Fast Day 246 February 18 2012 {To A Young Niece}

To A Young Niece

It is in media res;
there is a young girl dying
leaving husband and two kids behind:
one hundred miles of footsteps
in freshly fallen snow...
big-flake and powdery
that leaves plain tracks,
steps abrupt and stop -
in the middle of an open field,
and look around in surprise.

O, Sister, where art thou?
Come back and sit a spell:
annul the sumptuary laws of death,
and evoke the vanity of palaver
around the roaring fire,
talk of love once more,
and boyfriends, beauty,
and love yet again!
giggling around your High School lockers...
cheerleader on the golden shore!

---
notes

To me, she is always young and a kid, so I imagine her again in High School.
She passed this morning.

Fast Day 244 February 4 2012 {To A Spouse Serving In Afghanistan}

To A Spouse Serving In Afghanistan

Boot buckles in the mud room,

unfastened on the floor;

scarves and mittens on the bench,

and coats hung on the door;

and all our togetherness,

like movie tickets in a drawer…

How long do you vacuum until Christmas glitter’s gone away?

The store-bought sparkling snow you spread on Santa’s sleigh?

How long after Christmas will you find needles on the floor?

How long will we be apart, how long will last the war?

Spray snow on the window pane,

a star beneath the chair;

a stash of ancient fruit cake

we did not think to share;

forgotten Christmas CDs,

unheard like my prayer…

How long do you vacuum until Christmas glitter’s gone away?

The store-bought sparkling snow you spread on Santa’s sleigh?

How long after Christmas will you find needles on the floor?

How long will we be apart, how long will last the war?

--

notes

Late getting this one up, as I am.... well, I was going to say I was busy, but perhaps I am pre-occupied with my happiness.
I was cleaning a few days ago, and the elusive remnants of the holidays made this pop into my head...

Fast Day 213 July 2 2011 {My New Pickup Truck}

My New Pickup Truck

My brother has a pickup truck,

and I will have one, too;

I will take my reel lawnmower

with a wooden handle

to the casa of my girl friend

to  cut her long, long grass;

afterwards we will both relax

and drink some black coffee;

she may smoke a  long charuto…

that girl is very much wi-fi.

I will take my new picape

and go to my parents’

to fix the roof of Friday’s storm

when fell their neighbor’s tree:

to tie the wood up in bundles

and set it out for trash;

maybe they could visit downtown

and I could drive them there;

then I will drink only iced tea

and radio my filial love.

My dog goes in the new pickup

sitting in the truck bed

with the Dee Zee silver tool chest

right next to the lawnmower;

I shall drive to my best friend’s house

to go fishing today:

there’s Corona in the cooler

and my feet in the sun:

and I may smoke a cigarro

that I have rolled myself.

--

notes:

Late posting since I was at my parents' where there is no internet, etc.
Written for a birthday in July.

casa:  house

picape:  pickup

charuto:  cigar

cigarro:  cigarette

Dee Zee:  brand of tool box

Fast Day 206 May 14 2011 {Invisible Palaces}

Invisible Palaces
Mothers' Day 2011

The old porch where she combed my daughter’s
golden hair, where we sat on second hand
rattan from my mother’s great-grand-porch
where I mosquito slapped and watched TV
on poplar summer evenings so peppered
with life that they could never, never be!

Combing golden hair, she transforms
the kiln-fired brick, dusty mortar, and the tile
into a glazed mosaic of elegant scheme;
she paints Sheherazad’s aviaries
matted within a garden of vermilion
parrots and bright and hand-dyed toucans!

We sit in our bergamot-scented Alhambra,
serene as the Caliph’s diligent Wazeers,
in the Middle Ages of parenthood -
an endless arcade where metal windows
turn to rich Arab wood, and esparto
shades undulate to distant seashore wind.

--
notes
Posted early because I can't wait any longer. Maybe I'll start doing two poems a week. Look out!

