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														Introduction 
															We think of photography as purely visual, and rightfully so. After all, it is a visual art, and some of you might wonder what is the point of discussing this. Fact is, many photographers are also writers. While some publish both their photographs and their writings, most publish only their photographs.  
																 
																	For some reason, I have found that many photographers are also excellent writers and that some actually move on to careers that require verbal skills. To take but a few examples, Barry Goldwater, who is best known for his tenure as Arizona Senator, was an excellent photographer before that, being published regularly in Arizona Highways (being a senator requires extensive verbal skills). Ansel Adams became famous both for his photography and for his writings, essentially his Technical series which focused on the different parts of the photographic process, but also for other writings related to the landscapes he photographed. Philip Hyde wrote extensively about protecting Nature, and so did many other photographers, impacting their audience with their prose as much as with their images. More recently, and on the internet now, Michael Reichman writes extensively on a wide range of subjects related to photography, from technique, to equipment to travel accounts. Finally, I write regularly about a number of subjects myself, with a personal preference for matters that are related to art. 
															         
																	This brings us to the matter at hand today which is poetry, and more specifically the poetry of Lenore Horowitz. Lenore attended one of our workshops (the Antelope Canyon workshop to be precise) and this is how I learned about her poems. 
															         
																This is not a litterary criticism class, so I won't engage in a discussion of Lenore's Poems.  Suffice it to be said that I enjoy reading them, so much so that I decided to publish one here.  I believe you will too. So take a deep breath, clear your mind of all other concerns, and enjoy the prose that follows.  And who knows, you may find that the muses will visit you as a result of reading this poem.  Inspiration dwells in the most unlikely places, and poetry is one of its favorite haunts. 
																 
																	Enjoy. 
															         
																    Alain 
															 
													 
													
														
															
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																		Dawn over the Grand Tetons 
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																								We set out before dawn, 
																											find the recommended trail 
																											along the stream, 
																											stepping over logs, 
																											through mud, 
																											not knowing, 
																											in the dark, 
																											what we will find 
																											or where. 
																											Then just beyond 
																											the darkest turning, 
																										we see them shadowed– 
																											Tripods at the ready, 
																											set out along the stream. 
																									         
																											The moon is a silver fawn 
																											nestled in the still dark sky, 
																											while photographers 
																											well-disciplined 
																											gear already bracketed, 
																											clamped, and leveled, 
																											take aim. 
																										It’s still too dark for metering, 
																											but the beavers are out, 
																											swimming in gleaming ripples 
																											across the perfect reflection 
																											of mountain, trees, and moon 
																											framed so perfectly in viewfinders, 
																											even upside down. 
																									         
																											Still the cameras, 
																											do not move. 
																											Hands hold meters, 
																											sight the crosshairs 
																											on the elements of the carefully defined scene, 
																											framing just so much of 
																											sky and stream and mountain, 
																											as fit the rule of thirds. 
																									         
																											Then shutters all at once begin to fire 
																											rat tat tat 
																											on the unmoving moon! 
																											Targeted exposures 
																											bracket each calculated combination 
																											of aperture and shutter 
																											till the moon falls behind the mountains, 
																											and the dawn 
																											breaks and spills its heart 
																											over all these careful photographers 
																											in colors and bird song 
																											while they dismantle setups, 
																											bend to stow lenses, cameras inside 
																											their cushioned bags, 
																											dreaming silently 
																											of images 
																										they’ve yet to see 
																										 
																									    Lenore Horowitz 
																						   
																					   
																					 
																				 
																			 
																		 
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														You can read more poems by Lenore, as well as see her photographic work, on her website: http://www.womencandoit.com 
													 
																											 
													 
														Introduction Copyright © Alain Briot 2006 
															Poem and photograph Copyright © Lenore Horowitz 2006.  
																All rights reserved worldwide 
											   
											 
										 
									 
							   
				   
						
				
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