In Memory of Bessie, Kathleen, Addie, Cora
Farmwoman's Initiation (after the style of Sappho)
When you were young, Bessie,
with golden hair tumbling to your knees
you caught rain in a magic bowl
and washed your hair there.
The goddess knew what you were about.
Then rain and mystery you gave my mother,
she, the sweet one, of silvery laughter’s darling,
and then to me, the uninitiated.
I was brought to rain’s softness
and you called me to be brave
go out and walk barefoot in the dew
with nothing on but my nightgown
made of pale moonlight
now diaphanous in the morning sun.
Is there no relief or understanding
of the pain in my womb, mothers?
These nymphs have dug up
the sacred sassafras root
boiled it and blessed it
given it to me to drink.
A potion from mothers to daughters
from that sacred thicket
and all is well—only good has come of these things
since Aphrodite blew her kisses.
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Featured Poem on Parabolapoetry.org June 2014
Curious and Rich
When I walk past
the fragrant forest
after heavy rain,
which smells like
the freshest salad
you ever ate,
some vegetation
from Otherworld
that when eaten
makes you feel alive,
then I listen, listen
and there is
nothing, nothing but.
When it is almost dusk
and the horizon is tinged
with the most delicate
hint of lavender,
against it dark
silhouettes of tiny
fruit-tree branches,
I listen, listen
there is nothing, nothing but.
When I pass the small mountain
rising like a god
impressing the night
and the still liquid sky,
I listen, listen
and there is nothing, nothing.
But nothing is something
curious and rich,
and I have heard it.
When I walk past
the fragrant forest
after heavy rain,
which smells like
the freshest salad
you ever ate,
some vegetation
from Otherworld
that when eaten
makes you feel alive,
then I listen, listen
and there is
nothing, nothing but.
When it is almost dusk
and the horizon is tinged
with the most delicate
hint of lavender,
against it dark
silhouettes of tiny
fruit-tree branches,
I listen, listen
there is nothing, nothing but.
When I pass the small mountain
rising like a god
impressing the night
and the still liquid sky,
I listen, listen
and there is nothing, nothing.
But nothing is something
curious and rich,
and I have heard it.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
A Texas Myth
I’m Gonne’ Whup Your Ass
(Deep in the Heart of Texas)
In mid of night
storm speaks
insisting on fierce:
“I am wind
great with conflict
north cold and south warm
here I meet
to whup your ass
yeah, try to light little candles
stick your toe in the bath
that smells of rose
your incantations
only make clash
as I rattle the blinds
on the windows lowered.”
A whistle of blast
pushes through as if
through clenched teeth.
One waits and listens
for in the land of sky
messages come from
deliberate wind.
John Wayne
gallops through
alone in the night
on his black horse.
(Deep in the Heart of Texas)
In mid of night
storm speaks
insisting on fierce:
“I am wind
great with conflict
north cold and south warm
here I meet
to whup your ass
yeah, try to light little candles
stick your toe in the bath
that smells of rose
your incantations
only make clash
as I rattle the blinds
on the windows lowered.”
A whistle of blast
pushes through as if
through clenched teeth.
One waits and listens
for in the land of sky
messages come from
deliberate wind.
John Wayne
gallops through
alone in the night
on his black horse.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Instructions on How to Be Introverted
Instructions on How to Be Introverted
Emily was right*
this is not my world
don’t trust anyone
without scars
there is reason
to fear
and art is detectable
in this introspection
from this struggle
a child is born
spend your life
trying to name it
and if while at dream
in the garden
on a red blanket
(make sure it is red)
someone should approach
and want to speak
without a word
gather your blanket
and go inside.
*Emily Dickinson was known to sit on a red blanket in her yard. When people approached her intending to speak, she would gather up her blanket and go inside.
Emily was right*
this is not my world
don’t trust anyone
without scars
there is reason
to fear
and art is detectable
in this introspection
from this struggle
a child is born
spend your life
trying to name it
and if while at dream
in the garden
on a red blanket
(make sure it is red)
someone should approach
and want to speak
without a word
gather your blanket
and go inside.
*Emily Dickinson was known to sit on a red blanket in her yard. When people approached her intending to speak, she would gather up her blanket and go inside.
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Abstract for MA thesis: Mystical Tension: The Grail Legend as Analogue of the Creative Process
Mystical
tension: The Grail legend as analogue of the creative process
Master Thesis The University of Texas at Dallas 117 (1995)
The Grail legend as it occurs in Parzival , by
Wolfram von Eschenbach, serves as an analogue of the creative process as I have
experienced it in my paintings and poems exhibited at the University of Texas
at Dallas in the spring of 1994. The paintings are a series of images of
vessels that illustrate my various conceptions--which change over time--of the
Grail. The poems parallel steps along the journey taken by Parzival in his
progress to selfhood. The thesis is divided into chapters that demarcate the
stages of Parzival's maturation, culminating in his "attainment" of
the Grail. The works of anthropologist Victor Turner and of Carl and Emma Jung
not only shed light on Parzival but also offer parallels to my creative work.
The structure of the initiation rituals described by Turner is similar to the
process through which Parzival arrives at maturity and the identity confirmed
by his new name and status. The symbolic nature of Parzival's initiation is
paralleled in the symbolic nature of my experience of the creative process. My
creative work arises from a need to define myself through the symbolic media of
painting and poetry. The process of "individuation" and
"transformation" through which the creative artist and poet works
toward this goal has been described by Carl Jung. The most powerful model for
this integration of the "Self" is found in the alchemical model
elaborated by Emma Jung and Marie von Franz in The Grail Legend . The
alchemical metaphor of a cosmos created in a glass vessel--which alchemists
often called a "uterus"--is exactly the theme of my paintings. At the
center of this creation, as Jung put it, there is a "hidden
treasure." This hidden treasure is the soul. The language that Turner and
the Jungs use in their own fields has enabled me to identify meanings that are
hidden in my own work as a result of the intuitive method I use. The hidden
meanings inherent in the Grail are thus parallel to meanings hidden in my work.
Both the poetry and painting attempt to define the Grail, which defies
definition. The problem creates branches to some of the deepest questions, such
as what it is to be contained in mortality itself and to grapple with the
unknown. Such questions imply that through vital experience, such as
confronting death, a transformation takes place that vitalizes the creative work
as well. The work thus attains the status of the Grail (gift) as an outcome of
the initiatory hell-trip and rebirth. The assumption is that the search for
meaning, or "spirit" as Carl Jung called it, is the main driving
force in human beings. In this way I emphasize that the terms "art"
and "meaning" are synonymous. For me the most direct road to this
goal is the intuitive process--a finely tuned mechanism that incorporates these
issues unconsciously by tapping into archetypes and providing a link with myth
and ritual.
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