The Fool Poem, Jon Collin Music, and a Video

Last fall I saw Jon Collin––a beautiful improv guitar artist––perform in a groovy vintage clothing store in Charlottesville. Hearing him live was an alchemical experience. I wrote a bit of a review here. The review is a kind of poem, too.

One spring evening I found myself listening to his recordings all night. His music brought the magic and l wrote a poem. While playing one of his pieces, I read my new poem, and recorded it. When I listened after, it seemed the words and the music fell together just right.

I received permission from him to share the poem with the music. His piece is called Smoke and Wind, from the album Water and Rock Music Volume 1. You can listen to it in its entirety here. Please do. And then listen to the rest of his music and then buy something.

As I continue to try to be bolder in 2018, I'd like to share this. I didn't want to post just a sound file however, so I looked for a video that might work. The video I came to is nine years old. It's a bit random but I think it works ok. 

So here it is, The Fool, set to Smoke and Wind by Jon Collin.

The Fool poem by Zoe Krylova set to Smoke and Wind music by Jon Collin from Zoe Krylova on Vimeo.

2015 is a bridge

i had the best intentions for regular posts in december.

yet a few sleep cycles after my last early december entry i found myself at solstice.



what happened in those weeks?



dan, tashi, tristan and i each fell ill at least twice. there were choir assemblies and orchestra concerts and craft shows. a winter bazaar unwound. work was engaging and intense with the final push into the buying season. and there was my own buying season. checklists. holiday parties. a few missed engagements.







then in the post christmas daze; languid and luxurious down time at home. we played, napped, ate, walked the dog, allowed ourselves to  let go of duty or necessity outside of the immediate. a relaxed suspension.

and now the suspension has snapped, leaving us falling headlong into the maw of 2015!

in our usual fashion, the yule tree remains up to remind us that the wonder of life in the coldest season continues to be a wonder even after the commercialism dies down. the growing light is just beginning to grow, and we continue to nurture and savor it. winter is here, the baking has begun, the hearth fire blazes, and there are long spells ahead of indoor family time while the cold licks at our windows.

2014 was an amazing year of creative and professional growth, a year of feeling challenged and alive and mostly healthy. it's been a magical year of attention and intention. it's been a year of music, the senses, and small journeys. it has not been without its darkest moments, but i'd have to say the light continues to win.



what are some of the highlights of 2014?

in 2014 i wrote. early in the year when cleaning out my desk i came across an older poem that inspired me to continue. while the commitment and opportunity ebbed and flowed, i became much more regular in scheduling writing time. as a result i have a body of work that continues to call me.



in 2014 i became a product photographer. i do hesitate to call myself a photographer, as the learning curve continues to arch over me, sometimes daunting, sometimes taunting. but it's been an amazing experience of growth and fulfillment, combining the technical with the creative, and doing something i never dreamed i'd do. or perhaps i did dream it, but never thought i'd get there, get to the place where art and career merge.

in 2014 my doula work brought many amazing births, each one teaching me something new about endurance and sacrifice and pain and surrender and surprise and acceptance and infinite love. i feel honored and fortunate to have worked with such sweet individuals who invited me to share in their biggest miracle. i can't begin to encapsulate in a few sentences the feeling in that space, where a mom does what she can to tolerate the waves of pain that deliver new life, where i do all that i can to help her feel supported and heard and comforted. how did i find my way to this astonishing path?

in 2014 my husband turned 50 and foxy. need i say more?



in 2014 one child began their journey into grade school, while the other began to investigate colleges. it is unbearable and unbelievable.

in 2014 my daughter self published a book of great wisdom, vision, and emotional insight (and a very clever story to boot). can a mother burst from pride? she also started driving, went to africa, worked, and took tons of cool photos. she is one of the funnest people on earth to hang out with too. 

in 2014 we took some little roadtrips, visited the beach a few times, camped, went to new york city, and discovered asheville, nc. road trips are life blood, even short road trips have the power to renew.



in 2014 we adopted a border collie from the atlantic central region border collie rescue. she has brought us so much joy, exercise, and introspection. there is nothing like late night walks in the cold clear night under an infinity of stars. and with skye, power walks are the only option.





there are many other things. small things, and large, like learning how to work a hula hoop up around my neck and back down. winning tickets to all sorts of concerts, including the festy. deepening friendships. the awe and fear of being mother to a boy. the pleasure of having my own mother nearby and the challenge of her health. these are lessons and experiences that 2014 offered up.



what are my resolutions, so to speak, for 2015? well here are some. . .

