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Tuesday, December 25, 2012

The Poetry: Living Words

I have decided to do more writing... about "writing", meaning poetry; or "The Poetry" as I megalomaniacally exclaim it, for it is an art form that stands on its own; it is not the lyrics that accompany a hit song, like shabby groupies waiting for the Music and The Musician.

The poetry is "a doing" or "something a-doing".
Nowadays we prefer to use the Passive Voice, and say "something being done" or "something that was done", but I think we should reject those hyper-logical forms for the old Passival, and say like Jonson that "something is a-doing" or like Austen that "something is doing".
To our way of thinking, this leaves an ambiguity between the active and the passive, but if you try it, you'll see the ambiguity soon disappear.

That is a good thing for the poetry, for it does away with the idea that a poem is a static and unmoving thing.

What good is Homer if no one re-interprets it? What good Shakespeare? What good Beowulf or the Nibelungenlied?
The words may not change, but the voice does, the emphasis mutates, the ambience evolves, the emotions may be changed. The words remain the Polar Star about which the constellations of voice, feeling, and imagery revolve.
As the poetry is "a doing", it is the most ancient of the creations of man: no other behavior is named The Doing.

The poetry is swimming in life's ocean as the billions of facets of the reflecting surfaces of the water  choreograph a simulacrum of eternity; it is an odyssey with one's companions upon a vessel of our own making.
The non-poetic is being moored at the dock... or I should say "mooring at the dock"...

Be verbs! Be action words and phrases! Even in our sleep and dreams, be the ongoing and the everdoing, for we live in a time of suffocation. Run and breathe.

Fast Day 291 December 25 2012: Three Kings Dreaming

Mountains and Rivers

Three Kings Dreaming

The silence of the desert, and its desolation
broken by the automatic  fire of the voice
of a hobbled camel braying in the endless night;
led me to think of the Creation, and its stories:
gold, frankincense, and myrrh are elements,
the elemental bones of the world!
Over the features of the deeply cold
winter solstice moves the spirit of God
and there are stirrings of the beginnings
of desire and the valent bonds of being;
mountains reproduce
stirred by rivers’ touch.
By our three gifts, things will start anew!
By this day we call Nowell,
tidings of good news to tell!

Nowell - old spelling of Noel

Saturday, December 22, 2012

Fast Day 290 December 22 2012: Newtown

Red Breasted Geese


white ladies ballet across the skies,
snow quilts cover up the night;
cold to the tongue, quick to the eyes,
painting the bracken tarlatan and white.

seasonal  kids supernumerary
for Nutcracker Sugarplum -
costumed swarm of little fairie,
oblivious of the next scene to come:

fear under the temblor of firing gun,
tufted marshes once spared from axe;
hand on shoulder, they cry and run:
geese carrying demise upon their backs.


white ladies    -   snowflakes

braken       -     plural of brake - as in canebrake, a thick network of canes.  The singular is brake, and the plural vowel a seems to be modified, and is often spelled "bracken" . When speaking, I use long A for the singular and a short E for the A in the plural.

tarlatan       -    coarse stiff white weave fabric;  the snow actually "paints the tarlatan braken white" but we express it somewhat differently in the poem.

seasonal kids supernumerary -   the local ballet kids who dance in the Christmas presentation of The Nutcracker Suite, usually as sugarplum fairies.

fairie   -   means the realm of the fairies and is not a typo.

The destruction of innocence is compared to the destruction of the habitat of winter geese

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Fast Day 289 December 15 2012 {The Gardener Says}

 Le Vieux Jardinier    par Guillaume Van Strydonck

The Gardener Says

The Gardener says:
The northern wind comes
and interrupts the trees
closely spaced within our garden,
ties and unties the laces
of the branches interweave -
like combing the snarls
from a child's hair -
and tosses the mixed fruits:
cherries and peaches,
from tree to tree
faster than the presto eye
can follow.

The west wind is the metronome,
the east wind brings the storm,
the south wind is an amulet called "azure"
that keeps us safe from harm.


Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Fast Day 288 December 9 2012 {The Gardener Passes}

The Gardener Passes

Now the pain blooms with surprising petals,
and the gladiolus of illness
loom large upon the furrows of his despair.
We who dug and cultivated
are harrowed in our time
are we not?

Plow, dig, harrow, spade, and rake;
pinch, pull, trim, slice, and scythe.
Now the surprising petals that form and weld
the chalice of the hibiscus covenant
bend not for us;
what next?

late getting this up
I was at my parents and away from internet.
my father loves his garden, and he shall never see another.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Fast Day 287 December 1 2012 {Weeds Among The Flowers}

Weeds Among The Flowers
Weeds among the flowers!
Eve coped with darnel
mixed within the herbs
in the Garden of Eden,
and our first parents -
who truly lived like monks
within the cloister
and refectory of The Big Bang:
when Creation still
had a new car smell!
in the early days of life:
a billion billion years ago...
-  those two innocents
learned wanton growth and wilding
from the gangster life of weeds!
How sweet
and temulent
the blatant privacy of love!