Posted in Jamie Dedes, Poems/Poetry

NO-BALONEY SANDWICHES

“ONE’S-SELF I sing—a simple, separate Person.” Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

·

For Zabaida on her 98th birthday.

Maybe next time around …

 NO-BALONEY SANDWICHES

by

Jamie Dedes

·

This is dedicated to all those fine beings . . .

Those who are blatantly themselves

You know the ones I mean –

Some, when seedlings, had folks

who jabbed a finger yelling: You! You! You!

accusing them of being quintessentially themselves

. . . as though that was wrong.

They are the YOUs who come from multi-colored places

and varied dreams

with hearts woven of wonderlush.

They are womanish or manish.

They are childlike and adultish.

They run from the gray streets to the green forest.

They take to long-lost roads and never-found pathways

with their song in a backpack and

a brown-bag lunch of no-baloney sandwiches.

When they elder they arrive back at the beginning

knowing who are they are

. . . and why.

·

© 2012, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

Photo credit ~ Jon Sullivan’s “Woman on the Beach”

Posted in Marlene McNew, Poems/Poetry

MARATHON

Our treasured Marlene is not to be undone by Parkinson’s Disease. A former professional accountant, she is a master-level skier, participates in marathons, is an award-winning dancer, paints, writes poetry, and  . . . that’s just the short-story.  J.D.

MARATHON 

by

Marlene G. McNew (Strange Gift)

·

Decay’s process cannot be stopped.
In dark shadows of age, watch illness burn
all signs of pink that we treasure.
We become a residue of memory.

·

Ravaged, by the weight of the thought
we seek a path of the heart
lit by fire that burns within,
the will to endure anything,
a power to persist.

·

A marathon holds a promise of pain,
a challenge built upon reason, a test
for mind and body; a sacrifice
a vow of suffering in the name of hope.

·

A marriage of preparation and outcome,
of cooperation of heart with mind,
it is emergence from a cave,
the acceptance of help.
Is is a war against defeat

·

the making of a miracle.

·

© 2012, poem and video, Marlene’s and Carmen’s photographs, Marlene G. McNew, All rights reserved

Photo credit ~ Athletic Shoes, Vincent van der Heijden via Wikipedia and licensed under Creative Commons Attribution Generic 2.0

 

CARMEN McNEW

MARLENE G. McNEW ~ began exhibiting symptoms of Parkinson’s Disease (P.D.) eight years ago. Her blog (Strange Gift) is a vehicle for sharing her experiences with P.D. and her many, many interests. She maintains a lovely home in Northern California where she lives with her husband and a much-loved rescued golden retriever, Carmen.

Marlene is a master skier, but for the past several years she’s been able to incorporate into her life increasing involvement in the arts. She expresses her beautiful spirit through poems and paintings.  She also has a strong interest in dance, having been a competition level ballroom dancer.  Other interests include cooking.  

She is currently preparing for a marathon and is registered for the Mighty Mermaid sprint triathlon (1/4 mile open water swim, 12 mile bike, 2 mile run/walk) through Team in Training with the Leukemia Lymphoma Society. Marlene originally started her blog when she was getting ready for the Nike Women’s Marathon (half marathon walk) and raising funds for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society. Her YouTube channel is SkiDisiple. J.D.

Posted in Jamie Dedes, Poems/Poetry

THE LIFE AND POEMS OF MARY MacRAE

Mary MacRae (1942 – 2009), English poet

[Mary MacRae] wrote and published poetry the last ten years of her life, after ill-health forced her to take early retirement from teaching. She taught for fifteen years at the James Allen Girls School (JAGS), DulwichLondon. Her commitment to writing led to her deep involvement with the first years of the Poetry School under Mimi Khalvati, studying with Mimi and Myra Schneider, whose advanced poetry workshop she attended for eight years. In these groups her exceptional talent was quickly recognised, leading to publication in many magazines and anthologies. MORE [Second Light Live]

Elder

by

Mary MacRae

This poem is  excerpted from Mary MacRae’s book, Inside the Brightness of Red.

Reprinted here with permission. All rights are reserved by the publisher, Second Light Network.

