POEMS OF THE WEEK ~ MEN'S VOICES

This week, we will hear three more of the men's eloquent voices. Michael Phan, who writes at  grapeling: it could be that, Eric Erb of erbiage, and Scott Hastie of his blog of the same name, are sharing a poem each that we know you will enjoy. Let's dive in!

(Motion)

give me the far winds that feather heaven,
that twist and tumble and clutch
autumn’s last leaf to earth’s hearth.

give me ice, and rest
and the earth chilled to silence
only seeds hear.

give me tendrils. give me a cherry’s flirty first blossoms
, emerald hills spiced with orange and mauve,
a double-winged dragonfly patient as water.

give me skies paling pink, trilling crickets,
light high as the north star,
cool red watermelon with plenty of seeds;

give me your eyes’ fire, the thump in your breast,
the wisp of your bangs,
your forefinger’s crook motion

– your vermillion lips
– your heart sharp as words

for if you give me your days

you will have mine 

Sherry: Your imagery is so rich in this poem, Michael. Just lovely.

Michael: Just a poem about seasons, and maybe keeping an eye open to details...

Sherry: And beautifully done. Eric's poem employs wonderful imagery, too. Let's take a peek.

TREETIME

I’ll try to write this in your terse speech
Upon the skin of my kin you call paper
Such a small word for the crushed pulp
Of my people. There is nothing in that word
Of the books you make of it, nor
How it is the vessel of your moments.
Nor the majesty that stood centuries
Rooted like we are in the sky,
Nose to the ground.

But these small words of yours are upside down
And backwards. It’s our branches that hold
Us fast in spirit. The matted whiskerbeard
Is what keeps us kissing the earth. The
Parts and the meaning are entwined.
The same, and not. But where was I?

In this poem of a time that ticks
In trees long perception.
What persists, what appears
In one moment, gone the next
Like deer

Most of us sleep all winter
A trick we taught the bear-clan people
Winter is as night in treetime

And the thing you call summer
We call day, in our language.
We hardly notice the strobe
Of that thing you use that word for…

If you want to see the world
As we see it, sit. Be still.
Stop tricking yourselves
With your movie-reel motion.

Though in this too, like poems
Is a truth that is not present.
Moments, when strung together
Never become water.
I know that river
It licked my toes once
Egged on by angry thunderheads

There are some poems that
Can only be discerned at night
Then their words swell and ripen
Their bitter meaning sound sweet.
This I hear in the sigh and creak of branches

Sit in darkened rooms
Run the wheels at breakneck pace
Love the lie of video.

Or if you dare, and can find out how,
Slow the footage and you’ll come to know
Each moment is its own now.

Sherry: I love this poem, which reflects upon trees - and us - so wonderfully. "Each moment is its own now" is a great closing line.

Eric: We take so much from trees, and they just keep giving.  It doesn’t seem like we take the most valuable thing they offer though.  I’ve been trying to be still, and pay more attention to things I take for granted.

There have always been trees near my home, and at this house there are two big venerable pines, and a river.  Their presence I often notice even when I can’t see them.  So our disrespect of them was prominent, and how could we ever understand a life that seems so different from ours.  It was written in springtime, when the trees were just waking up from winter, so that got in there too.  This was a gift from the trees to the humans, I’m grateful that I was able to get out of the way and let it flow.

Sherry: me, too. How lovely, to live near ancient trees and a river. Thanks, Eric. Let's see what Scott has for us today.

Sherry:

See How…

See how,

Around

The stream’s

Silvery edge,

Reflected light

Dances on the surface

Of rushing water.

Becoming

The very essence

Of life

And motion itself,

Effortlessly tapping

Into timeless truths

That, once absorbed,

Echo right back

At you

More than ever before.

And with a peerless

Reminder

That’s both soothing

And humbling

Of how,

In a single lifetime,

One could never oneself

Accumulate

Such knowing grace,

Gather up such melody,

Nor offer such endless

Nourishment.

Still here

With the chance

Of some

Sweet release though.

And, for so many

Amongst us,

Would that it were so!

To dream

That one day,

Within,

Such a river might flow. 

Sherry: I love those closing lines!

