back must ache
after all these years. Set it down.
The stooped farmer may rise and the milker
may return the cows to pasture.
The clouds gathered long ago, and the rain
replenished the earth.
You have worked through so many Sabbaths,
you have worked for a lifetime.
It’s time to rest.
-Suzy Harris
Inspired by Dancer in Blue by Guy Anderson (MoNA, gift of Ann Morris) and Pink Flower by Mark Tobey (MoNA, gift of Miani Johnson, in memory of Marshall Hatch).
Ekphrastic Tanka by Patrick Gallagher
blue boy
the flower sexier
than the nude
the director warned us
about prudery
Inspired by Viola’s Mandolin by Spencer Mosley.
MoNA, gift of Ronald D. Childers and Richard M. Proctor
The Floyd Country Store
Viola smoked a pipe
and played the mandolin
no longer even forcing a smile
when asked for the umpteenth time,
“Why not the viola, Viola?”
Sunday afternoons she drove her truck
up the foggy green mountain
joined the folding chair circle
at the back of the general store.
The speed of her fingers was her revenge against time,
runs up and down the strings as clear as spring streams
melodies flashing sharp as summer lightning
until the mandolin glowed orange in her hands.
Old men could not help but
stand up and dance,
stomping out the stories of their lives
with their Sunday shoes, clogging away
achy knees, creaky hips, grief.
Their steps telegraphing the message:
“All dies and all lives forever,”
the wood of a long-felled tree
now a mandolin in Viola’s hands
as old men dance old dances,
lifting up their grandchildren’s feet
with their own.
- Stacey Jones, September 2024, Poets on the Coast
Inspired by La Siempre Viva de Clayton by William Slater. MoNA, gift of the Estate of Susan Parke.
Inside the Kiln
How did he know, just how the fire raged on the pot inside the kiln?
The bruising orange deepening to red.
The crush of smother.
That growing peach pit black scar along the opening.
Memories of the crash, of darkness, love’s death, ashes?
Or, perhaps this glowing, this enlightenment of vessel,
this renewed memory of consciousness, might be
the afterburn of peace?
See that rich vestment green swath with impeccable borders.
Inordinate in ordinary times, but not here.
Perhaps hope in hopeless time was on his mind.
A child survives. Reconcile with that.
Make marks as though life depends upon it.
Make all color a sacrament.
- Georgia Johnson, September 2024
Inspired by Overlook by John Cole. MoNA, gift of Lucille Cole and the Estate of John Cole.
Calling the wind,
the river’s salmon song
curves across the staff.
Memory; the long-held hum.
Trilling ripples of shiny tails splashing at sharp turns,
punctuated by staccato crested waves bursting on elder rock
wearing smooth.
Timeless chords
ever shaping a sonic symphony
of spawning wisdom.
- Julia Thie