·

A breathing space:

the house expands around me,

·

unfolds elastic lungs

drowsing me back

·

to other times and rooms

where I’ve sat alone

writing, as I do now,

when syncope –

·

one two three one two –

breaks in;

·

birdcall’s stained

the half-glazed door with colour,

·

enamelled the elder tree

whose ebony drops

·

hang in rich clusters

on shining scarlet stalks

·

while with one swift stab

the fresh-as-paint

·

starlings get to the heart

of the matter

of matter

·

in a gulp of flesh

and clotted juice that leaves me

·

gasping for words transparent

as glass, as air.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

My profound gratitude to poet Myra Schneider for the introduction to a new-to-me poet, Mary MacRae, and to poet Dilys Wood of The Second Light Network (England) and editor of ARTEMIS Poetry for granting this interview. J. D.

JAMIE: Clearly, and as has been stated by others, Mary was profoundly inspired by art, nature (particularly flowers and gardens), and love. What can you tell us about her life and interests that would account for that?

DILYS: Mary writes tender and accurate poems about wild nature, creatures and landscape, drawing on her stays in a cottage on an untamed part of the coast in Kent, England and visits to her daughter living in remote West Wales. In her London home, it’s easy to guess from her poems about garden birds and flowers how much time she spent at the window. She almost always sees nature in flux, changing moment by moment, unpredictable, mysterious, a spiritual inspiration. One of her great strengths as a poet is catching movement.

Many of Mary’s poems focus on love between close family members. This may relate to a difficult relationship with her own father, which she sought to understand, and the relationships which compensated (with mother, sister, husband Lachlan, daughter and grandchild). A back problem prevented her from holding her baby daughter and she often refers in her poems to young children. She clearly has a yearning towards them.

JAMIE: She wrote poetry apparently only at the end of her life and for ten years. What were her creative outlets before that? How did she come to poetry?

DILYS: Mary was a dedicated teacher of English Literature and language in a leading girls’ secondary school. She was also deeply interested in music and painting (these are strongly reflected in her poetry). Though she had written as a young woman she followed the pattern of many women creative artists in becoming absorbed into her home life and her paid work, only turning to writing when her illness released her from the daily grind of intensive teaching. The remarkable, rapid development of her poetry shows how strong her latent powers really were.

JAMIE: Was writing poetry a part of her healing process when she was diagnosed with cancer? If so, how did it help her?

DILYS: I’m confident that Mary’s diagnosis with cancer enabled her to change her life-style and from then on concentrate on her poetry, urged by the sense that she might be short of time. There is no evidence that Mary wrote therapeutically to come to terms with her cancer. In fact she only ever addressed her illness in relation to the possible unkindness of fate in cutting her off from beloved people and life itself. The poems written in the last 2-3 years of her life give the impression that her dedication to writing, with the spiritual experiences which accompanied it, enabled her to bear terrible distress. She records this distress, using imaginative and metaphorical approaches to focus it, and these poems make heart-wrenching reading.

JAMIE: Can you tell us about her process? When did she write? Where? For how long?

DILYS: I have the impression that Mary’s life revolved around three things, people she loved, gathering experiences that would feed her poetry (travel, listening to music, visiting galleries) and very hard work in direct furtherance of her writing (extensive reading, attending workshops with other inspirational poets, writing, revising and submitting her poems to criticism from critics she respected). She used notebooks to make a full, accurate record of those experiences – landscapes, human encounters, thoughts – that would feed her work. There is an extract from one such entry in the section about keeping a journal in the resource bookWriting Your Self, Transforming Personal Material by Myra Schneider and John Killick. This book also includes a contribution in the chapter on spirituality which reveals much about Mary’s attitudes to life, nature and also her writing process.

JAMIE: Do you have any advice from her for other poets and aspiring poets?

