Posted on by EAT

A Modern Troubadour’s Lament

This, my 12th terzanelle, was written as I struggled to process and accept the inevitable marginalization every poet experiences who takes a keen interest in prosody and structured forms.

A Modern Troubadour’s Lament

A schism rent the quiet past and left behind confusion,
And egocentric demagogues stepped in to fill the void,
Which brought about the gushing flood of poets in profusion.

Imposters seized the Poet’s name with rough and savage noise,
Demoting prosody to verse with ignorant assumption,
And egocentric demagogues stepped in to fill the void.

A few sang random songs of self with hearts full of presumption,
While others clipped and nipped at prose, indignant and inept,
Demoting prosody to verse with ignorant assumption.

The ones who wrote evolving verse, now looked on with contempt,
Were robbed of all integrity and broadly disregarded,
While others clipped and nipped at prose, indignant and inept.

An art emergent and alive had simply been discarded,
For poets wont to learn that art and dream in measured strains
Were robbed of all integrity and broadly disregarded.

So it became unpopular to work in magic frames,
Thus stunting art’s development through future generations
For poets wont to learn that art and dream in measured strains.

The masses heard the demagogues and heeded their frustrations,
And poetry itself became subjected to reform,
Thus stunting art’s development through future generations.

The name of Poet once was rare, not for the average born—
A schism rent the quiet past and left behind confusion,
And poetry itself became subjected to reform,
Which brought about the gushing flood of poets in profusion.

Posted on by EAT

Way Station

Throughout my life, beginning very early, there is a place I have visited again and again in my dreams. It could be years between visits, or days. There is no predicting it. I’ve come to think of this place as a way station on the path to self-understanding, or perhaps even self-realization.

I have also looked for it over the years when I’ve driven cross-country. It seems like this place I dream of must actually exist somewhere in the real world. This poem, my 11th terzanelle, was written as I reflected upon this distant place of dream.

Way Station

I found myself among the northern pine,
A place that calls me from the waking world,
Amid the buildings of a nameless town.

There is some comfort here to which I’m pulled
That oftentimes has brought me to this place,
A place that calls me from the waking world.

And here I pass along the streets in peace,
Surrounded by a subtle solitude
That oftentimes has brought me to this place.

A forest climbs the hills on every side
Arising fold on fold above these homes,
Surrounded by a subtle solitude.

This land is somehow more than what it seems;
I sense it all will vanish like the clouds,
Arising fold on fold above these homes.

And still I roam with glee the narrow roads,
Yet always knowing I can never stay;
I sense it all will vanish like the clouds.

Each time I come, I cannot help my joy,
Feeling at home and full of silent hope,
Yet always knowing I can never stay.

Throughout my life, beyond the veil of sleep,
I found myself among the northern pine,
Feeling at home and full of silent hope
Amid the buildings of a nameless town.

Posted on by EAT

Aeolian Strains

There is a real live aeolian harp about smack in the middle of New Mexico. I saw a picture of it online some years ago, and in 2004 decided it was time to go visit this living art piece. It was conceptualized and built by a medical doctor turned astronomer, Bill Neely, and his friend Bob Griesing, during June and July of 2000. The owners of the Traditions Shopping Center in the Mimbres Valley commissioned its construction and installation, and not long after they let it fall into disrepair.

It may just be a thing of metal to most, but to me anything that harnesses the wind or manifests music is itself alive, and this does both. And not just alive, but conscious and life-affirming. It was a sad thing for me to find it there, like a wounded animal, still facing the sand-blown wind to play its injured song.

A week after I visited this neglected oracle in January of 2004, I found myself writing this poem, my 10th terzanelle, in Flagstaff, Arizona where I was waylaid on my way back home by a nasty cold.

Aeolian Strains

Neglected with a broken string, the harp turns toward the wind,
And plays the subtle song of distant desert moods;
A song that’s lost amid the sound of reckless worldly din.

This singing weather-vane, the song of which would soothe,
Stands in a field of novelties, an oracle ignored,
And plays the subtle song of distant desert moods.

An art piece with a living soul, from mystic magic born,
The voice of whispered dreams, harmonic and serene,
Stands in a field of novelties, an oracle ignored.

In random moments brief, the mad rush grants reprieve,
Enough to hear the vibrant strings exhale with gentle breath
The voice of whispered dreams, harmonic and serene.

Or, gusts are sprung upon the chords that bring a bold caress,
Where heavy song is raised in timbres manifold,
Enough to hear the vibrant strings exhale with gentle breath.

She’s like a fallen angel, lamenting all alone—
Neglected with a broken string, the harp turns toward the wind,
Where heavy song is raised in timbres manifold,
A song that’s lost amid the sound of reckless worldly din.