Alhambra - the palace in Spain
Wazeer - the main minister of an Islamic ruler

This tries to express how love and parenthood transform humble surroundings into magnificence.
--

Fast Day 205 May 5, 2011 {Graduation From Medical School}

Graduation from Medical School

What blush brings the night that sits upon your cheek?
What henna of sympathetic care stains your hands?
Which precious fine damask imprints the sun
to use for your graduation robes
in that princely gathering of laureates?

What color brings the day for your crowning gele?
Who is the Master Dyer who adorns your hands
with patterns magisterial to heal
all of mankind’s maladies and ills,
in your university of devotion.

----
notes
More Colours! Many, many colours!
And lots of notes!

(1) Graduation from Michigan State School of Osteopathic Medicine.

(2) gele - the flamboyant and colorful Nigerian ladies head garb.

(3) The Master Dyer is Allah, or God.
This poem came about when I came across different translations of the word صبغة
or “sibgha” in Chapter 2, Verse 138 of the Quran. I was very surprised at the various interpretations of the word:

We see the old Muslim commentators seeing a reference to Christianity, a reference to the Christian ritual of baptism, a connection which I had never heard of before. I suspect many have not. Indeed, St. John the Baptist, who baptized Jesus in the Jordan River, has a title  الصابغ
"saabigh", meaning “The Baptist”, but it also means “(one) who is dyeing things, a dyer”.

'Abid A worshipper [of God]. A term generally used for a devout person. The word frequently occurs in the Qur'an: e.g., Surah ii, 132 {sic} "The baptism (sibghah) of God! And who is better than God at baptizing? We are worshippers ('abidun) of God!"
The word sibghah is translated by Professor Palmer  "dye"and "dyeing", but Sale, following the Muslim commentators, Al-Baizawi, Jalalu 'd-din, and Husaini, who say it refers to the Christian rite, translates it "baptism".
Others say that it means fitrah or din, the religion of God, with an adaptation to which mankind are created. See Lane's Lexicon  [BAPTISM].

 Hughes, A Dictionary of Islam.


Modern translators handle it:

Yusuf Ali:
(Our religion is) the Baptism of God: And who can baptize better than God? And it is He Whom we worship.
Zohurul Hoque:
"The dye of Allah, and who is better than Allah in dye? And we are worshippers of Him."
T. J. Irving:
[Such is] God's design! Who is better than God for a design? We are serving Him.
T.U. Hilali-M. Khan:
[Our Sibghah (religion) is] the Sibghah (Religion) of Allâh (Islâm) and which Sibghah (religion) can be better than Allâh's? And we are His worshippers. [Tafsir Ibn Kathîr.]
M. Pickthall:
(We take our) colour from Allah, and who is better than Allah at colouring. We are His worshippers.
M.H. Shakir:
(Receive) the baptism of Allah, and who is better than Allah in baptising? and Him do we serve.
http://www.qurantoday.com/BaqSec16.htm

So we have connections across cultures that were – to me at least – unexpected and very interesting, and we have an ancient connection between colors and religion and faith.
That is where this graduation poem comes from.

The structure resembles the previous poem, but I could not get it out of my system, and I did not have much time to come up with this.
--

Fast Day 198 March 18 2011 {Questions from a Kid in the ICU...}

 Questions From a Kid in the ICU on Valentine's Day

"Father, why did God give us eyes?"

strewn like a quilt across her bed
were crayon'd classmates' Valentines;
his arm asleep beneath her head,
while monitoring vital signs.
He said, "So we can color and can play!
Go to gramma's on Summer Lake,
where we can see the Milky Way!
And count candles on your birthday cake!

Even though we stay outside
and color books with paint carnations...
allergies and gramma's dogs..." he sighed,
her party dress like white impatiens.
Oedipus the same question asked,
dandled on Jocasta's knee;
young innocents put to the task
of dealing with eternity!