* learning all that i can about photography!
* keeping my creative vision fresh and alive
* health! continuing to exercise in ways that strengthen my core and bring out the youth that remains!
* boundaries
* openings
* having more confidence
* balance between work, family, internet, intellect!



And so I close with the last of the secret reading series for now. Maybe someday my manuscript will be published and you can read the poems in between this most recent piece, written just a few days ago, and the previous, written last spring.

secret reading series 8 from Zoe Krylova on Vimeo.

Nightshift 32

sea sunk

into the sequoia 

circus fish and dancing tentacles

anchored

advanced cheese with musk uncorked

tarka added to lentils

fried onion 
fruity compote

thin black lines

folded in knots 

wrapped in a glyph

under drop cloth

moth alights from palm

trail of effort in windswept parchment

breath bottled in summer shell exhales

sentence left to fry tumbles

unsettling the damp

taste this rare sliced organ

blush still the remaining life

sweet red cara cara orange

in a season we call ripe

he will study honeycomb 

extracting shadow halls and glinting stone

there is a bullet ridden cottage in an old box camera 

on a sea bluff once called home

through pipelines of couch upholstery and hell red coal

through stiff sad memory in bones

sluicing the salt water slip

lowering the buckets 

~ Zoe Krylova, January, 2015

Secret Reading Series 7 (and an outtake)

Secret Reading Series   :::   Nightshift 7

I love music and seeing musicians perform. I admire those that can deliver their words thus. 

Sometimes when I write a poem that I'm satisfied with I want to run out and read it at an open mic. Even though I nearly die whenever I have to speak out loud in front of a group of people.

In cities past I used to run out and read freshly written poems. Open mics often satisfied that inspired longing to share the words, whether with strangers, or community. Reading in front of people broke the isolation. It made me feel more rock & roll. 

So as a way of meeting that urge now, I bring you the Secret Reading Series. 

Secret Reading Series 7 from Zoe Krylova on Vimeo.

And an outtake!

Outtake: Secret Reading Series 7 from Zoe Krylova on Vimeo.

Secret Reading Series 6

Secret Reading Series   :::   Nightshift 6

I love music and seeing musicians perform. I admire those that can deliver their words thus. 

Sometimes when I write a poem that I'm satisfied with I want to run out and read it at an open mic. Even though I nearly die whenever I have to speak out loud in front of a group of people.

In cities past I used to run out and read freshly written poems. Open mics often satisfied that inspired longing to share the words, whether with strangers, or community. Reading in front of people broke the isolation. It made me feel more rock & roll. 

So as a way of meeting that urge now, I bring you the Secret Reading Series. 

Secret Reading Series 6 from Zoe Krylova on Vimeo.

Secret Reading Series 5

Secret Reading Series   :::   Nightshift 5

I love music and seeing musicians perform. I admire those that can deliver their words thus. 

Sometimes when I write a poem that I'm satisfied with I want to run out and read it at an open mic. Even though I nearly die whenever I have to speak out loud in front of a group of people.

In cities past I used to run out and read freshly written poems. Open mics often satisfied that inspired longing to share the words, whether with strangers, or community. Reading in front of people broke the isolation. It made me feel more rock & roll. 

So as a way of meeting that urge now, I bring you the Secret Reading Series. 

Secret Reading Series 5 from Zoe Krylova on Vimeo.

Secret Reading Series 4

Secret Reading Series   :::   Nightshift 4

I love music and seeing musicians perform. I admire those that can deliver their words thus. 

Sometimes when I write a poem that I'm satisfied with I want to run out and read it at an open mic. Even though I nearly die whenever I have to speak out loud in front of a group of people.

In cities past I used to run out and read freshly written poems. Open mics often satisfied that inspired longing to share the words, whether with strangers, or community. Reading in front of people broke the isolation. It made me feel more rock & roll. 

So as a way of meeting that urge now, I bring you the Secret Reading Series. 

Secret Reading Series 4 from Zoe Krylova on Vimeo.

secret reading series 3

Secret Reading Series   :::   Nightshift 3

I love music and seeing musicians perform. I admire those that can deliver their words thus. 

Sometimes when I write a poem that I'm satisfied with I want to run out and read it at an open mic. Even though I nearly die whenever I have to speak out loud in front of a group of people.

In cities past I used to run out and read freshly written poems. Open mics often satisfied that inspired longing to share the words, whether with strangers, or community. Reading in front of people broke the isolation. It made me feel more rock & roll. 

So as a way of meeting that urge now, I bring you the Secret Reading Series. 