DILYS: Mary was a dedicated writer, entirely sincere in her commitment to poetry as opposed to ‘career’ as a poet. She was always ready to enjoy and praise the widest range of subject-matter, approaches and styles from other poets, providing she thought they were ‘busting a gut’ to get their poems right, and not indulging in the trendy or superficial, which she despised (whether from well-knowns or unknowns). She put much emphasis on wide-reading of both past and contemporary poets and she herself had absorbed a huge amount of other poets’ work, always quoting fully and accurately. She liked using another’s work as a starting pont for her own (the Glose) and particularly admired the work in strict form (includingSonnetVillanelle and Ghazal), which began to be more acceptable from the mid-1990s (eg from such poets as Marilyn Hacker and Mimi Khalvati).

JAMIE: Are any other collections of her poetry planned? If so, when might we look forward to them?

DILYS: When putting together ‘Inside the Brightness of Red’, Myra Schneider and I went through the whole of Mary’s unpublished work and selected all those poems we felt were both complete and would have satisfied her high standards. What remains unpublished would be mainly fragments and early versions of poems she did more work on. There will not, as far as we know, be a further book, but Mary did achieve her aim of being a significant lyric poet, whose work is very attractive, polished and, above all (as she would have wished) deeply moving and consolatory.

The Second Light Network aims to promote women’s poetry and to help women poets, especially but not only older women, poets develop their work. It runs weekends of workshops and readings in London usually twice a year, a residential extended workshop with readings and discussions at least once every eighteen months and occasionally other events. It is nationwide (England). Dilys is the main editor of ARTEMIS Poetry, a major poetry magazine for women produced by Second Light twice a year.  It includes a lot of reviews and some articles as well as poetry by Second Light members who receive it free as part of their subscription. An e-newsletter is sent out every few weeks. A few anthologies of poetry have been published by the network but now this magazine developes books under special circumstances only – such as Mary’s collections.

Thanks to Second Light Web Administrator, poet Ann Stewart, for the following: The books (Inside the Brightness of Red and As Birds Do) can be bought: via order form and cheque in post: http://www.secondlightlive.co.uk/books.shtml or here online: http://www.poetrypf.co.uk/shop.php (typing  ‘ Mary MacRae collection ’ in the filter box will reduce the list to just those two books).

Posted in Jamie Dedes, Poems/Poetry

SILENCE AT NOON

Deep in the sun-searched growth the dragon-fly

Hangs like a blue thread loosened from the sky ~

So this wing’d hour is dropt to us from above.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Silent Noon

SILENCE AT NOON

by

Jamie Dedes

The days are filled with noise and moods

but silence lies here at noon

like stillness between heartbeats

and the Ever speaks

through dragonflies breathing vineyards

and a million bees humming the same tune

Caravans of monks and nuns

leave messages in dead languages

and encrypted ritual

as they walk their pathways across bridges

known for their span and silver beauty

Like a revered teacher’s stupa

or a gothic Cathedral

those bridges spin toward heaven

stop short

and trip to the other side

Nothing changes

The same whispered stories

fill your rattling lungs with grief

The only truth is in the silence at noon

doing duty as shawl, shield, and salvation

·

© 2012, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

Photograph ~ Arcana Dea, Public Domain Pictures.net

Posted in Guest Writer, Poems/Poetry

THREE YEARS TODAY

THREE YEARS TODAY

by

Renee Espriu (Renee Just Turtle Flight)

three years today not
tomorrow giving rise to
yesterdays filled with
sorrow and trepidation

angst beating against
us like rain drops to
pelt out songs of dismay
pain like no other

causing us to walk in
our own shadows trying
to keep the pain at
bay until another
day and still the rain

came down to wrap us
secure in the fashion
meant for bringing forth
life and love with
emotional passion

we wept in silence an
effort to be brave
standing fierce against
the onslaught of a
disease rending

you mute most days
covered in blankets
against the inner chill
freezing your blood
a prisoner your will

three years today not
tomorrow giving rise to
yesterdays filled with
sorrow and trepidation

we are unbelieving now
the sun doth shine an
unbridled warmth we
walk among the living
cautious to walk forth

secure in our hesitation
did it really ever
happen that cancer
took our lives now we
took them back again

© May 05, 2012 Renee Espriu

This is dedicated to a woman who, when diagnosed with Stage III Breast Cancer, took her faith and belief that all would be well and fought to overcome and now three years later is cancer free. Her faith and fierce determination carried her through.

