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Posts from November 2007

Last one of this fall


An amazing bit of nature (from my trash-pile roses): another rose bud hidden within a blooming rose / New Jersey / Nov. 2007

“dark in the backyard and at the wall
a white rose last one of this fall
opens its blossom to the night
and closes it at dawn”

~ Nuts for a Black Parrot (Orísky pro cerného papouska) 1980, by Czech poet Jan Skácel

A heart laid bare


Giving thanks for brilliant red and a summer-like day in autumn / New Jersey / Nov. 2007

“Let us forget what may occur
let us not pause but walk again
through stubble-fields at summer's end
not injuring a heart laid bare”

~ Who's Drinking Wine in the Dark (Kdo pije potme víno) 1988, by Jan Skácel

The poetry of hands, 23


Hands knitting headbands / New Jersey / Nov. 2007

When I travel back to Thanksgiving just past
I think
Grandma used to say that
you make your own fun
Put some table linens on your head
and you're a pilgrim
Pretend that you're re-enacting the
first Thanksgiving
and suddenly you are there
Hoisting drinks and cheering
laughing and celebrating
losing yourself in the fun
Grandma was right

(Evidence here)

The poetry of hands, 22


My Unca Len's creative hands / Baltimore, MD / date unknown

When I travel back to Thanksgivings long past
I recall
Over the Delaware Memorial Bridge and
through the highway toll booths to
Grandmother's house we go
Drinking Unca Len's home made root beer 
with its sharp, distinctive taste
at the long kid's table that ended
by the TV where the boys kept
the football game on, but the sound down
Stewed tomatoes on mashed potatoes
and fresh, hot Rum rolls with white icing that
were saved until the rest of my plate was
empty and each bite could be savored
The annual day after cousins
touch football game where the final
score never mattered
Aunts and uncles and cousins
and brothers and parents and grandparents --
a bonanza of kinship

That which we call a rose


Thank you / New Jersey / Nov. 2007

Rose buds in many hues
Clipped and tossed on the trash pile
Rescued by a kind soul passing by
Brought to my door with
Raindrops still clinging to them
A sweet fragrance hangs in the air

Paved with golden leaves


These streets are paved with golden leaves / New Jersey / Nov. 2007

“Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”

~ an excerpt from Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

Because they created


"Art" statue by Bela Pratt / Boston, MA / July 2007

“History has remembered the kings and warriors,
       because they destroyed;
   art has remembered the people,
           because they created.” 

~ William Morris

Building in your mind's eye


Detail from "The Time of Amber" quilt (cotton, polyester, silk organdy; by Junko Sawada) / Houston, TX / Nov. 07

A beautiful fence and doorway . . . what lies beyond?

"'Don't cross a bridge until you come to it,' advises the old adage. But is that really a good idea? The fact is that the world belongs to people who have crossed bridges in their imaginations long before those bridges existed. Start visualizing, contemplating, and building in your mind's eye a certain bridge you want to make abundant use of in 2008."   ~ Rob Brezsney

Of creation made act


Detail from Andalucia quilt (cotton fabric, polyester, monofilament thread; by Noriko Nozawa) / Houston, TX / Nov. 2007

Andalusia, in Spain's southern region, is known for its Flamenco dancing. Acoustic guitars accompany the dancers and they are urged on with rapid, rhythmic handclapping (see lower right of quilt). An inspired and expressive dancer is said to achieve duende (DWEN-day).

"The duende, then, is a power and not a construct, is a struggle and not a concept. I have heard an old guitarist, a true virtuoso, remark, 'The duende is not in the throat, the duende comes up from inside, up from the very soles of the feet.' That is to say, it is not a question of aptitude, but of a true and viable style -- of blood, in other words; of what is oldest in culture: of creation made act."
~ Spanish poet Federico Garcia Lorca (from his famous lecture on The Theory and Function of Duende)