Secret Reading Series 3 from Zoe Krylova on Vimeo.

secret reading series 2

Secret Reading Series   :::   Nightshift 2

I love music and seeing musicians perform. I admire those that can deliver their words thus. 

Sometimes when I write a poem that I'm satisfied with I want to run out and read it at an open mic. Even though I nearly die whenever I have to speak out loud in front of a group of people.

In cities past I used to run out and read freshly written poems. Open mics often satisfied that inspired longing to share the words, whether with strangers, or community. Reading in front of people broke the isolation. It made me feel more rock & roll. 

So as a way of meeting that urge now, I bring you the Secret Reading Series. 

Secret Reading Series 2 from Zoe Krylova on Vimeo.

secret reading series 1

Secret Reading Series   :::   Nightshift 1

I love music and seeing musicians perform. I admire those that can deliver their words thus. 

Sometimes when I write a poem that I'm satisfied with I want to run out and read it at an open mic. Even though I nearly die whenever I have to speak out loud in front of a group of people.

In cities past I used to run out and read freshly written poems. Open mics often satisfied that inspired longing to share the words, whether with strangers, or community. Reading in front of people broke the isolation. It made me feel more rock & roll. 

So as a way of meeting that urge now, I bring you the Secret Reading Series. 

secret reading series 1 from Zoe Krylova on Vimeo.

suitcase poem XXII

that which drapes from. aloft only. rising up to stay. sway of notion. cobbled trace makes path. strong beam anchors intention. fortified stance. reverberations build stem. flesh and phylum. bridge between odds. undoing brings about beginning. course.

suitcase poem XXI

trying to push off resisting object. smothered by mumblings. calculations that are unequal to heart's pace. swatting at constant. opening clenched palm and watching several crescent moons fade. one glowing embrace pads brittle day. sitting moments force exfoliation. sway breaks stiff insistence. peeling back preconceptions to discover authentic grain. hot syllables fill ear. kicking away gathered uncertainties. primary focus sings.

suitcase poem XX

which door leads to second chances. chasm of what may be. that which you thought not possible. within book. below structure. around bend. inside forest. flash of doubt followed by surprise. starlight dissolves to pain. bright idea folded up neatly, slipped into box. lifting one's heavy limbs from burnt out mattress. one foot follows another across thin ledge. whisps of old settle in piles. plunge into ashes.

suitcase poem XIX

tug the essence. single stitch nudged. keen acknowledgment. soul rearranges molecules. flesh by flesh she explores the deeping tale. aromatic drift rustles oatstraw. beyond the particulars, conclusion is embroidered. she trots toward opening thread. texture makes no uncertain announcement. tapestry is discovered where cloth she nuzzled. a quickening breeze ripples linen across line.

suitcase poem XVIII

scent of sunrise. clatter and clink of opening. mixed with sand. overlooking municipal market. taste of waking. day might provide. possibilities captured and released. single focus upon star. swallowing sky.

suitcase poem XVII

who grasps
soft underside
both vulnerable and revolting
icy hand insists
a portal
where nightmares pass
& pass
drifting into ease
clinging apprehension dissolves
palms cup cleansing plash
stems fill clutch
color sky

suitcase poem XVI

leaves are the handprints of light
little bells sing as something drifts to earth
crystals grow with each piercing glance
they broadcast the news
with the shake of her hips seasons shift
a baby is born when candle is lit
each rotation finds a page torn
rust blooms in depression

suitcase poem XV

ripples radiate from sunk moment
she snatches tumbled lens each shower
a quivering instance breaks levy
what hadn’t now scours what had

old snaps undo luminous garment
sudden locket confirms theory
burnt edges of sepia episode
crumble in bejeweled clutch

a powder tin too late
cracked up bolted chamber
a backward glance too old
she ponders rearview mist

suitcase poem XIV

tucked inside tapestry
taken by giddy transgressions
strange slapdashery

surprised witness
offers sober assistance
uncorks silent vapor

to study composure
a settled intelligence
dignity of gingerly

perfumed fanfare
blends simplicity with exotic preference
removes plumes and precious stones

suitcase poem XIII

thrum in loft
bells command attention
she returns stern glance
sharp judgment slices passage
inner sanctum holds pliable matter
to spear a wavering possibility
pound shape from vapor
severity rises in vaulted chamber
brings warmth to stone walls

suitcase poem XII

cool attraction
scent of moist soil
where sipping espresso
leaf song

language of bark
clip clop on cobbles
conversation alights on ledge
shaking twigs from tresses

vast upper bower
candlelight against white wall
stories caught in folds of curtain
sealed landscape

byway for delivery
what footprints
an intended exchange
eyes lock across aisle