Scott: I regard the over-arching theme of my work to be a personal investigation into the positive potential of the human spirit. This I think is clearly evident, running through most of my poems. Not that I believe my work can ever be said to be some sweet pastoral panacea, because it never shies away from pain or suffering – and is prepared to also explore the darkness, as well as the light and, crucially, the fundamental significance of their inter reaction. This being, to me, the absolute axis (the truly dynamic and crucial interdependence of the light and dark, of joy and sorrow, of love and loss, in the grand Romantic tradition) and that key notion of duality which I hope still lies solidly at the heart of my work and my approach.

I remain determined always to be challenging enough to try and reach deep into the core of the meaning of the human experience - although I do readily accept that, as my work has developed, then my voice has also become more reflective and spiritual in its emphasis.

I have aimed, at any time in my career, to always be as simply expressed and as readily accessible as possible – For me, this is a vital component of all my work to date. And it is here that you can also hopefully see how simple often short line length structures also play their part – though still carefully shaped for emphasis, controlled rhythm and musicality that lifts key passages, enhances meaning and always looks to carefully and lyrically draw the reader towards the concluding climax of any piece. The success of which for me is always a critical consideration and the key litmus test of success of any particular poem. Hope you enjoyed See How!

Sherry: I did indeed, as well as your process for writing it. Thanks for sharing, Scott.

Well, my friends, wasn't this a treat? Thank you, gentlemen, for sharing your fine poems and thoughts with us. Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

Three Poems of the Week ~ The Power of Poetry

I have read several poems in recent weeks about poets, poetry and writing poems: a poem's power to amaze, affirm, inform and inspire. I thought that, this week, you might enjoy looking at three poems that demonstrate the power of poetry. 

Our poetic friends Totomai, of totomai.net , Scott Hastie, of scotthastie.com, and Myrna, of  Daily Spirit, each penned a poem I wanted to make sure you did not miss.

Totomai, whose posts we enjoy for his richly colorful and gorgeous photography as much as for his poems, knocked me out with the power of his poem "Summer Clouds". He uses an understated approach to the events of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, that lends his powerful closing lines all the more impact. This poem shows us the effect a poem can have on its readers, and that a poem can make a difference in the world. I asked Totomai to tell us a bit about the writing of this poem.

Totomai: Having been to peace museums and reading the letters, poems and haikus of the suicide pilots gave me a different perspective about the war. As we all know, the Philippines was occupied by the Japanese during WWII. Here’s one of the haiku written by a kamikaze (suicide pilot) that has been stuck in my mind.

to bloom is good
to fall is better
i am a young cherry blossom

~ kamikaze pilot

Also, atomic bombing memorabilia were displayed in the museums.  Seeing the torn school uniforms, burnt lunch boxes, mini-bikes and school bags as well as the photos of Nagasaki and Hiroshima after the bombing gave me a lump in my throat. Most of the victims of the atomic bombing (war in general) were the children, the innocent people. I wrote  “Summer Clouds” from a point of view of a child who was just enjoying the summer breeze and then in an instant his world changed. I want to show an example of the horrors of war and that there are no winners in war.  

SUMMER CLOUDS

I fly my kite,
race it against the summer
clouds. The breeze
is always the winner.
Crows as close second.

I see the dragonflies beat 

the butterflies in their own 

duel. Colorful 

poppies say so. 

I listen to the hymn 

of a stream, never-

ending. 

I fly my kite 

but the sun seems closer, 

and the summer 

clouds thicker. 

My watercolor world 

turns to a charcoal 

painting

the day,

I lose my kite, 

and my eyesight. 

/totomai

Sherry: Wow. In everything I have read about those events, I don't think anything has hit me more strongly than the thought of that little boy, flying his kite, his world and ours changed forever in that moment. Totomai's poem illustrates just how much impact a poem can have, how it can put a personal face on war, make the reader feel, for those moments of reading it, what it must have been like to be that small boy. That image will stay in my mind for a long time. 

Scott Hastie, of scotthastie.com, recently wrote a poem that speaks to me, advising us, as poets, to stay true to our craft, to draw upon an inner "reservoir of light". I love the idea of that inner reservoir, and of bringing forth the poems lying within us. Scott described how this poem came about for him.

Scott: The truth is, in common with most of my poems, 'always stay loyal' began as no more than a series of randomly scattered fragments, recorded over time, just as they came to me...

Then slowly but surely 'the voice' comes through and begins to knit things together and even comes up with some entire fresh passages, sometimes in a rush - like the last stanza - which I would normally take as an affirmation...  and this grew from no fragment of its own, as the piece simply gathered its own momentum. Which is the way you want it!