"Daddy, I don't know exactly why...
God gave us eyes so we can cry."

-----
draft 1:  http://peace-weaving.blogspot.com/2011/03/fast-day-198-march-18-2011-questions.html

-

draft 1 Fast Day 198 March 18 2011 (Questions from an ICU Kid...)

Questions From A Kid in the ICU on Valentine's Day

"Father, why did God give us eyes?"

strewn like a quilt across her bed
were crayon'd classmates' Valentines;
his arm asleep beneath her head,
while monitoring vital signs.
He said, "So we can color and can play!
Go to gramma's on Summer Lake,
where we can see the Milky Way!
And count candles on your birthday cake!

Even though we stay outside...
allergies and gramma's dogs..." he sighed.

(O, Crayon robins! Paint carnations!
Color candle-songs with long wicks!
People... peonies of all nations!
Father's love bright pigments mix!)

"Daddy, I don't know exactly why...
God gave us eyes so we can cry."

------------------
notes

final draft:  http://peace-weaving.blogspot.com/2011/03/draft-2-day-198-questions-from-kid-in.html

I do not know about this. It takes me a day or two of vacation away from being focused before I can read something again.  It was very tricky not to make it sound like something maudlin, like some of Thomas Hardy's ironic poems... he has one I have in mind which is a caution I try to stay away from. I still like Hardy.

Fast Day 154 May 14 2010: Mothers' Day {Penelope Plane a Wedding}

Penelope Plans A Wedding


She steers the ship within her mind -
its neck taut like a goose flying -
around ev'ry shoal and brake
until it arrives home safely.

Like Penelope, she sits weaving,
planning a wedding in her dreams:
responses come flying back
like the feet of madmen !

Who will sing the honeyed hymn ?
There are countless birds on wing.
Who will lead us in the dance ?
There are flying fish upon the sea.


--------
notes
a bit early, as my daughter's wedding approaches, and I'm trying to get ahead through the second week of June.

The painting portrays a cottage and lilacs, but I think of it as Rose COttage from "The Jewel in the Crown" or "The Raj Quartet".

This is a paean to all mothers who have raised children...

pix:    http://cajeffrey.blogspot.com/2010/05/dundas-cottage-and-lilacs.html

Fast Day 152 April 29 2010 {The Calligraph Invite}

The Story of the Calligraph Invite

Received a response today;
they will attend the wedding,
and the reception,
and the party thereafter.
It says they and their family accept
she said.

Their family?
Who? A son, a daughter?
Immediate or extended family?
he asked.

They shook their heads
and stood looking at the coloured
inks of the calligraph invite;
the envelope ripped open, and it
a sad courier dangling from a hand,
it prayed: O, please do not kill
this poor messenger, O parents good!
Parents of the bride! Maybe God grant
her joyful increase!
Place me with my brothers
and sisters in the place of honor!

Perhaps that is how it's done
in Syria, she said. We shall make do.
But how, he said, but how to afford...
gently she touched his lips with
her finger tip, the key of silence
that locks the door of wrath.
It is all for the best.
We are between the hands of Allah,
who blesses man and woman,
and wants this blessing
to be shared by more.

Syrians, he thought.
No Saudi prince am I.
He paused a while.
But I am mubarak...blessed...
by this event much more than I
can bless...or sate with food and drink.
Let them come! he said,
smiling, and took the calligraph invite
and placed it with RSVPs
next to his wife's computer.

Fast Day 129 November 18 2009 {The Straw Hat}

The Straw Hat

The wind blew your gramma's hat
and it landed where you are;
you put it on and smiled.
It will rain your mother's ring
which will fall in grass nearby;
admire it unbroken.
It will flood your father's boots
and sweep them in the general flood;
dork-like boats of leather!
It will dawn your childrens' smiles
when you garden, and they see
that funny straw hat,
that unbroken ring,
and hear you laugh at waterfalls
and rivers of your artifice!

pic: micmac
--------
notes

a little early this week.