Copyright 2012, Renee Espru, All rights reserved

RENEE ESPRU ~ is a creative prose writer and poet. She began delighting us with her work at Renee Just Turtle Flight in March 2011. The work she shares with us there includes short stories. Renee is a daughter, mother, grandmother, and seeker of spiritual peace and soul-filled freedom. She’s studied at the graduate level and has attended seminary. She describes her belief system as eclectic, encompassing many faiths. She believes “Nature is the basis of everything that is and everything that is is also a part of Nature.” 

Posted in Jamie Dedes, Poems/Poetry

TRAFFICKING IN DREAMS.

Oh love and summer,  you are in the dreams and in me…Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman

·

TRAFFICKING IN DREAMS

by

Jamie Dedes

·

Sitting on the worn stone steps of summer

on salty Brooklyn nights in Dyker Heights

with our senior year pending like a threat.

Jamming sessions.

Sharing hugs.

Sipping cokes.

I sang you, my first song. You played me,

honeyed melodies in B on a new guitar.

·

Stan on his Irish frame*. Jim on horn.

Your sassy sister chorine** sprinkling

silver star-dust. We trafficked in dreams.

But faith betrayed, a rusted rudder;

your future a rose-bright moon

falling sadly into a turquoise sea.

·

You’d drive me home at dawn

in your dad’s blue Nova, into a

violet sunrise, deep purple maples

standing guard by mom’s place.

Now gone, you and the old roost.

·

No more of your music. No old friends.

Just meandering the strangest streets

mumbling something off-key, strumming

the memory of you, a new guitar, and

the summer we trafficked in dreams.

·

© 2010-2012 poem, Jamie Dedes, all rights reserved

Photo credit ~ Petr Kratochvil, Public Domain Pictures.net

* a bodhrán drum.

** 1920s American term for a chorus girl.

Posted in Guest Writer, Poems/Poetry

SHRED THE SOCIAL SAFETY NETS

shred the social safety nets

by

Marilynn Mair (Celebrating a Year)

Into the Bardo Contributing Writer 

shred the social safety nets
we cannot afford fairness
this is as good as it gets

for the future don’t make bets
poverty powerlessness
shred the social safety nets

any lingering regrets
are pointless though it’s a mess
this is as good as it gets

what ill mechanism lets
governments pleading blameless
shred the social safety nets

as the rich hide their assets
pretending with false distress
this is as good as it gets

and our silence aids abets
while willful lies egregious
shred the social safety nets

is this as good as it gets

© 2012 photograph and poem, Maryilynn Mair All rights reserved

Marilynn Mair – author, world renown mandolinist, and blogger – wrote this beautiful sympathetic villanelle in response to Charles W. Elliot’s piece HERE, “Mindful Steps to the End of Hunger.”

Posted in Jamie Dedes, Poems/Poetry

BECAUSE

BECAUSE

 

by

 

Jamie Dedes

·

wind came through like an old bruja* one night

taking her broom to my cloud, scattering the seeds

of my hording to all the four corners and the center

below where I do my shopping for earthly things

down I went to try to gather them up only to

·

meet a philosopher peach who set me on my ear

with his questions on mind, matter, and meaning

wanting to know why he couldn’t taste himself

and how was it that I had a mouth that wouldn’t

·

in any trance, no matter the depth of it, be a

peach, pointing out to me how we needed one

another to get the job done and – Why?, he asked

and what could I say, having lived my life in the

·

clouds, drinking the vapors of trust and basic

instinct, and knowing tomorrow is today and

this day is perfect, and no matter the whys and

the wherefores, there’s a rightness to it all, so

·

on frail rimy breath, like the child I once was,

I… answered him simply: because

·

* bruja, Sp. – witch

© 2012, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

Photo credit ~ mohan p, Public Domain Pictures.net

Posted in Guest Writer

A bit of inspiration from Pat Cegan with which to begin the weekend.

