This one holds special significance for me. As a kind of cri de coeur (cri de guerre?), I think it spoke both to her battle with illness and her battles overall. 36 hours before she died, we were speaking with her doctor. Her doctor said two things that will stick with me forever. First, “she’s really tough, isn’t she?” And, second, “her lungs still sound clear.” Victory was hers.
—Richard Lingua
victory is mine, a poem
you thrive on fear,
but i slow you, stay you, sink my nails into you
as i sink my nails into the moon
knock if you must, but i have barred the door
i have hung a magic amulet from the rafters
my screams rise silent as a roar, black as a sun
they rise from a living heart, pierce the numb sky
my laugh is a cackle scratching your yellow eyes
i grow tired but spring back again,
a wilting rose newly watered
night done and i’ve won battle over
the puce and putrid that filled my lungs –
i breathe, i breathe and tenderly i poem
as if there would ever and always be another sun
i am here to race and tear, to rail and gag
still i laugh, still i love
come you must at close of day, but
your soul is prose and mine is poem,
triumph belongs to the Eternal in me
…..victory is mine
In early November, we lost one of the dearest members of The BeZine Team, our founder and editor, G. Jamie Dedes. Jamie was a huge inspiration to all of us; always a soft, gentle and encouraging voice who gave us the courage to write and the faith to succeed.
One of my favorite poems of hers is this one, where she speaks to us about spirit’s immortality. Despite the tears, I know she’s close. I can hear her enthusiastic, “Poem on!” and I know she will always be with us.
One Lifetime After Another
one day, you’ll see, i’ll come back to hobnob with ravens, to fly with the crows at the moment of apple blossoms and the scent of magnolia ~ look for me winging among the white geese in their practical formation, migrating to be here, to keep house for you by the river …
i’ll be home in time for the bees in their slow heavy search for nectar, when the grass unfurls, nib tipped ~ you’ll sense me as soft and fresh as a rose, as gentle as a breeze of butterfly wings . . .
i’ll return to honor daisies in the depths of innocence, i’ll be the raindrops rising dew-like on your brow ~ you’ll see me sliding happy down a comely jacaranda, as feral as the wind circling the crape myrtle, you’ll find me waiting, a small gray dove in the dovecot, loving you, one lifetime after another.
mountains rise round, pregnant belly of earth and the aspens dance with paper-barked madrone screeching their yellows and reds, brindle and feral like the snaked hairs of Medusa they threaten
looming over me as I lay miles away on a mesa the bones of my ancestors, the heart of my child the pelts of the brown minks my father sewed the vultures circle, ravished by my demise.
I feed on the pinion and ride mountain lions down slopes, into valleys, a wanderer, lost and lost looking eastward, seeking John Chapman he has something to say, or maybe it’s westward
John Muir, my ears are deaf, my eyes hear a song emerging from black bear, a surfeit of salmon burning sage, clearing America, the wild beasts are defanged and declawed and I am hawk-eyed
Selected by Core Team contributor Corina Ravenscraft
I cannot find the words of this, one of my favourite of Jamie’s poems. It was originally posted on on her old web site ‘Musing by Moonlight’. I did however record it and with her permission, posted it on Soundcloud. I loved this poem because it speaks to me not only of all the things that Jamie enjoyed, but her ability to deal with her limitations and replace them with her acute powers of observation …
Poem copyright Jamie Dedes. Performance by Poetjanstie.
At a time when the world is in shock and grief, mourning in black and burying in white, this week’s prompt turns the heart and mind towards the profound joy prevalent in nature. Sympathy comfort and support leads to a state of serenity, and acceptance of the harsh realities. Just as the endless sky meets the ocean line, grief slowly drowns deep, and wave after wave touches the shore to confirm eternal love and hope of more coming joy.
As the striking poem moves on the reader finds it replete with vivid imagery from the contours of the berries to the universal curves of celestial creation and can surely visualize the countless constellations beyond the moon and the solar system. The imaginative mind will leave the mundane, perhaps may not rest, but taking joy along will fly high to seek the ultimate bliss.
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever” John Keats wrote and G Jamie Dedes was so full of love positivity profound inspiration and extreme joy which she shared with everyone.
Rest…
In that place where endless sky meets ocean wave
Where plump blue berry meets thin green leaf,
Where clarity gifts a kaleidoscope of joy.
. . . . . Breathe and breathe and never mind
The house begging for repair, the tree wanting a trim.
