Albuquerque morning journal. [volume] (Albuquerque, N.M.) 1903-1926, 1918-12-01
Santa Fe Society
Notes


The Parsons landscape alcoVe in
the new museum never fails TO de-
light the visitor to the new museum,
1t is because it reflects in light and
shade, in the gamut of colors, the
very spirit of the southwest, that adj
mlration for the twenty-five paintings
now the property of the state never
ceases. This was felt by John curtis
Underwood. the poet who recently
won the 5000 prize for the best poem
Of the year, and who gave the prize
to the United War Work campaign
at Santa Fe. for he expresses 1t beau
tifully in a poem written Just the
other day. His theory that Father
Neptune--the seals the creator of
form and color and light, gives view
point that must impress every reader.
The poem might be called Hymn
of Creation and the word painting
is as exquisite as are the color
nuances in the New Mexico land
scapes that inspired the verses. The
tides of history. the flow and the ebb
in nature, are graphically and ViVldly
described What can be more express
Sive than such lines and the vision
they create as: "Wherc men light
pictures to God instead of candles
and lamps" But here is the poem
THE ABOVE OF BEAUTY.
The light streams down from above
through gray wire glass skylight
Like cloudy light that falls IN a
shadowy sea cave,
Where pearls and corals glow, and
abalones slowly oDen living opais,
Near flame-tipped sea shells obscured
by sea-green sea weed ana great
red sea fans.
Under the feathery shimmerlng shirt
ing frontage. water, color ana llgnt'
The hard brown rocks stand out IKE
tie ribs of being.
The ocean shimmers through the
hues of translucent canvases;
In a stirless tide of air that floods the
Grand canvon's terraced abysses,
Through frail and rifted wells or mist
that drift apart and reveal
Opals and pearls and dead red spolis
of fossils centuries.
Far-flung treasure of Titans washed
by the waves
Round points and bays and ha2v pur-
pie coasts of sunset AMI sunrise.
-
II beats round the high piled massive
of the silent mountains of Taos,
Like a tall sea island rising between
the tide and the sky,
Ont of q great gray plain toward the
cloud drift of spent whirlwinds,
Eddying, swirling slowly till the hills
lift Up their hands
And strain down. snow and rain that
the spring may blossom again,
And the rocks that wrestle with
heaven for paraDet for far plains
Stand in strong blues and sage grays
as strong sea island STANDS
through ages.
The ocean rises and flowers again in
April through new fruit trees
Ghosts of dead seas and seasons that
spread and Tapped through the val
leys rise with the swelling of sap.
Apple trees blossom in spray. and
plum trees raise pink swirls OF fire.
Below them snow still fingers in blue
shadows as polar as shades of ice
bergs in sea lanes,
In the lee of the gray adobes with red
peppers still hanging by the door
The ocean moulded the walls of these
churches,
or Ranches de Taos that stands like
a rock sea flung by Spain towards
the north and the mountains.
Weathered and rounded, storm beeten
by years
OF the shadow-netted Sanctuario In
Chimayo,
Soaking in light in the hills Ike
sl,cnge that clings 70 The cleft 81
leef.
And of the brown cathedral corner
tower in Santa Fe,
Like a crumbling shore rock bastion
of a faith today forgotten more
and more.
The ocean moulded the growth OF flat
gray acres of grease wood,
Like low sea forest raised from the
ooze to the sunlight,
Where salt-gray waves once rlppled
and slowly drained away
The ocean shaped the trees that ven
and reveal wide mountain vlstaS,
pointed like rocks and cotton-
woods spreading like sea weed.
With the fingers of tides in the VEINS
of eacl. ,eaf. ana the spreading ct
eddies in circles concentric of yea's
hid In gray irurRs.
The ocean moulded the hand and the
mind of the man who made these
pictures,
out of it's salt spring of being that
knows not dying or dry rot,
That ripples and wells through the
ages of sunlight and starlight and
moonlight
1t moulded and made and sent MN
to silently preach to the people,
In this small side chapel OF service
unceasing in today's gray cathedral,
Where men light pictures to God in
stead of candles and lamps,
Silently preaching the rhythm and the
flow and the glow of the tides of
all living
Till the hand of the painter is dust,
and his mind is a mist in the Md
night,
And the CLEAN of the strength in his
soul like pearl in a sea cave
In gray little alcove of time is a
treasure of light that remains.
JOHN CURTIS UNDERWOOD.
Santa Fe. Nov. "a. 1918.
The poem is one that would lend
ieself to musical setting for an
oratorio. perhaps that could be rem |
dered at some great community gath |
ering, such as Santa Fe had on Thurs |
day afternoon in the st. Francis audi !
forum, or as the prelude to some
play in the Community theater. such !
as Santa lie Is rlanning under the
leadership of Mrs. Mary Austin, who
a ddrpSSed the Santa Fe woman s !