Pat Cegan's avatarSource of Inspiration

One-by-one, my days unfold
like petals of the finest rose,
blooming into the Flower of Life,
sacred moments of ordinary acts
made Divine when done with
loving intent.

View original post

Posted in Jamie Dedes, Poems/Poetry

INTERNATIONAL WOMEN’S DAY: Connecting Girls, Inspiring Futures

In Pakistan the theme for International Women’s Day is “Connecting Girls, Inspiring Futures.”  In solidarity (I just picked a country at random), I am reblogging this poem, which I wrote last year.” I hope the day will come when all people  – regardless of country or gender – are able to express themselves creatively in whatever way and whatever field resonates for them.

·

I know that I haven’t powers enough to divide myself into one who earns and one who creates. Tillie Ollsen (1912-2007), American writer and feminist

·
I READ A POEM
by
Jamie Dedes

I read a poem today and decided

I must deed it to some lost, lonely

fatherless child to embrace her

·

along her stone path, invoke sanity

I want to tell her: don’t sell your

dreams for cash or buy the social OS*

·

Instead, let the poem play you like a

musician her viola, rewriting lonely

into sapphire solitude, silken sanctity

·

Let it wash you like the spray of whales

Let it drench your body in the music

of your soul, singing pure prana into

·

the marrow and margins of your life

Let the poet-shaman name your muse

and find you posing poetry as art and

·

discover the amethyst bliss of words

woven from strands of your own DNA.

Yes. I read a poem today and decided

I must deed it to a lost fatherless child

·

© poem, 2011, 2012, Jamie Dedes All rights reserved

* OS – Operating System

Photo credit – Jaime Junior, Public Domain Photographs.net

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Women’s Day Live 2012

Video uploaded to YouTube by .

Posted in Guest Writer, Poems/Poetry

IT WAS JUST A MATTER OF TIME

© photo and poem, 2012 Charles Martin, All rights reserved

 it was just a matter of time

by

Charles Martin (Read Between the Lines)


i’ve begun

to

believe

that night

is day

and

day

is night

that

philosophical

point

that

one

can be

convinced

to

believe

anything

like

it’s okay

that

collateral damage

for

profit

includes

born

and

unborn

children

© portrait, 2010 Charles Martin All rights reserved

Charles Martin – a fine poet of social conscience has been blogging since January 17, 2010 and no doubt writing poetry all his life. This is the third poem he has graced us with and we know you are as pleased with his work as we are. Charles is a photographer and poet living in SoCal. He enjoys world travel and is concerned about humanitarian issues. He is trained as a Speech and a Language Pathologist.  (M.S. & Ph.D.) We highly recommend regular visits to his blog, Reading Between the Minds.

Posted in Guest Writer, Poems/Poetry

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

BLAGA TODOROVA

EDITOR’S NOTE: Continuing our tradition of serving up the arts (they are spiritual expression after all) and as a special treat for Valentine’s Day, we’re grateful to share a wistful, romantic poem by Blaga Todorova. Given her gift of poem, perhaps it is appropriate that she shares her name with the renowned Bulgarian poet and the former president of Bulgaria, Blaga Dimitrova.

Blaga Todorova says she “discovered the power of breathing the words of poetry recently, still trying to define my style and improve the language and the emotions offered to the readers.”  Blogging since September of 2010, she’s quickly gained a loyal and sustained following. Her work has been picked up by several online literary arts magazines.

Though living in Athens, Greece, she was born in Bulgaria and studied engineering at college. Her great loves are poetry, travel, and languages. In addition to her native tongue, Blaga is fluent in Spanish, Greek, and English. She comes late to English (her preferred language for writing), having taught herself by reading an English copy of Steinbeck’s The Grapes of Wrath alongside a Bulgarian copy. Her inspiration is often “the souls of places worth visiting and remembering” and Pablo Neruda who “has left a big mark in my heart. I hope one day to reach the same level of master writing.”  Visit Blaga at BrokenSparkles. J.D.