Publication History:

Illuminations — Spring 2005

Posted on by EAT

Baby Grand

Listening to her play her piano is always calming to me. I don’t understand it. The piano has always been a special instrument to me, even if I never learned to play it. It is basically a harp laid on its side, the strings of which are struck by hammers operated by keys. It’s a stringed instrument. It is a harp in all respects, and I love harps, too.

So, I thought I would write my 9th terzanelle to her and her piano, as a thank you of sorts.

Baby Grand

For Bonnie

Set in spruce and maple, with veneer of stained mahogany,
Her strings take on the fullness of rushing northern winds,
Sprawling open spaces strung in true and timeless harmony.

Within a rounded casing, beneath the sloping lid,
Gleaming golden iron holds a harp to mountain resonance;
Her strings take on the fullness of rushing northern winds.

Careful fingers fashioned every nuance, carved in elegance,
Where Cristofori’s vision lies fixed within the frame;
Gleaming golden iron holds a harp to mountain resonance.

Her scarred veneer remembers what men forget with time;
Tuners come and temper troubled chords back into melody
Where Cristofori’s vision lies fixed within the frame.

Colors fade and sully, yet she never loses empathy;
Her chords are kept in concert with nature’s subtle tones;
Tuners come and temper troubled chords back into melody.

Despite the many winters, her timbre never wanes;
Set in spruce and maple, with veneer of stained mahogany,
Her chords are kept in concert with nature’s subtle tones,
Sprawling open spaces strung in true and timeless harmony.

Posted on by EAT

Moonpines

After nearly a year of spending most full moons deep in the Montgomery Woods, a State Nature Reserve of old growth coastal redwoods about 30 miles west of Ukiah, California, I felt compelled to dedicate a poem to my experiences therein. One peculiar trait of a forest of old growth redwoods during a full moon is the tendency for one among the towering ranks to fall entirely in the path of moonlight. It only lasts for a few moments to a few minutes, but the effect is absolutely striking, echoing deep into the psyche for all time. This is my 8th terzanelle.

Moonpines

         Montgomery Woods at Full Moon
            Mendocino County, CA
                Winter, Spring and Summer of 2003

Gently gleaming from shadowed depths, a single pillar shines,
Held in place by the full moon’s gaze, suspended on the night;
Bold within the enshrouded gloom, the silent moonbeam climbs.

Vaulted high into moonstone heights, both bark and bough alike
Etch mosaics of subtle hue in countless shapes and shades,
Held in place by the full moon’s gaze, suspended on the night.

Shifting softly with light subdued, the moon with traces vague
Brushes ever so faint the forms where rays, diffuse and dim,
Etch mosaics of subtle hue in countless shapes and shades.

Slowly walking, devoid of thought, low glimmers skim the skin,
Moonlight faint as a whisper’s breath, with tingle and tickle touch,
Brushes ever so faint the forms where rays diffuse and dim.

Sitting down where the wood is deep amid the moonshade hush,
Downy zephyrous breezes join the opal-toned caress,
Moonlight faint as a whisper’s breath with tingle and tickle touch.

Sudden, deep in the patterned depths one massive tree is blessed,
Caught entranced by the moon’s embrace, and all my heart is thrilled;
Downy zephyrous breezes join the opal-toned caress.

Here my spirit escapes the mind and laves in peace until
Gently gleaming from shadowed depths, a single pillar shines,
Caught entranced by the moon’s embrace, and all my heart is thrilled;
Bold within the enshrouded gloom, the silent moonbeam climbs.

Publication History:

Blackmail Press (web-based) — Spring 2006

Posted on by EAT

Fragments

This is the poem that got me started studying poetry very seriously in August of 2001. Before I wrote this, I was hopelessly stuck in free-verse mode, never exploring beyond the bounds of the paradigmatic popular. So, you’ll find that some of the language is archaic because this is what it took for me to create this piece.

After writing this, I spent the next two and a half years writing ghazals. To read those ghazals from the first to the last is to follow my progression as a poet from the sort of thing you see here part of the way to the sort of thing I write today. This piece, though I’ve edited it a few times since writing it, is still exemplary of my beginnings as a serious poet.

Fragments

What walks on four legs in the morning,
Two legs in the afternoon,
And three legs in the evening?

                        —Riddle of the Sphinx

Dawn

Faint light appears along horizon’s edge;
With steady pace the still light brighter glows;
New promise comes with daybreak like a pledge.

Tide of gentle rising luminance flows;
Deep darkness slowly fades away from sight;
With steady pace the still light brighter glows.

Dim shapes concealed beneath the veil of night
Form into clarity with even stride;
Deep darkness slowly fades away from sight.

New life, from stasis, forth emerges wide;
Fresh understandings of brave life to be
Form into clarity with even stride.

Illuminance continues rising free;
And vivid hope within the heart inspires
Fresh understandings of brave life to be.

To utter brilliance from the slightest fires,
Faint light appears along horizon’s edge
And vivid hope within the heart inspires;
New promise comes with daybreak like a pledge.
 