Like most of my work this poem  is an emotive investigation into the dizzy world of human potential, seen from a spiritual perspective... It seeks to offer hope and persuade us of the chance of a joyous and honourable life.

For me, every time a poem of mine touches someone, that is all the success I can ever hope for. And simply powers me on to continue developing my voice. Which is the essence of what I believe my life is about... And why I am here! In that regard, I guess this means I have a sense of mission about what I do.

always stay loyal…

Always stay loyal

To that which feeds your soul,

Knowing, as mortal entities,

We can never go any higher

Than when we nourish

A little of God in ourselves.

Like a thin seam

Of silvered mineral within

There’s a hint of divinity here,

Some mystical suffused essence

That stays charged,

As if in the flow

Of an endless crystal stream,

Till our own sparking current fails…

This being so,

As our own life’s energies

Leak steadily away,

Every step we take

Is interlaced with goodness,

But that we knew it.

For deep, deep down

In the very wellhead of life,

Far beyond melancholy and despair,

Where real sweetness dwells,

There is an ever abundant

Reservoir of light

To be drawn upon by angels.

Fuel for a gathering readiness

That looks to ensure

We will be more than content,

When the time comes,

To simply surrender all we are.

And, in doing so,

Give sap,

Some shape, some form

To the many blossoms still to come.

Sherry: Sigh. Beautiful! "Always stay loyal to that which feeds your soul". And I love "the many blossoms still to come" - those poem-blossoms we will leave behind us as our legacy. I resonate with the idea that "every step we take is interlaced with goodness", if we but knew. A fine example of how a poem can affirm, uplift and inspire us. 

In a similar vein, our friend Myrna at Daily Spirit wowed me with a poem about poets the other week. She wrote about how we can read a poem, and be transformed in the reading. It is rather cool to think about how, as we visit back and forth in the blogosphere, our thoughts and words spark other poets' ideas and poems. It is such a glorious give and take, doing the thing we most love to do : write poems! I so wanted to know how this poem was born.

Myrna: I wrote this after reading various poems by different poets on Poem Hunter and in my own books.  I was seeking inspiration.  I felt so grateful to them, and realized that poets are like reflections of the world, helping us see the nuances of who we are.

  

The puppy poem I had read earlier.  It was the Poem of the Day, about a puppy who was destined to live his life in the same spot, chained. Naturally, I cried for that puppy and my thoughts carried me away to thoughts of the different types of chains there are.  For us, most are invisible.  I considered how sometimes I behave out of habit, or do things merely because they are expected of me.  This is not freedom.

To break those chains and make true choices, I need to engage in some introspection, and I need to learn from the wisdom others have already achieved.  For me, one way to do that is through reading poetry.  Writing poetry helps me to express what I'm learning by clarifying what I feel, think and believe.  What a wonderful process!

  

I am grateful to all the poets I read, especially those on-line, like the poets at Poets United.  I admire their willingness to share, to expose their thoughts in combinations of words that go beyond the surface, the logical, the concrete.  So my poem about poets is intended to thank them with my own attempt at weaving words that matter.

Thank you Sherry for selecting this poem.  You are not only one of those wise poets I admire, but an integral instrument in growing a community where poets can share, learn and enjoy. 

Poets

I read a sad poem about a puppy,

a metaphor for something

that wrapped my heart 

around my sleeve, bleeding,

while I became that feeling.

The poet has moved on,

now probably composing something happy,

clever or one of those poems that linger

in vastness of eternal moment, 

a glimpse of mystic silence.

Poets have such a beautiful, gentle, mysterious task

to use words as beams, illuminating 

little pieces in the kaleidoscope of our humanity.

Their role is about revelation, 

about light, sight, wonder.

Most of all,

their poems are a form of love

so powerful as to create 

a simple story about a puppy,

then transform me.

Sherry: Thank you so much, Myrna, for your kind words.  I love this poem so much! I like the idea of us using words "as beams illuminating little pieces in the kaleidoscope of our humanity". Wow. A wonderful description of how reading a poem can transform us. I am especially affected by "their poems are a form of love". I think you have hit on what lies at the heart of writing: sharing what we love, loving what we share, loving the sharing. 

"their poems are a form of love"

Our thanks to you, Totomai, Scott and Myrna, for the gift of your poems, and for being part of our poetic community. You each bring something very special to Poets United.

Sigh. I don't know about you, but these three poems and poets leave me feeling pretty happy to be a poet! Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!