People, sculpted

 
 "Blessed be the Lord, my God, who disposes my arm to war,
my hands at combat", " Ps 143.

 

One's hands in prayer, one's hands at the ready, for combat

[on plaque behind the figures, the words "à  la guerre ... mes mains au combat, Psalm. 143"]

". . . aux pauvres", Luc 4-18 , preaching to the poor

These sculptures form part of a monument, erected in 1926, to Bishop Louis-François Richer Laflèche (1818-1898) on rue Bonaventure, beside the cathedral across from Parc Champlain in Trois-Rivières, Québec.   [Photos taken with an Olympus SZ-14 pocket camera, during a trip to the public library downtown, April 7, 2013.]

For an interesting (and more detailed) bio on Monsigneur Laflèche, go here.  Son of a farmer,  this  ultra-conservative Catholic clergyman, who traveled the Prairies evangelizing the natives,  hunted buffalo with the Metis, taught math and philosophy to schoolboys, saved his parish from bankruptcy by succeeding to wipe out its debt, was actively engaged in politics, and lectured on nationalism.   Laflèche served as a bishop for 27 years.  

Cropping segments from a group photo to individualize its participants, observing the expressions in their chiseled eyes, wondering what it must have been like to live here then.  Sometimes when you write, paint,  sculpt or photograph  a thing, and return to look more closely at it later,  the words or images or objects come to life in ways you never imagined.  This happened for me when I spent some time really looking at each of these sculpted faces. What would they say if they could talk, I wonder, as pedestrians stroll by, oblivious, as pigeons shit on their heads; the eloquent, impassioned discourses of their bishop aging in some paper or digital archive.  Who were the models for these statues?  What is their story?

 what's left are things . . .

A people comes . . .  a people goes

maps change, wars stay, 

but all the woes  can't cloud the joys

that love still brings

of Life! despite 
what's left are things

  

Or something like that.  Thank you for visiting this little impromptu photo gallery.   I almost didn't take my camera that day.  Am so glad I did.

Stone People

 

Rain, on stone

like teardrops, sent

to wash away

uncried pain

_________________

*Photo by Tine Berge, taken "one beautiful rainy day" in Oslo.

*A reader has kindly pointed out to me that it looks more like a nose drop than a rain drop.  That's only because it was caught in the act, so to speak, the only rain drop visible when this particular photograph was taken.  Where it landed should be irrelevant. It's still "rain, on stone".   But it still looks like a statue with a runny nose.  I saw it as a metaphor, however, for people who have difficulty expressing pain--or anything at all.  People unable to speak, or sing, or cry.  Like stone statues.  Hence the title Stone People.   

On second thought, without the photo, the poem makes no sense.   Poems that need visuals, to "explain" their intention, should rethink themselves.  With or without visual accompaniment, we all see different things in the wording of a poem.  I think now this couldn't be classified as a real poem.  It's more a mental observation, on associations, pretending to be something it's not.  But I shall leave it, because the stone face in the photograph is magnificent and it "said" something to me, however awkwardly I managed to portray it.  It still does.  Stones that speak, without sound.