Monday, July 2, 2012

Urn

Aurora_4592crop2s



Urn



What good does it do
to sit and bleed
over all the empty boxes
over all that is not more
than what it is;

I’d as soon play sexton with a spoon
dig my own grave hole
six by six, concrete lined,
as only remember
the bleach and the burn.

When the south wind 
tosses its wild head in the night,
takes the trouble to journey
from that other country where
Aldebaran runs bright behind the Sisters,

all to twist out
a few strands from my braid,
drift them like sailboats
moonracing the dawn on a blue lake face,
dance them on a tickle of its cosmic tongue,

how foolish to yearn for what isn't
when the frogs are singing Puccini
when the red star
is my flower,
the big dipper my urn.

April~July  2012



Posted for   real toads
Open Link Monday 




Process Notes: "Aldebaran...is a red giant star located about 65 light years away in the zodiac constellation of Taurus...it is the brightest star in the constellation and is one of the brightest stars in the nighttime sky. The name Aldebaran is Arabic ... and translates literally as "the follower", presumably because [it] appears to follow the Pleiades, or "Seven Sisters" star cluster in the night sky..." ~wikipedia


Image: Aurora_4592crop_2s, by esapekka, on flick'r
Shared under a Creative Commons License 

30 comments:

  1. This is so esoteric, rich with imagery and an imaginative journey into the far reaches of space - can't wish on a star for much more on a Monday.

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  2. This made me feel like you brought a postcard to life. Nicely painted :)

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  3. love the hair twist like a sale boat on the blue face...very cool...and thanks for the education on aldebaran....i actually looked it up before reading your note...how foolish to yearn for what isnt...the big dipper my urn...really nice close...great visual piece again hedge...hope you are well...

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  4. I love the way you craft your words.. such vivid imagery and deep soaked with meaning.

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  5. Joy, I think this is my favorite poem of yours. So lyrical, so lovely......especially "when the south wind tosses its wild head in the night"....your final stanza is incredibly lovely........sigh. I feel replete after reading this.

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  6. "how foolish to yearn for what isn't" and yet we humans can't resist this.

    This read as sweetly as summer sky, hedgewitch.

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  7. that last stanza was just magical.fabulously done.

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  8. a trip through futility - well done - open and close were my favs

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  9. This is beautiful. I especially like the Puccini-singing frogs. (I imagine them, if not singing Madama Butterfly, at least Madama Fly.)

    Just the sound of Aldebaran is beautiful - and you do so much more with it - though even before you bring it in, you sum up all philosophy with the first stanza.

    Now for the criticism (same old same old) - I really tripped over the lack of comma or hyphen with concrete lined. Forget the hyphen- I know I am probably the only person so literal but because you did have a comma after the six by six, I kept trying to read the concrete lined as an enjambment - as if the concrete was remembering the bleach and burn or the bleach and burn remembering the concrete or the lined remembering something--I know I am literal and probably way too plodding- but it took me a long time to catch that the "as only remember the bleach and burned" went with the speaker.

    I know you'll not want commas through-out, so maybe the key is to take the comma out after six by six so we understand that we just have to intuit the breaks, or maybe you just add that one in. I don't know. Think about it. (I'm sorry to be so crochety. In my defense, I am reading word by word and not rushing over gaps.)

    It's such a lovely poem -

    I am sure that I am the only person that has these problems.

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    1. PS - meaning, it's probably best to take my critique with an Aldabaran-sized grain of salt.

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    2. Karin your devotional love for commas is such a cri de coeur that I feel I have to do something...the concrete lined phrase was a balancing last minute addition as I wanted some hardness in the grave image, some reality to gravedigging with a spoon. I didn't give it much thought as it seemed rather obvious to me that graves are concrete lined, and the next line is the 'as soon as' prepositional phrase completed. But I will tinker with it for you. I love your pun on Madame Butterfly and the frogs. Thanks for reading with such attention and involvement.

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    3. I did not know that graves were concrete-lined. I only know about commas. K. (ha.) Please do not change anything based on my views, but only if you feel your own uncertainty. k.

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    4. Yes, there's a big concrete vault that they put the coffin in in most states, for health reasons. But I did work in cemeteries a lot when I worked for the Parks Department, and obviously, did not pay enough attention in grammar class. ;-) If you had that much trouble grasping the meaning, as an intelligent reader, then it needs a comma.

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    5. PS I think of this as one of my more cheerful poems, yet here we are discussing the intricacies of gravedigging. I need to write a poem about flowers and cherubs or something.

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    6. Ha. Well, I thought the incubus one was pretty cheerful! k.

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  10. I love the south wind tossing its wild head and frogs singing Puccini (yes, especially the latter, what a delight!), also the nod to the futility of yearning for what isn't...

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  11. I am loving this, Hedge . . . and restraining myself from jumping into the comma conversation!

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  12. Amazingly beautiful images here. A wonderful poem. (That well-chosen photo makes such a nice presentation, too.)

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  13. Joy, after reading that first stanza I was like soooo....yesssss.......I loved that start. I wish I was cut from the cloth that would be able not only to appreciate the wisdom of this message but also hardy enough to put into practice. alas...my little voices are little shits...but at least they seem to know me better than myself...lol. I may have misread the meaning of this one...so I made up my own. Hope you don't mind. Fabby.....in more ways than I can count.

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    1. Yeah me too, on wishing that--but I do try. You go ahead and have it mean whatever works for you, Corey. That's what it's all about--that it mean...whatever, but mean. Thanks for reading.

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  14. I love the opening stanza to the last one ~ To yearn for something far and impossibly beyond one reach ~ I don't see anything wrong with this, except when the beauty is under one's nose ~

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  15. "all to twist out
    a few strands from my braid,
    drift them like sailboats
    moonracing the dawn on a blue lake face,
    dance them on a tickle of its cosmic tongue,"

    AH, lovely. WInd in sails and in the hair as a race, as a tongue! How beautiful! And grave turned to urn, earth to the cosmos. This poem is transformational. I feel pain and loneliness transformed into a kind of sad joy and expansiveness.

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  16. Again... so many paintings come to my mind!

    When the south wind
    tosses its wild head in the night,

    Oh, really I could highlight it all. To read it outloud is amazing, but one should take a flashlight outside and read it to the night sky. (not tonight.. it's too hot out there - almost 80 at 12:45 pm!)

    And Puccini singing frogs.. ha!

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    1. Thank you Margaret. I would love to see what you imagine from these lines.

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  17. We miss what we have by wishing for what isn't as you so beautifully stated it. Life is a painting accompanied by the music playing around us..we fail too often to take note of it.

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  18. Im realising your learning me stuff lol enjoyed it even though I learnt about stars n stuff hehe

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  19. I can just see you, sitting in the breeze, having this moment. The sexton digging with a spoon is such a vivid image of incremental and ultimately unrewarding labor.

    I love how, mid-poem, the whole thing shifts, as the breeze sometimes will. The mood rises, and the poem's focus goes from the cosmic to the tiny, with the hairs straying loosed from the braid. It reminds me of a section in Anna Karenina where the guy says that if he thinks on things too much, he is a mess, and can't even be allowed to take his gun out hunting for fear he'll blow his brains out; but when he just lets himself be, and stays in the moment, he's fine. People like us, we'll always mull and brood, but it doesn't have to be a full time job, and you've said that so well right here.

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    1. Thank you, Shay. You know this means a lot to me.

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  20. ...just have to say... Fireblossom... what an amazing critique!

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    1. I agree completely. She is such a pleasure to read, isn't she, even when she's not writing her amazing poems. I'm so lucky to have her as a friend and reader.

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg