#3 For M.M. in Oslo, Norway

The Fireflies
ROLF JACOBSEN

It was that evening with the fireflies
while we were waiting for the bus to Velletri
that we saw two old people kissing
under the plane tree. It was then
you said, half to the air
half to me:
Whoever loves for years
hasn’t lived in vain.
And it was then I caught sight of the first
fireflies in the darkness, sparkling
with flashes of light around your head.
It was then.

The poem on the postcard is written in Norwegian; this English translation is by Roger Greenwald.

#4 For S.O. in London, United Kingdom

Guardian Angel
ROLF JACOBSEN

I am the bird that flutters against your window in the morning,
and your closest friend, whom you can never know,
blossoms that light up for the blind.

I am the glacier shining over the woods, so pale,
and heavy voices from the cathedral tower.
The thought that suddenly hits you in the middle of the day
and makes you feel so fantastically happy.

I am the one you have loved for many years.
I walk beside you all day and look intently at you
and put my mouth against your heart
though you’re not aware of it.

I am your third arm, and your second
shadow, the white one,
whom you cannot accept,
and who can never forget you.

Translation by Robert Bly.

More about the Pantone Poetry Postcard Project

When I first laid eyes on the Pantone Postcards by Chronicle Books, the first thought in my head was “It’s like a canvas! That square of color is just waiting to be transformed!” And thus the idea for the Pantone Poetry Postcard Project was born.

There are 100 postcards in the box, and I figured that if I work on 2 postcards a week, all 100 postcards will be sent to new homes by the end of 2012. I love sending mail (and of course receiving mail), and I love the idea of adding my own touch to these beautiful hues. At first the project only had 3 P’s. It wasn’t until later that I decided to add a poem on the back side instead of a message. This way I get to indulge in another love — poetry!

I’ve always enjoyed reading poetry, and unfortunately I don’t read as much of it as I used to. However, after meeting Stuart Kestenbaum and Naomi Shihab Nye at Haystack Mountain School of Crafts in the summer of 2010 and being introduced to their poems, I am once again inspired to delve into this world where magic lies in words.

A glimpse into the process:

First, I choose a recipient. Then I choose a poem that I think that person may enjoy. I let the words inspire my choice of color and the image I create. The poem and address are penned by hand and a stamp attached. Voila! The postcard is ready to go.

Here are the first two postcards.

#1 For B.K. in Chicago, IL

Laughter
STUART KESTENBAUM

You know the kind of laughter
when you laugh so hard and unexpectedly
you can snort liquid right through
your nose, like the soda you were drinking.
That’s what happened to me with a milkshake
when I was 11 years old and too worried
for my own good. My uncle and I were swapping
book jokes. “Have you read Tiger’s Revenge
by Claude Balls?” he asks, which strikes me
as so funny that I begin to laugh
uncontrollably and milk is dripping from my nose
almost like I’ve thrown up, but instead
I feel incredibly light and happy.
That’s the kind of laughter that even
if you have been crying and heard someone
else laughing, you would start to laugh.
It spreads like a wind passing
through leaves, it makes the bitter muscle
of the heart unclench itself. Imagine,
all this from only eight words from my uncle,
and one of those a preposition
with only two letters.

#2 For J.L. in Brooklyn, NY

Making a Fist
NAOMI SHIHAB NYE

For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,
I felt the life sliding out of me,
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.
I was seven, I lay in the car
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.

‘How do you know if you are going to die?’
I begged my mother.
We had been traveling for days.
With strange confidence she answered,
‘When you can no longer make a fist.’

Years later I smile to think of that journey,
the borders we must cross separately,
stamped with our unanswerable woes.
I who did not die, who am still living,
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,
clenching and opening one small hand.

A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

Dream big, think real, and nothing is impossible. Wishing you a year of dreaming and scheming, and adventures big and small!

The first time I walked pass Copenhagen’s Hovedbiblioteket library, it was around midnight, the interiors were dark, and silhouettes of chairs and tables were dimly visible in the large front windows. I didn’t think much of it. That is, until I passed by it again the next day. When I looked beyond all the people occupying all those chairs and tables, I saw what looked liked a wide, open space and, surrounding that, books. Lots of books. Of course, I had to enter.

Immediately, the combination of reception desks, a spacious lobby, and escalators threw me off — it looked like I had wandered into some strange hotel. But, no, it’s simply one of the coolest public libraries ever. I love books so I can spend lots of time at any library. But I could spend hours in the Hovedbiblioteket just because the space is so incredible.

Not only is it beautiful, the Hovedbiblioteket is a fabulous information/resource/community center. Wifi access, public use computers, study spaces, and books at every turn. Not to mention a pretty cool cafe. I wish my local library was this inspiring!

Now I’m back stateside and starting to feel the urge to share some of my experiences. To start off, I’m going to share with you my collection of mailboxes. I’ve been photographing them wherever I go because, quite simply, I love mail. I love sending mail, and I love receiving mail. There’s nothing like a handwritten note to brighten up my (or someone else’s) day. And it only takes a few minutes and a postage stamp.

When was the last time you sent a handwritten missive?

Kyoto (Gion), Japan

Kyoto main post office, Japan

Okayama JR Station, Japan

Okayama (Kourakuen), Japan

Katsuyama, Okayama, Japan

Taipei, Taiwan

Konigstein, Germany

Limberg, Germany

Limberg, Germany

Copenhagen, Denmark

I am set to fly out on June 19 — I’ll be in Japan in three weeks! More news and updates here. You can also follow me and the Bound in Japan adventure on Twitter @KieuLam.

I love paper. You can make something beautiful just by altering it in some way. Even without pens and pencils or paints and inks, a few folds or cuts will create some magic.

Here’s a little story of a square that stretches itself into several rhombi shapes before reverting back to itself. Slip off the cover and it opens into a concertina.

My parents don’t really “get” art. We don’t have conversations about art. And the last time I went to a museum (the Hirschhorn) with them, I made a mental note not to do that again. However, they’re actually very creative people and have always been supportive of my pursuit of the arts. For that, I’m very grateful.

As I look around our house, I can see their handiwork everywhere. It reminds me — this is where my talents come from. My parents never attended college, their English is a bit difficult to understand at times, and they live a very humble life. But they are two of the most brilliant and resourceful people I know.

Mom taught herself how to sew and draft patterns by watching tailors at work. She made hair clips for my sister and me when we were little, dabbled with fabric paints on clothing when that was the trend, and now makes her own floral arrangements. Dad can fix just about anything, including Mom’s sewing machine (older than me), the plumbing, and cars. He’s built everything from tables and cabinets to cribs and entertainment centers (the kind you put your TV in).

My parents only put out the recycling bin because I insist upon it, but they have always been recycling in their own ways. Mom cuts up old calendar pages for her shopping lists, and Dad is always finding new uses for old things. The ladder leading up to the treehouse was constructed from two step ladders he picked up off the side of the road.

These built-in seats in the treehouse also had former lives.

This tree barely cast a shadow when we first moved in. It’s grown a lot in the past 25 years and so has our house. A constant work-in-progress, love and creativity is seeping from every corner.

Mom and Dad, thanks for passing it on!