Sunrise

Great new brilliant birthing springs resilient;
Erased is doubt from whence the light ensues;
Wondrous blooming sunlight climbs ebullient.

To resplendence from the first light’s pastel hues
This shining marvel heart and soul entrance;
Erased is doubt from whence the light ensues.

Deep knowing brooded warm of life’s advance
Until horizon’s edge erupted fire;
This shining marvel heart and soul entrance.

From thence the sun shall rise in tranquil gyre,
As such it streamed beneath the realm of sight
Until horizon’s edge erupted fire.

A glorious new day has taken flight;
Fresh living streams exultant into view,
As such it streamed beneath the realm of sight.

Hopes inmost and profound are realized true;
Great new brilliant birthing springs resilient;
Fresh living streams exultant into view;
Wondrous blooming sunlight climbs ebullient.
 

Morningtide

Exploring gently, day’s new light grows strong;
Forth climbs the sun into sky’s vast expanse;
Slow shrink the shadows as the day wears long.

Deep feeling forms with day’s glowing advance,
The sense of vibrant strength that shines in youth;
Forth climbs the sun into sky’s vast expanse.

Warmth deepens in the bold sun’s rising sooth,
And warmth within the heart of life instills
The sense of vibrant strength that shines in youth.

Lambency wondrous tender hope distills;
In fervent luminance the land is bathed
And warmth within the heart of life instills.

Life’s essence in all steadiness is lathed
As fullness of the day is slowly reached,
In fervent luminance the land is bathed.

Life’s greatest depths of meaning are beseeched;
Exploring gently, day’s new light grows strong
As fullness of the day is slowly reached,
Slow shrink the shadows as the day wears long.
 

Noontide

Day reaches utmost fullness of its run;
The land lay brightly blazoned neath the sky
Where at resplendent zenith burns the sun.

Shadows vanish before the fulgence high;
Great living light of day its prime has gained;
The land lay brightly blazoned neath the sky.

Deep feeling of life’s richness is attained
In radiance magnificently made,
Great living light of day its prime has gained.

The airy land in stillness bright is staid,
And deepest gentle warmth all life imbues
In radiance magnificently made.

Full strength of living in the heart ensues
As brilliant glows the day from boundless height
And deepest gentle warmth all life imbues.

Grand sense of freedom wonderful takes flight;
Day reaches utmost fullness of its run
As brilliant glows the day from boundless height
Where at resplendent zenith burns the sun.
 

Eventide

Slow fades the greater power of the day;
Bright sun forth to horizon makes return;
Life’s prime has gently passed in subtle sway.

Soft breezes whisper through day’s paced adjourn;
Calm cools the land with fading strength of light;
Bright sun forth to horizon makes return.

Reflections vivid come of living’s height
As nearer draws the daytide’s closing end,
Calm cools the land with fading strength of light.

A calmness settles deep as shadows scend,
And peaceful reckoning rises within
As nearer draws the daytide’s closing end.

Now mostly lived, life’s fullness goes to thin
As placid grows the sky in day’s advance,
And peaceful reckoning rises within.

Staid iridescence dims in far expanse;
Slow fades the greater power of the day
As placid grows the sky in day’s advance,
Life’s prime has gently passed in subtle sway.
 

Sunset

In paced decline withdraws the mighty sun;
All land and sky reflect the dying light,
Resplendent glory of the day is done.

Day’s utmost beauties saved till now take flight
Like effulgent gates of heaven gleaming,
All land and sky reflect the dying light.

Life’s swan song of light shines brightly dreaming,
Reflections stream of day’s long cavalcade
Like effulgent gates of heaven gleaming.

Shadows begin to blur in overshade
As sun’s last rays fall from horizon’s rim
Reflections stream of day’s long cavalcade.

Upon sky’s faintest vapors colors swim
Emblazoning the firmament’s expanse
As sun’s last rays fall from horizon’s rim.

Great culmination of day’s long romance,
In paced decline withdraws the mighty sun
Emblazoning the firmament’s expanse,
Resplendent glory of the day is done.
 

Dusk

Soft iridescence fades from heaven’s height;
To darkness deep the sky gradates from day
When cross the sky folds purple edge of night.

In firmament’s expanse the vapors gray
As silhouettes within the distance form;
To darkness deep the sky gradates from day.

Depthless tranquility broods deep and warm,
Day’s essence long in memory remains
As silhouettes within the distance form.

Into a milky hue the daylight wanes
As clarity to vagueness makes return,
Day’s essence long in memory remains.

In dimness issued forth from sun’s inurn
New hopes pierce the dark in twilight’s failing
As clarity to vagueness makes return.

Till horizon all alone lay paling
Soft iridescence fades from heaven’s height;
New hopes pierce the dark in twilight’s failing
When cross the sky folds purple edge of night.

This poem contains my 1st through my 7th terzanelles.

Publication History:

Muse Apprentice Guild (web-based) — Fall 2003