Never mind the floors awaiting the broom
The accounts begging for their balance…
. . . . . . Observe the contours joy…
From the quiet mind and the stilled pen,
Joy! dancing on sunbeams and resting
On the limb of a moon-lit tree…
I’m not sure how she discovered my blog, except that she must have been seeking it somehow. She seems to have had the wisdom to know that she had valuable seeds to plant and so shamelessly spread them over the landscape, believing there was fertile soil under foot. My, how those little seedlings sprang up all over the planet!
Having sown and seen sprouts, she created a hothouse where creativity could flourish. She encouraged me to write, prompting and inviting me, and then actually published what I sent back. She went even further, giving me the opportunity to assume the editor role. Eventually, I began to realize that she was cultivating a global field full of blossoming writers.
Her carry capacity was huge, and the biodiversity that flourished beneath her shining example remains robust.
Rest in Peace, Sustainability, and Social Justice, dear Friend. You will be missed and never forgotten.
Jamie was one of the first people to encourage me to continue writing poems when I joined her Wednesday Writing Prompts on “The Poet by Day” blog. She introduced me to The BeZine, PEN America, 100 Poets for Change and a whole world of poets interested in issues of social justice and effecting change with our writing. She and I also shared some commonalities – we’re both from Brooklyn and we both loved the book “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn”, we both lived in northern CA (although I have since moved to PA), her cousin is a priest who taught in a college in the Philippines that my father attended. I felt very connected to her despite only knowing her for a few years at the end of her life.
The world has lost a profound soul when Jamie passed.
I am sending this to you as the sun is setting on the East Coast.
She gathered words into pictures
Painting busy country landscapes and quiet city corners
Capturing snapshots of people in moments and memories
Saturating each word with hues of love, longing, laughter and latitude
She gathered people into communities
Families sharing interests instead of blood
The ideals of justice and equality
Coursing through veins of connection
She gathered breaths like flowers
Gifting us with the perfume of inspiration
Scattering petals of thoughts and dreams
Planting seedlings of empowerment
She gathered accolades and gratitude
She gathered love and admiration
She gathered a life of purpose
And now we gather to remember and honor her
“Violence against women is often against our voices and our stories. It is a refusal of our voices, and of what a voice means: the right to self-determination, to participation, to consent or dissent; to live and participate, to interpret and narrate.
Silence and powerlessness go hand in hand – women’s voices must be heard.”
I look over the moon I look over the stars I hide behind the eclipse I search for you on mars I sail across oceans paddling furiously, racing with the sharks, my arms become sore, my fingers painful, my heart sorrowful, as I let go, hold hope with love, in the fragrance of your eyes, in your silence I hear your voice, your duty is your choice, your world afar, then I see you, a light spirit flying, along, the bright silver heaven’s star.
“We shall meet soon”, I would write in the chat window. ”Yes in heaven” would be the reply. We both knew and understood that we spoke about the impossible but we both also knew that if one is close at heart long distances do not matter. ”So how are we going there?” I wrote, keeping a high level of positivity and carrying on with the sheer level of acceptance of circumstances, and the fine streak of our sense of humor, me in Asia and Dear Jamie Ji in the leading country of the world. We both shared the laughing emoticon and I added a ship, a plane, a helicopter, and a rocket.
Jamie Ji loved sharing stickers. It was her way of showing joy and gratitude and the moments of complete happiness she would be experiencing.
This was our virtual life on line which began in 2018.
A boundless world of creative expression opened for me. Poetry art and learning with profound inspiration encouragement and loving support.
Jamie Ji you changed my life made me write, guided me to move on, appreciated my work, kept me company while all the time you were by yourself, struggling with illness, moving in and out of hospital. Your richness and treasure of personality cannot be described in a page or two. Jamie Ji you will never be forgotten.
You are in heaven. May you be in peace comfort and joy. Aameen.
For the lovely lady who was so encouraging to me when I began writing a little poetry blog…
Painting: “A Walk in The Woods’ Copyright Brian Shirra. All rights reserved.
Grace some have held the gloved hand of grace,
Looked briefly at their own reflected self,
Closed their eyes to begin their eternal dream
Of what might have been, or is still to come.
Those gloves are discarded, as they must be,
But the fingers within felt the needs of others.
One pulse racing, the other dwindling down
A last, lingering empathetic embrace.
One day those gloved hands will hold a child
In winter, on a slope, sledging near their home.
