DEFEITOS

“IMPERFEITO.
NOSSA MAXIMA ALEGRIA É AINDA O DEFEITO”

Ana Fenner Weick

July 12, 2013



ARVORES TOMBADAS

VIVENCIAS COM PLANTAS MEDICINAIS DO CERRADO 2

 

 

O professor das plantas medicinais em processo de transformação!/ The medicinal plant teacher in the midst of transformation! Senhor Professor Marcos Guião.

 

 

 

Et voila!

Preparando material para extração/destilação de óleos essenciais/ Preparing plant material for the extraction(distillation) of essential oils

Fossa de bananeira/banheiro seco http://reciclaflores.wordpress.com/2010/05/04/banheiro-seco-de-fossa-de-bananeira/
Dry toilet/ banana tree septic tank http://reciclaflores.wordpress.com/2010/05/04/banheiro-seco-de-fossa-de-bananeira/

Solar plant dryer/  Secadora solar de plantas

Downtown São Gonçalodo Rio das Pedras

Pau santo (Guaicum sp.)

Break before the climb / Pico do Raio ou raio de pico

Rituals

Rituals

“Fortified by its knowledge of the Book of the Dead, then, the Wake here answers the haunting eschatological question of how the decaying corpse, buried in loamy inertia and scattering throughout the material universe, initiates the process by which it resurrects itself bodily into life: it opens its mouth in the hour when the sun moves through the gates of dawn, and it lets language, consciousness, and sunlight flood back in to replace darkness.”

Quotes from “Joyce’s book of the dark: Finnegan’s wake”, by John Bishop

Forever do we try to gather then at dawn
force open the lid to the loamy inertia
so as to return to scattered play primordial dance
no mating in view, lusco fusco twilight chiaro scuro
sunlight so bright
the words of language curse our morning breath so foul


Unable to retreat the light a beacon we flock to Sunday Sermon
we build inside these walls we dress
we mate the tonic of our loss
we lose our visions we chat in language forget the magic
unable to sustain in holding hands we marry
the rituals of these words.


Bookkeeping

"Presuming to speak directly from the point of view of the corpse, the Book of the Dead may be one of the few books on earth ideally written for an audience consisting entirely of the dead.”

 
If you write of things from the night
of the dark perspectives,
yet continue to expect living creatures
to give you understanding…

Well then apply the great concept,
call yourself the reluctant writer from the depths,
start to keep two sets of books,
two sets of diaries, two sets of memories,
two sets of loves:
one for the accounting of the living
one for the accounting of the dead.

Erica Weick
At the turn of the millennium…

Inhabit the body

“In-habit the body”:

when I grow old

i will enter my body

crawl the corridors

inside my skin

frolic in vein

loom in textiles

review the prices, the fairness,

invest in coins

invent

the market place

in simmer the harvest

sample the meat

conquer the yeast

inhabit my indonesia

brocade, velvet burgundy

sacred cows

golden buffaloes

lantejouled Indian theatre

untamed tree of life

hometown of my dreams

in ferris wheel giggle

the pleasure of the ride.

September 30, 2010
Erica Weick in a dream

Hide and seek

or(The painted stick on Thanksgiving)

Abandoned to this territorial beige,
in the geographies of my phases:

Indian Ocean treasures, Meaipe mica and the Chesapeake
Bay of Israel, pebbles of Saint Lucia and sand.
Thyme and maritime roses, lambs of diamonds,
little tiny seeds,
those of pine for us, those for the prairies
those late in season for the birds.


Great hide and seek positionings
green buffer zones inside my heart.

Constant search for mythological blues, ephemeral ponds
where the bull frog does not chant,
where the salamander is savvy.


The painted stick and I shiver and shake,
awake like dogs in the trail under the willow oak;
Chameleons in gold, silver bronze of fancy dress
of change and of chance,
(Glitter and gliss of family dinner thanksgiving forgotten)


We remain,
and we travel first class
and a capella.

Captions to Cartoon

or
The Story of the Arrogant Sensual Poet and the Shy Romantic
Cartesian Woman
or
Triangles, Quadrangles, Kaleidoscopes and Cornucopias

(excerpted from the Book of Revelations)


He leaned forward, and in a fluid motion slipped on his reading glasses, slid his hand slowly across the cold marble table, middle finger touch in the center of her open palm, lightly.

"Your relationship to me is not part of a triangular construct, not at all. Imagine it instead as motion. You see, I have given this subject some serious thought."

He tossed his head back, light catching gray trapped between dark brown.

Not daring to move, she opened her eyes wide and listened. Heat cold tingle, the perfect shiver spread upwards from palm, the point of touch to heart. Like a bivalve organism, she breathed in tandem hope for quietly in and out. A slow down a wish, a certainty she would bring him to tell her something of significance - he would tell her he was in love with her - nothing else mattered - he would write a poem for her, right there and then. He would touch her once more.

He continued on about lines and triangles, connotations and words - she almost understood exactly what he was saying - not quite, though, not yet. If only she could try harder - finish reading the poems he gave her.

His well-modulated voice lullabied her. Some said hoarse from too much smoking and drinking - she preferred to think deep voice from his training in theatre.

"The linear views place you on the outside. Linearity is a simple phenomenon. It sees only itself, its own progression and evolution. A line connected to another line to another line. You add the three lines and zoom into the flat triangle viewed from above. It is like a child's drawing on a white piece of paper, no perspective at all, except for your zooming view!"