Fast Day 115 August 14 2009 {Da}

Da

My grandfather came from his grave
sweat dripping from his hairy chest
taking great gulps of air as if
the air was Guiness on tap;
he stood in the rain and smiled
at me a smile so fair
and faery of enchantment - light
from amethyst eyes
and onyx finger joints
I gave
to him
my grandsire.

So it was ye who came a-singing
like a great powerful piper, Orpheus
and Cuchulain - give me but another
toke of whiskey's air
and find me one of Erin's fair
daughters - red headed with delirium
with green eyes
and ruby red finger nails
that I
will love
again, grandson!

Fast Day 107 June 21 2009 {Fathers' Day}

Sappho

Fathers' Day

I had to write a weekly poem for my blog;
having gone to my parents' for Fathers' Day,
I had risen early to write my poem;
no concentration.

My father had gotten up at four o'clock,
and he was in pain, and he felt discomfort,
I heard my mother say my name and suggest:
hospital...you think?

Reminding me of that year before of ills,
year of Katrina, we beat a doctors' path
back and forth to hospitals and procedures...
unending hallways.

Climaxing in iliac aneurysm,
and the first doc said he is old, let him pass
with what dignity remains; he is old.
second doc the charm!

The poem died and lay unresurrected;
we spent Fathers' Day without him, our father,
who lay in a fitful, dizzy bed with chills;
gnawing at our joy.

It was the flu, and Monday morn he was up
and feeling much better, thank you, and thank God!
and by noon, he was his old self once again:
making me wonder...

For he revisited those old, old complaints -
what's wrong with Obama, the neighbors, ...and us!
and we suspect the rosy dawn now changing,
Oh, his former self!

And this is human, oh, all, too, too human!
to rise so high, see so far, be so brilliant!
to spend to maintain our body illusion...
souls remain with chills.




notes:

I was going to stitch together a the remnants of my previous poem from the weekend, and append a note on why I was late getting it up - my parents' have no computers or internet stuff.
So as I booted up this morn, I thought to combine the two things. So here it is. It is a first draft, and took exactly 52 minutes to cobble together....and it shows it.

However, what is interesting is the use of the Sapphic verse form - at least, I think it's interesting. Sappho was one brainy gal.

Anyway, as I thought of doing this particular thing at 4:30 am, I also thought, why not use haiku? Then I immediately flashed on a potentially long poem of haiku, which would be ungainly...like a tower of small objects ready to fall down any moment.
So, why not Sapphics?
The traditional Sapphic verse is two lines of eleven syllables, followed by a third which starts with eleven and adds on five more at the end...for good measure. For my purposes, I wanted something like a haiku...only larger...so I used three lines of 11 syllables, then a fourth line of 5. The fourth line should stand alone and sort of make a commentary of what's gone before - much like the third line in a haiku.

Two examples of Sapphics:

Swinburne
So the goddess fled from her place, with awful
Sound of feet and thunder of wings around her;
While behind a clamour of singing women
Severed the twilight.


Allen Ginsberg
Red cheeked boyfriends tenderly kiss me sweet mouthed
under Boulder coverlets winter springtime
hug me naked laughing & telling girl friends
gossip til autumn

notice that Ginsberg's easily transforms into my version of the Sapphic - if we scan it like:

