Muse, Um's Artistic Inspirations Muse, Um's poems were inspired by various visits to the Art Institute of Chicago in preparation for one of the Poetry Foundation's Pop Up Poetry events, a series of 30-minute lunchtime poetry readings marking the reopening of the museum's new Contemporary Collection.
As defined by the Foundation, “An ekphrastic poem is a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the 'action' of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify and expand its meaning.”
For this endeavor, Dean was given very little in the way of specific instructions; generally, he decided that the poems would be 'ekphrastic' in that they were written in response to the artworks, but he also strove to come up with poems that were different in design, voice, tone, form, etc.; thus, among others you have examples of abecedarian, found, list, oulipo, persona, and sonnet, though in the end he was limited by time to only four for presentation.
Boy with a Carrot (1738), François Boucher (French, 1703-1770)
Unwrapping the Mummy (1825), Harriet Cheney (British, 1771-1848)
Monkeys Boxing, from Monkey-ana (1828), Thomas Landseer (English, 1795-1880)
Young Peasant Having Her Coffee (1881), Camille Pissarro (French, 1830-1903)
The Song of the Lark (1884), Jules Adolphe Breton (French, 1827-1906)
Alphabet (1959), Jasper Johns (American, 1930-)
Ohhh ... Alright ... (1964), Roy Lichtenstein (American, 1923-1997)
Waiting Lady (1972), Christina Ramberg (American, 1946-1995)
Slumber Party (1983), Eric Fischl (American, 1948-)
Stamford after Brunch (2000), John Currin (American, 1962-)
Woman with Dog (Frau mit Hund) (2004), Katharina Fritsch (German, 1956-)
Mr. Pointy (2011), Takashi Murakami 村上隆(Japanese, 1962-),
Sampling of poems from Muse, Um
Alphabet
Jasper Johns (1959)
As soon as Jasper affixed his final
brushstroke, he called John
Cage. “Cage” (that's what he called him),
“drop
everything. Get over here.” Taking the
F train, he was relieved to
get away for a while, clear his
head, fingers arpeggiating
indeterminate melodies on his lap,
jumping grasshopper-like as he transposed
keys and reworked ideas. “My intention is to
let things be themselves,” he reflected,
making a mental
note of it.
Outside on the platform, afternoon
passengers jostled one another,
quickly filling the train while Cage
remained seated, his
stop approaching, “let
things be themselves”
uppermost in his mind. So many
variables in mobile form. Jasper could wait—he
wanted to try something new: have his hands
x-rayed while they played, metacarpals and phalanges
yo-yoing in diaphanous black and white,
zebras shivering in a violent burst of snow.
Waiting Lady
Christina Ramberg (1972)
A body supposes a question mark,
eyed from the side, somewhat de-sexed,
despite its state of undress,
underwear, necklace, and hair, all dark
against a muted gray background,
dark and darker. Her skin's the whitest
element amidst the murk, the brightest
palette here to be found,
arms confined by a cruel
partner in a consensual game,
or attired in lingerie, a diving dame
jackknifing into Victoria's secret pool
to butterfly after-hours laps.
Will her cohort lend a hand, at the lip,
or shove her back, watch her tip
and splash, perhaps
sink to the bottom and brood,
holding her breath as long
as possible? It's the same old song
and dance—the pursuer and the pursued,
a power dynamic built
on submission and release—
and who assumes which role a caprice
of circumstance or repressed guilt.
Slumber Party
Eric Fischl (1983)
Center of the room
a stoical face watches
like some omnipotent voyeur.
It's called pareidolia—
the phenomenon of seeing
patterns in randomness—that
makes windows with drapes
and a heater into hair, a nose,
eyes, and a slitted mouth.
We stare back at ourselves
as the scene unfolds
in cold muted colors,
weird, exaggerated shadows
from a fetish doll atop
the 1980s TV set looking
like a gesticulating alien fetus
in a corner of the attic.
Is this abstinence agitprop
filtered through The X-Files?
A lean white boy stripped
down to his underwear toys
with the television's knob,
his back to a Black girl
whose panties are either
coming off or being slipped
back on. Between them,
a single blue sleeping bag
like a depressed tongue
lies zipped open, while
a bed with tousled sheets
teases to the right,
lumpy objects stacked
on a bookcase in the back.