He explained his vision with fervor, gray blue eyes focused on a spot slightly to the right of her left ear, she was not quite sure. Maybe he was looking at her. Four months of dating, it seemed to her he might be myopic. At least he may have some problems with his vision. Timid, she tried to interrupt, but he kept on talking.

"The view from the inside, or if you wish to call this, the non-linear view - think about this! This view brings you to shapes that have borders, roughly circumscribed by these imaginary lines. Not bound by the lines, they are only circumscribed. You have added precious additional dimensions to your perception. Do you know what I mean?"

Not waiting for an answer, he gestured, widely encompassing the whole room.

"It might be easier if you think of cells dividing - or even before the division of cells - as Liz suggests, consciousness comes from that first single burst of cell division."

She looked across the room. Naked cells were dividing right before her eyes. Relentless, his lovely voice brought her back to the hot simplicity, but he went on.

"Then, there is of course another view, and that is the feel of cornucopia and kaleidoscopes. The lines dissolve entirely and all shapes change. Harvest in triangles, quadrangles move in space, these deep liquid forms acquire meaning. Not just random meanings, rotating in a badly educated child's view of computer geometry. No, depth of connotations, random depth of perception! This is serious. You see, there is a definite flaw in your view of triangles."

He stopped, blue gaze unfocused –

"I'm thirsty; these people here seem so inadequate! Can we go somewhere else, and get something to drink?"


Erica Weick,
revisited in 2013

The Monarchs have landed...

The Three Silphiums

Once upon a time, more than ten years ago, a friend from West Virginia came to the Eastern Shore of Maryland with a gift of three tiny, scraggly native plants called Silphiums. Today they are doing well in the garden, favorites of mine, the birds, the bees and the butterflies.


All three develop deep tap roots, the ability to endure rough weather, bright sunflower like yellow blooms, great structural form in winter and a definite desire to attract wildlife of the flying kind in all seasons.


Large, strong plants with a controversial past, one is considered invasive in New England, another made the endangered list in Michigan, the third is known for medicinal properties – all three silphiums enchant my place and will, I hope, choose to stay. Or as I like to think of them, the plants for the future of gardens,reminders of the great prairie spaces inhabited by buffalo in the Midwest, of ancient days when ferns were trees, and clubfoot pine grew to heights unimagined.


Cup plant (Silphium perfoliatum)

A water needy plant, yet it grows well in my yard, it multiplies (happily, it invades) with our disturbing and alternate regime of drought and flood. I do set the hose and water it for ten minutes, when things get truly bad. Tiger swallowtails, black swallowtails, monarchs, cabbage white, skippers and a myriad of bees and wasps play and feed with the mineral water sweet nectar food of the flowers.

Silphium perfoliatum quenches the thirst of an infinite number of insects. While photographing butterflies, I am always careful of the wasps and spiders hovering and crawling about. The common name refers to the intersection of the square stem and rounded leaves, where a virtual drinking vessel is formed. (Photo above)


I do not collect seeds because the plants self seed and spread. In my garden this is desirable and I enjoy the tall showy mass of yellows in flower. It is threatened in Michigan and considered invasive in Connecticut.


Prairie Dock (Silphium terebinthinaceum)

The second Silphium is Prairie Dock. Silphium terenbithinaceum, or the one that contains turpentine. It sends roots down deep and survives harsh drought conditions. Rough leaves spread out in a rosette and strong stalks reach up for the sky in multiple yellow blooms. This year it is starting to bloom only now, later than in other years. I fotographed the flowers for the first time and have not seen butterflies there yet.


Compass Plant (Silphium laciniatum)

Then we come to the forgotten one, the endangered one – the Compass plant. Described in the literature as a guiding companion to explorers, it blooms in July and August here. Favorite perch for goldfinches in the fall, when seeds are ready and plentiful.


When young it reminds me of the tropical Monsteras deliciosas of my teen years, house plants in the Northern Hemisphere, but wilderness statements in the South.

The Compass Plant sends strong shoots up into the blue sky and it blooms, like sunflowers tend to bloom. The stalks are so heavy they eventually fall. I leave them on the ground and have seen early spring birds feeding on the seeds.


In a recent article in the Missouri Conservationist, Carol Davit explains how the basal leaves arrange themselves in a North South direction so as to maximize exposure to the morning sun and conserve energy during the heat of the day.


The Compass plant is my wild companion, it dies in winter and I wonder every year if it will come back to grace my territory. So far, for some twelve years, it has. This year I will try to propagate it by seed.

Scientific factual doubt

Male or Female Tiger Swallowtail?

Mistaken Identities

If the larvae of Monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus) are dependent on the Milkweed (Asclepias species) for survival, how come they have devoured my entire supply of parsley and of dill?  Milkweed is just down the road a few steps...

Iconoclast caterpillars?

Ah, no, not quite. In my human zeal I even attempted to move the last caterpillar to the milkweed patch.



Similar but not the same as Monarchs, these were Black Swallowtail larvae (Papilio polyxenes) that like to feed on dill, fennel, parsley, celery and other plants from the Umbelliferae family. At least, that is what my body of evidence suggests.

Within ten days or so, I witnessed the return of what looked to be the Progenitor of them all and soon, vibrant colorful swallowtails started to fly in the garden.

Today I found the third batch of larvae.
Great fun to learn to stay away from the nets, unwarranted urge to protect and interfere in transformation.