After learning about the mass killings in Newtown, CT, we are keeping vigil tonight. I think we all are.
One for Each
This is a complete rewrite of a ghazal written in November of 2002. For some reason, I titled that original ghazal “*poof*”. Yes, with the asterisks. Having entered every title of every poem I’ve written in my adult life into a database, I can safely point out that this is the only poem I have ever titled in such a manner. I must have been feeling apathetic the day I completed the original. I’m not making “*poof*” available here because it’s really not worth sharing.
This rewrite extends the ghazal by one more couplet and the meter by two feet. It extends the rhyme to include partial consonance while keeping the radiff (or refrain) and it trades the use of my pen-name for allusion to one of its meanings in the final couplet. And, of course, it is now something I feel more comfortable sharing with my readers.
to rest
Since the original has been completely rewritten, this becomes my 134th ghazal.
Our Lady of the Snows is one of the oldest representations, or titles, for the Virgin Mary. There is a rather stunning stained-glass portrayal of her in the Saint Thomas Aquinas Cathedral here in Reno. I’ve tried to capture some aspect of it here in this tanka.
Lady of the Snows
At Saint Thomas Aquinas Cathedral here in Reno, there is a morning novena held most days of the week at 7am. Once in awhile my wife will ask me to take her so that she may participate.
Morning Novena
Not always, but sometimes I’ll go in and sit next to her as she prays the novena and, out of respect for others present, I’ll repeat the motions, but while observing as well. It’s not the same as attending mass. At novena there are much fewer people, mostly women, who carry with them that unmistakable air of purity and faith that only a life-time of spiritual devotion can instill. I much prefer to attend novena with my wife, actually, than mass, for at novena I can almost smell the spirit of faith wafting through the air, a sort of acceptance and trust that almost vibrates through the tall open space. For some reason this appeals to my animistic sense in a way that I can really enjoy and relate to.
I find mass and communion to be a very interesting thing. Not being religious myself, I find myself observing and analyzing with great curiosity when I attend with my wife. There is a certain beauty to the proceedings that is difficult to put into words. Perhaps tanka are ideally suited to the attempt because they allow one to isolate and portray poignant bits and pieces thereof. Years ago I would have considered myself religious, but this was slowly supplanted by an ever-growing and broadening animistic view of my surroundings, life experiences, and the world and universe at large—An animism I have only recently struck a sort of peaceful equilibrium with.
The Offering
art deco saints stand
in stained-glass archways over
rows of tilted heads
in the muralled alcove arms
lift up a golden chalice
Not being religious, I just observe during communion when I join my wife at church. Winter has finally arrived here in Reno. I noticed during services that just about everyone had their jacket or sweater on, some plaid, some checkered. All colors present very much reflected the season—Reds, dark yellows, deep oranges, shades of brown.
Communion
faint waves of heat curl
from small yellow flames like stars
at the altar’s edge
autumn colors sift through pews
to water the bread of life
I found myself today appreciating the large, apparently copper, mountain facade that rises up behind the alter at my wife’s church. A stream is depicted coming down from the hills, very much the color of copper rust, which connects with a tiled depiction of a stream that runs across the altar and the length of the nave to the baptismal font which is situated just in front the main entrance.
Water of Life
copper mountains rise
behind deep green gesturing robes
a teal river rusts
from the hills and tiles past pews
to the caged baptismal font
Saint Rose of Lima is one of the churches my wife attends. The stained glass windows are very unusual for a cathedral in that the effigies are lightly engraved into clear glass via abrasion rather than depicted through colored glass panels as is more common. The effect is striking in that the natural light from outside refracts through the abraded glass, illuminating the effigies in a very ghostly manner.
Monday at St. Rose
This is a rewrite of a haiku I just stumbled upon from November of 2001.
pierce
I didn’t at all understand the haiku back in 2001, a lifetime ago. I somewhat cringed as I opened the file to have a look at what might be inside, thinking, “Oh haiku. Right. Like I even knew what those were eleven years ago.”
But I surprised myself. I may not have known what they were back then, but it would seem that I at least had an inkling. It was immediately apparent that I had something almost worth blogging, but after a few edits, this became obvious.
I have known Kayla for nearly ten years, since she was maybe 13. Now in about a week she’s getting married already. We met at a site centered on interactions around the subject of poetry. I don’t quite remember how we started talking, but it of course involved the subject of poetry. I do remember that for years she would ask me to task her with writing projects, which she would diligently work at and complete. Today she actually credits me with having taught her a lot.
A few months back, she asked me if I would commemorate her wedding with a poem, saying it would mean a lot to her. I’ve tried to accommodate her request. Hopefully she’ll like.
Coming Together
This poem is a synthetic ode, my 4th. Since the synthetic ode can contain other forms within it, so long as certain semantic and structural guidelines are met, and since I was playing with sonnets anyway, this poem also contains my 7th and 8th Shakespearean sonnets (parts I and II), and my 1st Petrarchan sonnet (part III).
The idea for this poem came to me about two weeks ago, which I thought could really blossom with a little patience and care. So I put the other poem down that I’ve been picking at for a few years and got to work. This poem represents what I think of as an “open metaphor”, in that what is depicted here should bear different meanings for different people.
The Early Cherry Blossom
