# 95 - New Adventure - Connecting My Painting and My Poetry

         Here I am reading "Old Father Time" at Shakespeare & Co.

  

Fellow Art Lovers:

I have news for you. I’ve started connecting my painting with my poetry. That is, whenever a painting stimulates my poetry juices, I write a poem to explain or tell the story of the painting. Or it can happen in the opposite direction; a poem can send me to my easel with palette and brushes in hand.  

You have an example right here. Just a while ago, I wrote the poem – “Old Father Time” – and the beginning of the poem brought a flood of images of my youth to me. (The text of the poem is further down the page, following this introduction.) So, I decided to paint one of those images. (That painting, entitled “You Gotta Put In Trees,” which I’m still working on, is above.) In the coming months, I’ll post more blog entries showing other painting-poetry projects, in addition to new paintings that don’t have poetry links. 

         "You Gotta Put In Trees"

My poetry story goes back maybe year or so. Sonia Robin, of the Alliance Francaise of Philadelphia, suggested numerous times that I would enjoy the poetry readings at Fergie’s Pub (1214 Sansom St., Philadelphia), sponsored by Moonstone Poetry. Well, I finally went, and it was revelation. Here were dedicated poets – accomplished and amateurs – performing their works to a crowd of between 20 and 30 souls. The atmosphere was festive and supportive, as creative sorts swallowed hard, took their books, printed pages or smart phones and mounted a platform to test their courage in front of the crowd. 

         Larry Robin introduces me at Shakespeare & Co. 

Moonstone Poetry is the creation of Larry Robin, of Robin’s Book Store fame.  After he closed the book store, he threw himself into the support of poetry. Now, Moonstone Poetry (www.moonstoneartscenter.org) presents some 80 readings a year at four venues, publishes a growing number of poetry collections, and leads other programs - all to spread the wonders of poetry to young and old, to the accomplished, the professionals and other poetry lovers.  

I qualify as one of the mature, amateur poetry lovers. So far, I’ve attended maybe a dozen sessions, and I’ve taken advantage of the “open mic” three times to present a few of my works. On Thursday evening (January 16, 2020), I recited “Old Father Time” at Shakespeare & Co., (1632 Walnut St., Philadelphia). Larry was the host. One of the featured poets was John Wall Barger, who read from one of his recent collections, “The Mean Game,” and also took the photos you see here of me here. 

         John Wall Barger reads from his poetry collection "The Mean Game"

I’ve always had a strong interest in poetry, first of all because of my studies in English at the University of Oregon a very long time ago, and then more recently because of the rap videos I’ve written and produced, which you can see on my YouTube channel through the link on my website (www.williamkosman.com). Now, I just see more of my poems as subjects for paintings. I know that the question of combining poems and paintings could be an issue. One could maintain that each art form should stand on its own. But for me, once in a while, the combination just feels right. I don’t know how long these poems will keep coming to me. I hope for a long time. For the moment, it’s great. By the way, I’m sure that any of you would be welcomed by Moonstone Poetry or any of the other poetry groups in Philadelphia. 

   

         A detail from "You Gotta Put In Trees"

If any of you want to see more of my work, you can access my website, visit me on Facebook (William Kosman) and Instagram (williamkosmanpainter), and also please take a look at my new Etsy store (www.etsy.com - WilliamKosmanFineArt). And if  you’re really interested, send me an e-mail (billkosman@gmail.com) to visit my studio, #310, 915 Spring Garden St., Philadelphia, PA 19123. 

I'd love to hear from you. 

Thanks for listening. 

Best, 

Bill 

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 Old Father Time ©

By William Kosman 

Little streets with houses on them, my sisters and me, we made them all. 

Cereal boxes and tooth picks, colored paper, foil from Hershey bars, 

Just little kids all taken with creating a little world, 

Tiny fingers working, Elmer’s glue and Scotch tape, Mama’s nail polish. 

No guilt, no doubt, our little world that took over our minds.  

We worked, listening to the kiddy shows on the radio:

Pluck your magic twanger, Froggie, Hiya kids, hiya. 

It’s Sky King, Hummm. I’m back in the saddle again.

Old Father Time’s tracking me,

But he ain’t gonna get me, not yet. 

I’m runnin’ free, fast as I can.

I want those times again. 

No thoughts, no guilt, the pure pleasure, just free,

The mystery, the discovery, the warmth.

The warm sun, the gleaming blue, splashing in the pool,

Sherry jumps into the water, and you throw her into the air,

You catch her, and your hand lingers on her thigh, smooth, wet, golden,

Sherry laughs, and you catch her again, and again and again.

The plain pleasure, no thoughts, free.

Sherry grabs your hand, your lips brush, then 

Splashing, running, she disappears. 

Pluck your magic twanger, Froggie, Hiya kids, hiya. 

It’s Sky King, Hummm. I’m back in the saddle again.

Old Father Time’s tracking me,

But he ain’t gonna get me, not yet. 

I’m runnin’ free, fast as I can.

I want those times again. 

No thoughts, no guilt, the pure pleasure, just free,

The mystery, the discovery, the warmth.

Windows down in your custom Olds,

Wind in your hair, the feelin’s cool,

Gunnin’ your four-barrel, your pipes callin’ back. 

All the stupid stuff, Mel’s drive-in, red-lipped smile from Blondie,

A burger and a shake, you hear the hits, 

Your Hit Parade, “So long for a while.”

Pluck your magic twanger, Froggie, Hiya kids, hiya. 

It’s Sky King, Hummm. I’m back in the saddle again.

We met one night at a party in a chic suburb of Paris.

I was a bit drunk. How could she like me?

But after, together on the Left Bank streets, 

Immediate understanding, immediate ease, no pretending,

And she was beautiful, beautiful beyond my dreams. 

The waiter at the Claire de Lune kept filling her wine glass,

But I didn’t need any help. We knew it was good. 

Old Father Time’s runnin’, tryin’ to catch me,

You’re not gonna get me, you old fart.

I want those times again. 

No thoughts, no guilt, the pure pleasure, just free,

The mystery, the discovery, the warmth.

But if I can’t have it, I’m gonna remember it, 

Playin’ that movie in my head. 

Playin’ that movie in my head. 

Pluck your magic twanger, Froggie, Hiya kids, hiya. 

It’s Sky King, Hummm. I’m back in the saddle again.

“So long for a while.”

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Text in italic performed in radio voice.