(for Alistair Whyte) - Jennifer Gordon 19/4/01
Does the clay have any say?
Does it know the way to go?
Does it learn just how to turn?
Does it feel the churning wheel?
Can it stand the potter's hand?
So smooth, so firm, so sure.
How absurd it is to wonder any more.
Yet without the yielding of the clay
The potter's hand could do no work today.
- Jennifer Gordon
I stood and watched him throw five off the hump.
Bent above the wheel
coaxing shape and life out of a lump,
brief stop to measure,
doing it by feel.
Astride the disk with argillaceous load
strong arms, sure hands
speak for the man
who knows the moves by heart.
Just like a long-time lover,
no shy novice to the art.
Where words are soft and quiet and quick and thin,
all focus on the clay.
While harnessing the wheel's perpetual spin
for form and symmetry
the crowning objects of the day.
- Jennifer Gordon
Daylight dances daringly
through
pellucid porcelain.
Stark sunlight lured and trapped,
Transmuted
into luminescent moonlight
Inside the vessel
into the eyes of the observer
And once again
one wonders
how that soft clay,
cousin of glass and crystal,
becomes beguiling
Within the potters hands
Beaten airless,
Turn and turn again
Take form, take shape, take measure
Through the fire
Hold on
Hold on to all you have been given
Turn again and turn
Feel the stroke of color.
Emerge
a serene and milky mystery
that rings with tones of harmony.
Unique, uncommon synergy
of strength
and yet fragility.
Now,
Here's the invitation,
Participate in transformation
- take the cup.