The hand, like the heart, needs to feel joy once more as sorrow
Recedes to a memory of being the last one there.
A light, my light, but hardly mine
I tried to leave
Unworthy
Unwell
Can’t contribute
Don’t belong
Yet you sent emoji flowers
Your smiling encouragement
Your poignant example
You sent your gifts
Contribution is not required
Worthy is not production
Health is not a virtue
Belonging is free
You saw me whole
Brokenness included
Mentor never met
Gratitude!
Somewhere, that’s about what it seems, at least
For now, maybe. It’s a bit like someone saying
What do you do? To be honest with you, and
I’m not always as honest as I’d like, I’m still
Wondering about that, the what do you do
Thing. It’s always something, wouldn’t you
Say? There’s never been a not doing, but
Lately, that seems indeed pleasurable over
Piles of laundry and late bills. Is that what
It all comes down to, doing something,
Somewhere, sometime, somehow? Would
You ask a Palaeolithic hunter the same?
He and/or she is just hungry and all the
Dinner animals are either skittery or way
Too big to bring down. Every day has a
Certain melody, sometimes operatic, but
Often, just a sweet song someone hums
Now and then, though lately, more blues
That makes both of us just want to lie
Down and die. But, thank heavens, we
Don’t as we want to keep listening, even
A little, just to see what tomorrow might
Bring. Isn’t everyone wondering about
Tomorrow? Or hoping for tomorrow?
Some have already dropped dead from
Not knowing about what to do next, but
For others, maybe you, we’re already
Dreaming way ahead of where we already
Are. It’s also very possible none of us
Really know what we’re doing, or what
We’ve done, or haven’t done, or don’t
Even know what we should have done.
But like a miracle everyone here keeps
On doing as that’s why we’re here, just
To do something. Of course that’s right,
And even if you’re not doing, your old
Brain on life support is still scanning
The universe for what’s in front of us,
Wondering, of course, how soon we’ll
Not even have those electrical hot wires
As the way this works out is we don’t
Get to do this very long, even though
Everyone thinks this certainly could go
On, like forever, and then, forever is
Already over, and there you are either
In a tiny box of bones and ashes, or worse,
Just lying like that down below not doing
Anything again, ever, anymore, anywhere.
Peace, I leave you; My peace, I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.
Do not let your heart be troubled and do not be afraid. John 14:27
Photo Copyright G Jamie Dedes
I’ve been saddened by the news of fellow blogger/friend/American activist Jamie Dedes’ passing. I knew she’d been ill for some time. I had hoped I’d hear information that she was recovering and gaining strength. I grew concerned when Hospice came in to care for her during the beginnings of COVID. I’d seen some news on Facebook about her death but hesitated and question its truth.
Now, her son Richard, has posted this information on Facebook:
Hi, everyone,
This is Richard (Jamie’s son).
I know the word has gone out about Jamie’s passing, but haven’t been able to contact everyone directly. Karen and I have been seeing your posts and tributes and genuinely appreciate your love and kind words. I will be continuing to monitor Mom’s Facebook page and maintain her websites. Please feel free to reach out but forgive me if it takes time to respond. I’m still getting everything sorted out. Delighted to be connecting with you all!
I joined in and found her encouraging critiques of my writing extremely helpful. When I had doubts she inspired me with words to forge on. She said I had a unique writing style and that I shouldn’t change it. My poetry writing insecurities began to fade with every optimistic praise she gave me. Although I enjoy writing stories more than poetry, I continued to write poems because of her.
We found a commonality in our backgrounds. She was born and raised in Brooklyn in a neighborhood not too far from my own. She posted photos of familiar places we both knew.
On one of my posts, I added a photo of myself. I remember her response was, “You’re my sister from another mother.”
She never thought of fellow writers as competitors. They were her motivation to help create great writers.
I will miss her inspiring words. Her blog will be up for a while. If you haven’t read her ‘Words of Art’ pop over to her blog. You won’t be disappointed. I’m always left breathless by her words.
To all who knew her and whose lives she’s touched including her family:
May your troubled hearts find peace and comfort in the knowledge that you are not alone.
May God’s presence ease your trembling spirit and give you rest.
He is there to cast sunlight into all of your darkened shadows, to send encouragement through the love of friends and family, and to replace your weariness with new hope.