THE SMILE OF THE MOON AND SOME GREEN EYES

by

Blaga Todorova (BrokenSparkles)

I stared at the moon last night,
her full, silver smile
tickling the shy sky
and I thought,
she must’ve seen you,
somewhere,
walking along Arroyo Seco
or camping,
by Lake Tear of the Clouds;

Your eyes
in green and sparkles,
locking virgins and darkness
in flames, fierce,
and those lips,
musings for the skin;
your hands,
binding sunsets and memories
of a past in oblivion.

Seasons have changed, twice,
from the blooming sour cherries
to the summer rain,
from the lush grapes in vineyards
to the window crystals
carving winter life,
I’ve lost the count on
nonsense and lonely nights,
on loves dying without
honesty and candle lights,
but I still remember
the shade of green in your eyes.

© 2012, photograph and poem, Blaga Todorova, All rights reserved

Posted in Buddhism, Jamie Dedes, Poems/Poetry

THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS

Zhuangzi Dreaming of a Butterfly by Lu Zhi (1496–1576), Ming dynasty, mid-16th century Ink on silk, 29.4 x 51.4 cm

THE TRANSFORMATION OF THINGS

by

Jamie Dedes

A Man sleeping … yes!

A Butterfly flitting… yes!

Zhuangzi, dreamer of Butterfly,

ponders what joy there might be

in that tiny Butterfly brain, so small

too small to be perceived by I or eye

Is it dreaming me? he asks

Or, am I dreaming it?

Imagine the Universe engaged,

he thinks to himself, inside that flutter

– thunder, a Cosmic Belly Laugh –  Ho! Ho! –

Then Zhuangzi knows: He is silent

flitting from flower to flower in eternal spring

coming and going, going and coming

This is called the Transformation of Things

·

© poem, 2012 Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved

Photograph courtesy of Gemeinfrei, in the U.S. public domain.

Posted in Poems/Poetry

WHEN YOU SEE MILLIONS OF THE MOUTHLESS DEAD

CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY (1895 – 1915)

British Poet

Charles Hamilton Sorley was born in Aberdeen in 1894. The son of the profressor of moral philosphy at Aberdeen University, Sorley was extremely intelligent and won a scholarship to Marlborough College.

In 1913 Sorely decided to spend a year in Germany before taking up the offer of a place at University college, Cambridge. When war was declared in August 1914, sorley immediately went back to England and enlisted in the British Army. Sorely joined the Suffolk Regiment and after several months training, Lieutenant Sorly was sent to the Western Front.

Sorley arrived in France in May 1915 and after three months was promoted to captain. Charles Hamilton Sorley was killed by a sniper at the Battle of Loos on October 13, 1915. He left only 37 complete poems, including the one he wrote just before he was killed, When you see Millions of the Mouthless Dead. Sorley’s posthumous book, Marlborough and Other Poems was popular and achieved critical success when it was published in 1916. [adapted from Spartacus Educational, a site developed by John Simpkin (MPhil.), British educator, historian, and member of the European History E-Learning Project] J.D.

·

WHEN YOU SEE MILLIONS OF THE MOUTHLESS DEAD

by

Charles Hamilton Sorley

When you see millions of the mouthless dead
Across your dreams in pale battalions go,
Say not soft things as other men have said,
That you’ll remember. For you need not so.
Give them not praise. For, deaf, how should they know
It is not curses heaped on each gashed head?
Nor tears. Their blind eyes see not your tears flow.
Nor honour. It is easy to be dead.
Say only this, “They are dead.” Then add thereto,
“yet many a better one has died before.”
Then, scanning all the overcrowded mass, should you
Perceive one face that you loved heretofore,
It is a spook. None wears the face you knew.
Great death has made all this for evermore.

·

Photo credit ~ a cropped and retouched version of a portrait of British soldier poet, Charles Hamitlton Sorely dated c. 1914/1915, since Mr. Sorely is in uniform here and was enlisted in 1914 and killed in 1915. The photo was first published in 1918. The collection of his poems came out in 1919. The photo is from For Remembrance: Soldier Poets Who Have Fallen in the War. The photograph is in the public domain.

*Poems ~ excepts from Marlborough and Other Poems by Charles Hamilton SorelyIt would appear that this book is currently in the public domain. You can read the entire book on or download it from Internet Archives HERE.

