I am thrilled to have the honor of spending time with Jann Rosen-Queralt's magnificent photographs of her encounters with mantra rays in the Sea of Cortez and in Indonesia. My essay accompanying her photos, and a poem inspired by her photos, appear in the "Crisis" issue of Full Bleed: A Journal of Art and Design https://www.full-bleed.org/new-index/.
Here are two of Jann's photographs, the poem, and a link to Jann's website. Please visit and enjoy her inspiring work! http://jannrosen-queralt.com.
The full essay can be found here.
Here are two of Jann's photographs, the poem, and a link to Jann's website. Please visit and enjoy her inspiring work! http://jannrosen-queralt.com.
The full essay can be found here.
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Meditation on a Photograph of a Manta Ray
Look at you here: unmoving, unnatural in my hands.
The photograph gives you voice--
We speak one word: “looking-at-you-looking-at-me.”
I want to drop my landed pretenses and slide into the frame,
into your salty, cobalt skies, where I might be decreased under your flexing wing.
We speak the same word: “looking-at-you-looking-at-me.”
How close you come with your bold, quiet eye--
I shudder to think what you think of me.
What secrets do you shelter? Please, something other than
your awful gasping in the nets. What ancient learning will you share?
We speak the same word: “looking-at-you-looking-at-me.”
Bird-fish, fish-bird—cloak me that I may be freed,
from my parasitic ambitions, my naïve beliefs that I might create a better sea.
When I turn this page, return me to myself,
made softer, restless for the newness of our peace.
We speak the same word: “seeing-you-seeing-me.”
Look at you here: unmoving, unnatural in my hands.
The photograph gives you voice--
We speak one word: “looking-at-you-looking-at-me.”
I want to drop my landed pretenses and slide into the frame,
into your salty, cobalt skies, where I might be decreased under your flexing wing.
We speak the same word: “looking-at-you-looking-at-me.”
How close you come with your bold, quiet eye--
I shudder to think what you think of me.
What secrets do you shelter? Please, something other than
your awful gasping in the nets. What ancient learning will you share?
We speak the same word: “looking-at-you-looking-at-me.”
Bird-fish, fish-bird—cloak me that I may be freed,
from my parasitic ambitions, my naïve beliefs that I might create a better sea.
When I turn this page, return me to myself,
made softer, restless for the newness of our peace.
We speak the same word: “seeing-you-seeing-me.”
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