I am not here please do not weep
I am the earth beneath your feet
I am not here please do not cry
I am the clouds the wind the sky
I am not here shed no tears in vain
I shower you in love with every rain
I am not here but still shine bright
I am the stars that grace your night
I am not here to see your face
We will meet again in the other place
This originally ran in the September issue. We run it again, in memory of Jamie. —Ed.
United we stand, divided we fall.
Together we rise. Alone, we hear only the call
from sirens of an alternative kind of destiny,
where attention seeking soldiers of fortune,
their collegial architects and faceless shadows
construct a new order, birthing the unfamiliar,
wrapped in a matrix of the convincingly familiar.
A weeping iconic mater outwardly gestures
her loving hands with warnings from a handmaid
and her tale of forced labour and social media
generating artificial facts of incontestable
statistical intelligence, promising to remove
uncertainty from uncertain lives, to offer
security in a profoundly insecure way.
Yet, still small voices of independent thought,
unafraid of consequence, reality, insecurity or pain,
continue to echo the inspiration of she, who reasons
encouragingly and compassionately against
the harbingers of our future decline, against
the pornography of privilege and wealth,
against the deniers of equitable, sustainable life.
These voices endure, like those refreshing waters
of a spring that flows from deep inside humanity.
Underneath the radar of the darker web of lies,
they carve in stone the undeniable truth of history.
At the time I wrote this last August, Jamie Dedes, founder and editor in chief of The BeZine, formerly ‘Into The Bardo’, for over ten years, had already stepped down from the roll because of failing health and, in her words, feeling too exhausted from the effort required to maintain the project. Instead she has characteristically shown her faith in the team she has built up, encouraged, nurtured and, above all, imbued with her own enthusiasm for The BeZine‘s mission of promoting Peace, Sustainability and Social Justice, through the medium of the written word and all-coming art forms.
She invited me to get involved in 2013, it seems like an age ago! She said that she found the ‘About’ page in ‘My Poetry Library‘ was the most most impressive she’d ever seen! Come what may, I have never regretted a moment and further often wonder where my motivation would have come from, to write and achieve more than I would have given myself credit to achieve. This is my humble attempt to show my appreciation for her influence on me, alongside other stalwarts like Michael Dickel, who has agreed to take the tiller as Editor in Chief, and the other ten or so members of the core team, who have kept the faith. Not to mention countless guest contributors, all of whom have entered the spirit of a very, very worthy cause. This is as much a tribute to you as it is to Jamie. I salute you all.
I find it both encouraging and, in a strange way, heart warming to know that I actually ran this poem passed Jamie before publishing it in the September edition, because I didn’t want to embarrass her. She was never keen to promote herself in any way, but she did give it a nod of approval.
The literary arts activism community has since been robbed of a selfless, creative dedicated, resilient literary arts captain and 2019 WOMAWORDS LITERARY PRESS Laureate Jamie Dedes . A literary arts activism revolutionary, Founding Editor of the BeZine Journal for Arts and Humanities, Founder and Managing Editor of The Poet by Day Zine. Dedes was a staunch advocate of social justice, human freedoms and good governance through poetry and literary arts activism. She was a literary arts partner of WOMAWORDS LITERARY PRESS, Brave Voices Poetry journal. Laureate Jamie Dedes immensely advocated, incessantly influenced and profoundly publicized for the protection and safety of Mbizo Chirasha, Zimbabwean poet in exile. Many of Mbizo Chirashas poems, essays and hybrid writings of his exile life and human justice were wholesomely published onto BeZine and The Poet by Day publications. Through her advocacy the PEN Deauschland offered Mbizo Chirasha a six months Free Speech Scholarship grant in 2020 that helped the resistance poet to continue writing and influence social justice and human freedoms through poetry arts, digital poetry collections and literary arts activism. Dedes was profoundly gifted, resilient, creative and highly spirited. I have decided to write this remembrance message and a eulogy in form of poem below. Jamie Dedes, may you rest beautifully in the warmth of the Lord our God.
When a giant tree falls, thunder echoes in our heart caves
And when our lioness falls, our blood streams throb with a tinker of grief
And then heavens weep with us
Poetry massages our grief wounded hearts
The warm touch of the Almighty bandages our scarred hope
While God embrace the beautiful soul yet winged away from us by the eagles of death
We are sure that beautiful soul will sit next to the Almighty’s golden throne
Singing poetry for angels and then summon wordsmiths for a heavenly spoken word fringe
And thus in us peace shall be restored,
Jamie Dedes, your serenading, bold and beautiful versifications sit steadily in our mental boxes.