Posted in Poems/Poetry

A FINAL POEM

CECIL DAY-LEWIS (1904-1972)

BRITISH POET LAUREATE (1968-1972)

·

This well-received post is re-blogged today:

C. DAY LEWIS AT LEMMONS

by

Jamie Dedes

I discovered the Anglo-Irish poet Cecil Day-Lewis (C Day-Lewis) quite by accident the one day some time ago when I was preparing my Sunday news feature for the main site of an online poetry community with which I am involved. On the basis that we all benefit from knowing our roots and connections – no matter our occupation – I always start off with a snippet about a poet who either was born or died on the day of the posting. Cecil  Day-Lewis died on May 22 in 1972 of pancreatic cancer. He was the British Poet Laureate from 1968 until his death. There’s lots about him and his work that nags for my attention, but one poem really struck home.

At Lemmons (1972), according to the C Day Lewis website (HERE), was written by Day-Lewis on his deathbed at the home of Sir Kingsley William Amis (1922-1995), the English poet, novelist, critic, and educator. Amis is quoted as saying that, “At no time did Cecil mention death. My own strong feeling is that he came to draw his own conclusions from his physical decline and increasingly severe – though happily intermittent – bouts of pain, but, out of kindness and abnegation of self, chose not to discuss the matter.” This last poem, which demonstrates a wonderful grace and acceptance, was published posthumously.

AT LEMMONS

by

C Day Lewis

Above my table three magnolia flowers

Utter their silent requiems.

Through the window I see your elms

In labour with the racking storm

Giving it shape in April’s shifty airs.

·

Up there sky boils from a brew of cloud

To blue gleam, sunblast, then darkens again.

No respite is allowed

The watching eye, the natural agony.

·

Below is the calm a loved house breeds

Where four have come together to dwell

–            Two write, one paints, the fourth invents –

Each pursuing a natural bent

But less through nature’s formative travail

Than each in his own humour finding the self he needs.

·

Round me all is amenity, a bloom of

Magnolia uttering its requiems,

A climate of acceptance.  Very well

I accept my weakness with my friends’

Good natures sweetening each day my sick room.

·

Photo credit ~ Copyrighted cover art (fair use) for Peter Stanford’s biography of Day-Lewis,C Day-Lewis, a Life. Definitely on my reading list.

Posted in Guest Writer, Poems/Poetry, Uncategorized

OF DYING

OF DYING

by

Victoria Ceretto-Slotto (liv2write2day)

That pain surrounds our birth, there’s no denying,
though worse, the fear that comes with thoughts of dying.

For life’s sojourn is pierced by sounds of crying,
as day-by-day we creep unto our dying.

Absorbed by fear of loss, we turn to buying
mere toys to mask remembrance of our dying.

And as our days grow long we know dark sighing
of friends and those we love. We watch their dying.

Perhaps, at length, we will eschew defying,
instead, embracing death: Victorious dying.

·

© poem, Victoria Ceretto-Slotto, 2011 All rights reserved

© photo, Dead Tree in Sepia from Grumpy-Puddin’s Photostream via Victoria, some rights reserved

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Victoria Ceretto-Slotto ~ A former nurse, Victoria is a novelist, poet, artist, and a docent at Nevada Museum of Art. Currently she is hard at work with final edits on her novel, Winter Is Past, recently accepted for publication. A second novel is in progress. Victoria finds inspiration in the mysteries of life, death, art and spirituality. She lives and writes in Reno, Nevada and Palm Desert, California with her photographer husband and two canine kids. Victoria shares some of her poetry on liv2write2day’s blog, where she also provides writing prompts and offers coaching with Monday Morning Writing Prompt and Wordsmith Wednesday.