hug me naked laughing & telling girl friends ;
gossip til autumn

Fast Day 102 May 17 2009 {The Final Video}

The Final Video

when Aunt Serena passed away
she had a video eye sunk
within her memorial stone,
which played the flash video she
had made years before, to everyone
who visited her grave, like an
ancient mariner's tale:
hello, there! I am in Beulah
and free from all my worldly pain!
it went on and on to all who cared.
And after that I came to visit
and when I darked her grave, she said
hello, nephew! and I ran like sixty
'cause i knew there was no" nephew" in
that flash memory video em-
bedded in that memorial stone!
I sat a long time at the river
to see if it were truly cool
beneath the willow trees, but
I crept back to Serena's grave and
she welcomed me again!
she said the dead are come again
to help their kids in times of stress, there
is no cutting of the line of life, the
lines of nurture...and here they are!
all your ancestors standing by,
gathered by the river here,
whose name is "runner", and who
goes to the "great-water" nearby;
the first stand of poplars to our south
is the "wide-eyes-gang", and they are
"height", "crest", "great-lament", and "bends-in-wind".
Wow, I thought, does God almighty
have a name for everything, for every
blade of grass: stick, shoot, sharp, tib, and scrim!
You'd have to be nuts to remember them all!
And, she said, to the north, how truly grand
the pines; the first is "clotho" ,
"the spinner" of fate, who spins
the thread of mankind's days; and who gave
birth in time to the middle pine,
"lachesis", or "the tailor", who measures
the length of of every thread; then
the third tree "atropos" who cuts the thread,
"atropos": "who-will-not-turn-aside"
in any wind or urging.
She said all named beings would
spring to our defense.
But what could go wrong, my friend? thought I
Cousin Joey was getting prepared
to visit Phantom Fury in Falluja, but
that was like shooting fish
in a barrel of water, wasn't it?
Was it not 2004? What predatory drone
was there that sought us out, rich as we were
and immense as is our proud tradition?
What had been spun,
what had been measured,
and what will be cut? what suits of many-colors?




notes:
Beulah land = heaven

In ancient Greek mythology, the Fates were Clotho, who spun the thread of life, Lachesis who measured it, and Atropos who cut it.

Phantom Fury was the second and final battle of Falluja.
After all the talk of Falluja, you probably have never yet heard that it was anciently Pumbedita, which was the site of great Jewish learning and where the Babylonian Talmud was formed.
"The days grow hot, oh, Babylon! 'Tis cool beneath thy willow trees!"

Fast Day 101 May 9 2009 {Mothers' Day 2009}

Mothers' Day 2009


Mothers teach us how to pray before we
go to bed, kneeling beside white sheets
and using the currency of our innocence
to try to set the world upright again,
and save us all from atom bombs
and things that go bump
in the night.

Mothers teach us how to dress before we
go outside - we who want to naked run
and throw our clothes in a thoughtless pile -
she buttons up the surrounding collars;
and orders the chattering teeth
of shameless zippers
to subdue!

Mothers bake yet are not bakers; mothers
heal yet are not doctors; they open eyes
to art, many never having held a brush;
design pillow forts, yet aren't architects.
the grace of God they
dispense, yet are
not priests.

Mothers are an ancient holy order,
taken vows of silence, crying why? but
never speaking, door keepers of God's grace
that beats upon our shut monastery door:
she bids enter! the divine
visitor to wash
and eat!

Mothers sit shiva upon their dreams and
never let us know the shipwreck of desires
they had for the princes and princesses
of their fruitful bodies, for mothers yet
may resurrect the hopes and dreams
of mankind grown old:
young harts leaping!



notes:
young harts leaping:
from the Song of Solomon.

Fast Day 96 April 4 2009 {Aunt Serena's Temple at Deir al Bahri}

Aunt Serena's Temple
at Deir Al-Bahri


Hatshepsut, she, egyptian pharoah
built a house of wilderness, a temple
like a folded protein, laced left-handedly
into the cliffs of father-mother Nile,
into the red face of the desert.

Ladies with eyes kohl-laden,
danced with intensity necrotic
at her father's wake; and when he was laid
to rest, all the sands of all the deserts
buried him and she, lady of barriya.

Serena honeymooned on the Nile,
lived in Shepheard's and loved erotic;
ate fustuq in the year nineteen forty-eight
while the fellaheen discovered
hidden temples of long dead queens.