Your metaphor incessantly itched rough hands of the devils like leprosy,
Your voice of justice sings tranquility in our hearts still,
Forever we will miss you,
Your satire, prowess, dexterity have planted baobabs in our mental pastures
And can never be uprooted.
We supplicate to the power above to build you a holy poetry café and that you remain a singer of verses, proverbs and psalms
As you sleep your sleep in harmony knowing poets shall forever speak poetry on this clay earth and inside the chambers of the holy heavens.
I write this epitaph to you with a sandy heavy heart,
Though something is telling that I must not drench your sleep with tears of grief,
You was a great soul and forever you are and you will be
It is raining today, angels of rain decided to mourn your sudden departure with me
And all others in the literary arts revolutionary wagon,
Trendsetters and heroines they do not die, they are pioneers to sculpture as always pathways both on earth and heaven,
We shall forever follow your footsteps
And erect your statue of resilience in our minds
We summon editors, wordsmiths, readers and poets to carve a eulogy for your resistance
Sleep well revolutionary sister
Rest in my peace my resilient comrade
Sleep well soul of resistance
We shall forever plant acres of words on canvas, lampposts, headlines and internet templates to fulfil your legendary wishes
Sleep well beautiful soul of resilience
Sleep well bold spirit of resistance
Till we meet again in the house, God built for us and we shall summon poets from all corners for a poetry reading, Again we shall not sleep tonight before we read a poem.
Sleep well words commandant
Sleep well poetry captain
Sleep well literary arts revolutionary G Jamie Dedes
Sleep well, Poet laureate.
Mbizo Chirasha is Unesco-Rila Affiliate Artist, Poet in Residence of the Fictional Cafe, and author of A LETTER TO THE PRESIDENT.
J. S. Bach, Unaccompanied Cello Suite No. 6 in D Major, BWV 1012: I. Prélude Yo-Yo Ma, Six Evolutions —— Recommended as accompaniment to the poem: Listen to 30 seconds of the music, then read the poem. Let the music guide you. Pause when the words pause. Pause between stanzas. Listen. And at the end, listen to the rest of this amazing cello playing as the words soak into you.
For Jamie
Thunder, wind and rain last night scattered leaves
and small branches along the roads, covering cars
with a blanket of fallen lives. Water that washed
over the four quarters of Jerusalem—down the faces
of The Western Wall, Al Aqsa Mosque, The Church
of the Holy Sepulchre, and into the karst holding these
buildings—today ropes into rivers threading to The Salt Sea.
The currents bubble up in sweet springs along the way.
En Gedi has quenched thirst for thousands of years,
watered dates and olives amid weathered stone.
The sweet water also slips further along,
ending up riding on top of the mineral-laden
Yam HaMelech, springing up again fresh
pure-spirited, greening desert shores.
You taught us that a life, too, could trace
such a path across belief and suffering, sink
into rock-roots, form braids with others, and
emerge as life-giving water in a parched world.
The Western Wall — the exposed section of wall that enclosed The Temple Mount, Jerusalem
Al Aqsa Mosque — one of the holiest Islamic sites, on top of The Temple Mount
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre — a sprawling complex of a cathedral that encompasses sites associated with the crucifixion and burial of Jesus; the management / administration of the complex is divided between several different Christian denominations, the main ones (according to Wikipedia): Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic and Armenian Apostolic, and to a lesser degree the Coptic Orthodox, Syriac Orthodox and Ethiopian Orthodox
The Salt Sea — a literal translation of ים המלח (Yam HaMelech), the Hebrew name for what in English is called The Dead Sea (see Yam HaMelech)
En Gedi — the name of an oasis area (now a kibbutz and national park) in the cliffs above The Salt Sea, which has supported human habitation for thousands of years and been a stop-over for travelers for longer. Four springs provide water: En Gedi, En David, En Shulamit, and En Arugot
Yam HaMelech — the transliteration of the Hebrew ים המלח, literally, The Salt Sea, the Hebrew name for what in English is called The Dead Sea (see The Salt Sea); though springing from unrelated roots, the Hebrew מלח (melech — salt) and מלך (melach—king / ruler) sound similar; the word מַלְאָך (melakh, meaning messenger and translated as angel in Biblical texts), also sounds similar to מלח (melech — salt), but shares the root of מלך (melach—king / ruler); Yam HaMelech is associated with the land of Sodom, and there is a salt formation called “Lot’s Wife” in the region
The BeZine 