Iron Woman of Hayes Valley

The transformation of Hayes Valley in San Francisco is almost complete with the arrival of a giant iron woman who has ensconced herself in the small park at the end of the Octavia Freeway. Captured in a pose of pure frustration, she questions the chaos of the universe. Where and how do we locate meaning?

Queen Charlotte Sound and the Kaikoura Coast

To continue the belated postings from New Zealand...

Gene, Paul and I flew to the South Island and enjoyed a great lunch at a winery near Nelson. What pleasure to be able to go wine tasting and then enjoy my favorite glass of Pinot Noir at lunch overlooking the vineyards. That evening we heard a contemporary classical music concert at church, featuring San Francisco guitarist, David Tannenbaum--we do indeed live in a global village.

The next day we headed south toward Queen Charlotte Sound, dealing with the now usual drama of trying to drive on the other side of the road. My favorite trick is turning on the windshield wipers when I really want to hit the turn signal.




A photograph of the Sound from a particularly scenic pull out, that also featured a short hike. The sound of cicadas was overwhelming, drowning out all out sounds--imagine a wall of insect sound.





Am I wearing a bathing suit? A quick stop at a local watering hole on the Pelorus River for a dunk.




And then on to the our three day trek on the Kaikoura Coast Trail, which was built by three farms along the coast who got together to organize a tramp through their properties. I call it backpacking light. We carried day packs and our food for the day, while our bags we transported from farm to farm for us. We stayed each night at the different farm.






The first day, we hiked over the coastal mountain range to the sea. The photograph above is looking north, taken from a rest hut, where we treated ourselves to tea and a nap (for some). We hiked through forest and then emerged into the rolling hills you see here.







Not a lot of flowers along the route, but this one caught my eye.




Our second day entailed a long hike along a rocky beach. Rough on my feet, but Gene was having a good time.







The sandstone cliffs were quite friable. Remarkable were "fossil" shells embedded in the rock. I picked up a small piece of one and put it in my backpack. It was dust by the time we got to the farm.


























Amazing what a little paint will do to touch up the flora!



Can you tell it's windy?




Our last look at the sea, before we headed back over the coastal range.

Rangitoto

Aside from its incarnation as a work of art, Rangitoto is a volcanic island, just off the coast of Auckland in New Zealand. It is a young soul: by the standards of islands, it is only 600 years old. I read that the Maori who were already living in New Zealand were awed at its creattion. Imagine a volcanic eruption creating land out of fire and sea.




This view is from the peak which we hiked up on a warm summer's day. Auckland is beautiful. Funny how cities can look calm through the haze of distance and blue skies.


The island is made entirely of black, jagged volcanic rock that was killer on my boots. I admit I am a klutz, but by the end of the hike, my soles were shredded.









Some people got tired on the hike and needed an afternoon nap. I hate naps. As AE Houseman wrote,

Clay lies still, but blood's a rover;
Breath's a ware that will not keep.
Up, lad; when the journey's over
There'll be time enough for sleep.

A Rainy Day in San Francisco

At last a weekend at home. And the rain was falling. I ate breakfast to the sound of rain splattering against the skylight in a darkened kitchen. Ah that "good to be inside, reading by the fire" feeling. I hope the Sierras get much needed snow. This print captures my rainy day mood today: the solitary hut, trees bare but just starting to bloom, the hope of a wet green spring and the heat of summer to come.

The woodblock print is by Shiro Kasamatsu, entitled Suenaga District in Rain, 1939.

Waiheke Island

Art and nature, artifice or landscape. An outdoor sculpture display on Waiheke Island made for a great art walk/tramp (the New Zealand lingo for a hike.)




Seek a relentless clarity
which frames the soul



drinking a glass of the wine dark sea
in a harbor of shadow and sun




only connect...
with fragile bands of thread
to earth and dust, ourselves




Dickinson's certain slant of light
this crossing, those other journeys
to be endured



sinews of steel,
our carpace of flesh,
yearning for release.

A Rainy Day in Hawaii

Who could resist a day in Hawaii, even a rainy misty one? The destination for a few short hours was Manoa Falls and an arboretum near by. Abundance and lushness. Mud and bamboo. The question arose as to whether bamboo is indigenous to the Hawaiian islands or was introduced by Polynesians or Europeans. I ventured perhaps it was from China, a notion Gene found extremely amusing. He then asked whether the mud getting all over us our boots and legs was imported from China as well. Ah the humble beginnings of a running joke. The mud however, would hold us up in customs in New Zealand, when a rather dour-looking officer temporarily confiscated our boots and sterilized them.


The flowers on our short hike were stunning.





The rain conspired to make each more beautiful than the last.

And then there were the wild orchids...

Journey to the East

Cape May, New Jersey which is at the southern-most end of the New Jersey shore is a beautiful city that was shrouded in snow and clouds and cold this time of year. It sports many beautiful old Victorians (houses that is). There's something forlorn about a seaside resort shuttered for winter. I was attending a weekend poetry retreat/workshop which provided "prompts" for writing new poems and for working outside my usual poet's box. It was good too see old friends, Susan and Alyssa with whom I had worked with in Provincetown at the Fine Arts Work Center a couple of summers ago.

Here's a photograph of the late afternoon sky from the balcony of the hotel. the blues were particularly textured, almost creamy.



NEW YORK was the first stop on the trip for culture and entertainment. Ah my home city, drawing me back again. Coming full circle, returnings and yearnings. It is difficult to stay away though the cold makes me appreciate living in CA. It was a pleasure to hear the New York Philharmonic with Dudamel conducting a rousing Mahler's Fifth, the New York City Opera performing Barber's Antony and Cleopatra and the MET performing Gluck's Orpheo with choreography by Mark Morris. As an added benefit, the city provided, snow--how lovely, at least for a few hours.