Slim girls and passage to Egypt!
where flows the Nile's aortic
water from the highly placed heart of Ifriqiya!
and sail a felucca above the cataract
to visit at Hatshepsut's palace!

Now she descends into oblivion
and becomes an Alzheimer stuffed
toy to plop without much thought into a chair,
to sit all day, slightly askew,
slightly atilt, within an endless hall.

The hieroglyphs of temples!
writ large on limestone walls!
Serena now reverses the archaeology of time
and deconstructs and un-construes the sacred
words, reburying the Temple.

Where has Abu Simbel gone?
Drag the Nile for poor Philae!
All drowned, all buried, like forgotten memories
of Cairo in the postcards of her desire!
Every face is photoshopped.

The Ramesseum that was Serena
receives a cup of sand a day
to bury it again, no more to see bus loads of tourists
with her kohl-laden ancient eyes,
she dreams a language again unknown.



protein folding

notes:this is a poem on my Aunt Serena's experience with Alzheimer's. She had been in Cairo after WW II, having married an army fellow who had spent most of the war in Alexandria.
The image is the beauty of Hatshepsut's temple and all Egyptian antiquity is like the mind of Serena...and now we bury it into the oblivion of Alzheimer's disease.

Hatshepsut: ancient woman pharoah, who built the great temple at Deir Al Bahri . Deir al Bahri is usually translated as "northern monastery",but the name literally means "monastery of the sea".

wilderness: I read "bahri" as meaning "barri" , or "wilderness" - a pun

protein: the temple "folds" back from the Nile into the surrounding cliffs, as does a protein fold - left-handed or right-handed - like a biological fan.

kohl: eye make-up of ancient Egypt

barriya: wilderness again

fustuq: pistachioes

Shepheard's: very famous Brit hotel in Cairo

fellaheen: poor working guys, shoveling around the archaeological excavations

Ifriqiya: Arabic for Africa

felucca: a Nile sail boat

Abu Simbel, Philae: temples rescued from rising waters, and some not

Ramesseum: a temple, palace, or even a large burial place of the Pharoah Ramesses.
Ramesses is the Greek form of Ra Ms, which is the name of Ra, the god, and the root "m(e)s" which means "giving birth". It also is the root for the name of Moses, or Musa.

Fast Day 38 February 22, 2008 {Studying For The Bar Exam}

To My Daughter Studying For The Bar Exam

Old Guitars

In the deepest strength of winter,
you are the fire of sunshine.
Our hearts are like guitars in storage
that have lost their strings;
so weave to us your music
on a loom of your studious solitude!

Fast Day 28 December 14, 2007 {Susan's Christmas Tree}

Susan's Christmas Tree

Susan's Tree, enwrapped in needles' mystery;
starry visions shining in the skies;
gifting-time, either honey or the bee;
hope-weaver of our lives!

Druid sylvan, motionless in prayer;
with what eyes solstice now observing;
on mountain tops, once and forever
which ancient feasts partaking?

Susan's Christmas Home, filled to overflow
with good food, wine, and sweets embroidered;
weaver of delight our gifts bestow!
All our fears occluded!

Fast Day 27 December 7, 2007 {The Wedding}

The Wedding

She came to me with bed clothes
and bed coverings that were new.
our bodies were new and so our love.
our dowry was new things and old,
some good, some maybe not.

Bed coverings that are new
speak of the newly wed;
speak of the newly born;
speak of those gone away;
and speak of those who are free
from this slavery.

The coverings are like eye lids
anointed in egypt's desert.
the coverings are your lips.
take your dowered things along; take
the golden earrings.

Reflections in a gilded mirror,
burnished and cuprous multiply our number;
we are two, then three, then more.
we dance holding the mirrors of
marital increase.

She comes to me all new;
new as the bed coverings,
sewn with pictures of star and moon;
sun and birds, arrows and beast.
Her breast is a new pillow with colored beads!