Posted in Jamie Dedes, Poems/Poetry

SOUL’S WINTER

In my coat I sit

At the window sill

Wintering with the snow …

The Dead of Winter by Samuel Menashe in Samuel Menashe: New and Selected Poems

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MY SOUL’S WINTER

by

Jamie Dedes

soul’s winter with days like secret lights

like eels slithering in the depths of the sea

with vague interests and a fathomless eye

stilled by a gray groping arctic freeze into

thinking of what-fors, whys, then howling

and waking up in spring with the hope of

answers in the hint of fresh green summer

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© poem, Jamie Dedes, 2011 All rights reserved

Photo credit ~ morgueFile

Posted in Book/Magazine Reviews, Jamie Dedes

NINE GATES: ENTERING THE MIND OF POETRY

NINE GATES: ENTERING THE MIND OF POETRY

by Jane Hirshfield (b. 1953, American) author and poet

Review by: Jamie Dedes (Musing by Moonlight)

 

An award-winning author and poet, Jane Hirshfield has published seven collections of poetry in addition to  Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry, a collection of essays. Her most recent book of poetry is Come, Thief (August 2011). In collaboration with Mariko Aratoni, Hirshfield edited and translated four volumes of poetry by women of ancient Japan.

Ms. Hirshfield is a Zen Buddhist and her practice informs her work with spiritual insight and delicate nuance.  She has said, “It is my hope that the experience of that practice underlies and informs [my poetry] as a whole. My feeling is that the paths of poetry and of meditation are closely linked – one is an attentiveness and awareness that exists in language, the other an attentiveness and awareness that exists in silence, but each is a way to attempt to penetrate experience thoroughly, to its core.” [The Poetry Foundation]

Nine Gates: Entering the Mind of Poetry (September 1998) is a series of nine essays that were written by Jane Hirshfield over a ten-year period and published or presented at poetry events.

*****

Gates are a means of exit and entrance, providing connection between the inner and the outer.  The premise of Hirshfield’s book is that the art of poetry is the gate by which we are offered  “mysterious informing.” Nine Gates is at once a primer for the reader and a manual for the writer. This is a book that is reverent of art, artist, and life. All is sacred ground.

The book begins at the beginning – the root of poetry – concentration.  “By concentration, I mean a particular state of awareness: penetrating, unified, and focused, yet also permeable and open.” As she says, this is Huxley’s “doors to perception” and James Joyce’s “epiphany.”  It is what I would call sacred space, and this focus, this concentration, “however laborious, becomes a labor of love.” In this chapter, I particularly appreciated the short discussion of voice: writers whose ear is turned to both the inner and outer have found their voice and thus are able to put their  ”unique and recognizable stamp” upon their work.

The book closes with “Writing and the Threshold Life” and a discussion of the space into which a writer withdraws, liminal space.  The writer, she tells us, becomes like the monk giving-up identity and assumptions. . “The person [in liminal state] leaves behind his or her identity and dwells in the threshold state of ambiguity, openness, and indeterminacy.” This is all rather like the person going through a ritual transitions. Only after transition to this liminal space, neither here nor there, is community wholeheartedly embraced. To see clearly and to embrace the whole without judgment, one has to be free of the standard cannon and the received wisdom.  The idea being that the creative life is one that gives up the ordinary conventions, which is the price of freedom.

Encased between the two portals of concentration and the threshold life are discussions of originality, translation (what we learn from the poetry and linguistic traditions of others), “word leaves” (images), indirection (the mind of the poet circles the poem), inward and outward looking, the shadow side of poetry (between the realms of heaven and hell), and poetry as a “vessel of remembrance.”

The book’s range is broad, using poets and their wisdom from ancient times to modern and from East to West. The essays are at once a delicate lace and a sturdy practical homespun. All is approached with respect, clarity, and intelligence. Each chapter is a gentle nudge toward more authenticity, greater truth, deeper spirituality. In her introduction, Jane Hirshfield says that because the essays were written at different times some themes and quotes are repeated and removing the repetitions proved impossible. I felt the repetitions served to reinforce. I was grateful for them. If I have any difficulty with this book, it was the conflict between not wanting to put it down and wanting to put it down to start writing in the spirit of entering the mind of poetry. A definite thumbs-up on this one.

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Essay ~ © 2011, Jamie Dedes, all rights reserved

Cover art ~  © publisher, posted under fair use

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