Poem by Harry Ricciardi


 

Virgin Gorda–Three Days

2018.3.13
simple ideas about momentum. big stuff is slow. thinking about force in the morning in front
of the folding waves leaves me wishing to be left out of it.
all love is a monument to love.
unless it isn’t — then it’s probably not love.
force conducts itself over everything else.
or it doesn’t and its potential regardless, shapes the map.

2018.3.14
bishops are political agents
good government is ideologically apolitical. good government is empirical and compassionate.
good monkeys make boats. as i sat down to drink coffee i imagined carving a chess set. i’d
probably start with pawns. i imagined what the tendons in my fingers would feel like after
carving an entire chess set.
had a conversation last night with a real industrialist and his college roommate about why people
would get hung up on whether or not other people were wearing hats at tables. still don’t get it.
Marcus from Pam’s crew just sat down. told him i was taking notes on the work on Apollonia.
boards go onto some boat. some are shapely. it would be good to finish planking quickly.
there are many other jobs

2018.3.15
used to say summer is sweet. so oppressed by it. like being immobile on an island in general.
weak legs and island roads. light heads and island roads. island hills and island corners.
island sun and island heat. island rain and island lunch.
going up and down.
broken straps on backpacks knotted together. busted flip flops in the bag. feet bare. island
mornings and island dreams. the sun going down on so many islands says nothing but sighs
under the waves.
island nights confuse themselves with other island nights. with the nights of
other islands. other ages of other islands. ages of harbors and boatyards and docks.
everybody’s hiding out somewhere. maybe like learning to use the mosquito net, we’ll
comfortably come together some day under the gauzy tent of our dreams.
time isn’t filled with love the way the world is. time confuses it.
a day arrives we can’t remember what we were going to do. all day by the mumbling of the
surf. all night by the mumbling of the surf.
once your boat is working you are reborn.
reborn into anything. nobody really chooses.
the epoxy pumps grow more unreliable. but i watch them now when i need glue.
. . .
sometimes in the way
sometimes in the ordinary
and i’m mystified
you used to catch me
like a kid picking his nose
you’d pretend you didn’t
you’d look like you chewed your tongue
your eyes
like dog’s eyes
would run
something attached in my spirit too
yea i’m dreaming
i’m drifting around
oceans of experience
currents compel me
when there is no wind
or i can’t find the wind
it’s good to have grapefruit
really down here
it’s good

 

Harry Ricciardi: “I build wood boats. I sail around on a little wood boat I built for myself. I write poems. I fish. Try to avoid skin cancer. Try to avoid a bunch of stuff. Trying to figure out what to share and how is always a challenge.”

Art can illuminate even the most elusive and difficult to comprehend ideas. Visual rules and tightly codified visual metaphors help scientists communicate complex ideas mostly amongst themselves, but they can also become barriers to new ideas and insights. Dr. Regina Valluzzi’s images are abstracted and diverged from the typical rules and symbols of scientific illustration and visualization; they provide an accessible window into the world of science for both scientists and non-scientists.

 

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