The days we knew and loved the best
Have disappeared with all the rest
Where have they gone I do not know
They faded in the afterglow.
Oh would that we might try again
To reach out for remember when
But life moves on with no return
No refund or deposit earned !
I left my heart high upon an ancient hill
Oerlooking wide and glist’ning portals of the past
Envisioned splendor though dead yet lingers still
As dreams that fade and hopes that could not last
There azure waves danced mildly on a white and sandy shore
Where echoes of a memory long to be heard forevermore !
Then as I gazed upon those fortresses of old
I trembled with the glory that once had been
Both proud and grand whilst steeped in purpose bold
Sad victim of time’s ravages then unforeseen
There scented breeze played softly through her waning twilight hours
Where shadows of desire lie dormant midst the fading flowers !
How I do miss the candles’ light
That flickered silent in the night
Its flame once bright now fades to dim
Lights dancing on the glasses’ rim
Creating shadows on the lace
While brightness shimmers on the face.
The waxy smell sweetens the air
Reminding one of evening prayer.
Those aged candlesticks recall
The winding stairs where footsteps fall
There in the dim glow of each night
That sees the heart in candlelight !
The remnants of my former styles
Surround me here in glaring piles
Why can’t I just discard the mess
I really tried I must confess !
Possessions are more earthly stuff
By now you’d think I’d had enough
But somewhere in the distant past
I’m sure it helped the memories last.
The time has come without delay
To clean the house, pack ghosts away
Face life head on, emotions tossed
Reach out for God ere all is lost !
The clouds o’erhead just seem to float
Above my head like some vast boat
Across the highway of the sky
And veil the sunlight from my eye.
I watched the clouds when I was small
Their shapes and sizes did enthrall
I’ve noticed how colors have changed
I find that fact extremely strange !
I was a child then far away
But childhood fades it cannot stay
It leaves us all a bit confused
And memories become diffused.
There is one answer I need hear
About the clouds and atmosphere
They disappear in outer space
At journey’s end, where is that place ?
Do you question who my tears are for,
All my loving friends who’ll come no more,
Those who challenged all my fantasy
With these faded visions I still see ?
Faces haunt me both the night and day
I can’t shrink their images away,
No matter if it is great or small
Sad because they can no longer call !
I loved the tenure of their wise speech
And the bridge to freedom they could breach
I’d be grateful if we’d meet again
God choose the day, I’ll do where and when !
The shades of night fall oh, so silently
Upon the dimmed remainder of each day
The telltale shadows here reminding me
Of another time and another way.
There was a place so far and long ago
Perhaps one might believe it never was
I lost my heart I prayed it did not show
Sadness follows loss, it quite often does.
This heart of mine that never fret a fear
May chance survive intact with small success
So full it cannot hold another tear
Or find a love it can at last possess.
I walked outside to catch the breeze
The wind was whipping through the trees
It made a sound that echoed clear
And sent a shiver ear to ear.
I glanced above and saw the skies
They darkened there before my eyes
The clouds were ominous and bold
And in a flash my hands grew cold.
I turned away, I’d had enough
The weather grew both foul and gruff.
It seems to me as I recall
So long ago when I was small
My Nana knew just what to do
To keep me safe from cold or flu.
She’d grab me up and hug me tight
And promise that I’d be alright.
Since no one’s left to take her place
I seldom spot one kindly face
‘Tis sad to think that era’s gone
There’s nought that’s left to wish upon.
Now that I’m sure the magic’s flown
The world I knew became unknown
I sense the rest that used to be
Has now become futility.
Somewhere it was a long time ago
I gave my heart away
When did that occur I do not know
It feels like yesterday.
I have never found another love
I’m sure I never will
My life is yours like the stars above
I’ll ever love you still !
Forgotten things you’ve left behind,
Footsteps in sand as days unwind,
A trail of tears that time may find,
The scent of air amidst the pine.
Have I said that I am proud to be Jersey born and bred ? Well I am ! Back in the 30’s we still had small pockets of Lenni-Lenape Indians along the Metedeconk River near Cedarwood Park ( no running water ). You will notice that I’ve previously mentioned this fact because it connotes “delicately ” that we lacked indoor plumbing. But very CLEAN outhouses ! Also sometimes very COLD !! And my great grandma, “economist” that she was, used the tissue- like pages of catalogs such as Sears for “service roll”. She had heavy black wire from the house hung on huge tree limbs with sockets containing bare bulbs for outdoor lighting especially on the stone pathways to the garage fitted out for the summer visitors, the large hand pump for outdoor uses like brushing teeth, bathing and laundry AND the facility for “nature’s call” which was amongst the pines, out of necessity ! I sure loved my grandma, I know I was her favorite and ONLY great grandchild. She rose about 5 in the morning to bake her daily bread, I would tip-toe down those wide stairs to the kitchen to have my breakfast each morning. A treat I have never forgotten, a thick slab of warm homemade bread slathered with whipped sweet butter ceremoniously dipped into the huge crystal bowl that held the sugar accompanied by a heavy ironstone mug of foamy chocolate. Who had it better ? She’d had 7 living children, 5 of whom never left home ! I may have inherited her strong resolve and independent nature. You think ? I never heard her raise her voice except to God and thanks to Eastman Kodak, I still have the old camera AND precious photos!
Sincerely, Claire B.
Memories are gathering the clouds of the mind
Into some shape that we can recognize or find
Or file away into some dark recess to hide
When time will halt and God and nature must decide.
Some memories do cling like a chill of late fall
Reminding us swift time may not delay our call
The end is drawing near when God will let us know
He’s done with all our hopes and now it’s time to go.
This fear is what we hide while peace is what we need
At times we’re bound to find the ample cause is greed
We comprehend that laurels have no place in here
Soon time to take our leave and simply disappear.
And now the debt repaying
with all reality
One incurred so long ago
called infidelity!
If we could attain by the
sheer power of love
Then all of the world would be
mine for the loving!
My whole life lies before me
In an open box I see
All its secrets betraying
Seems it goes without saying !
Each morning as I a waken, in those first few moments when awareness stirs, I take the time to thank my creator for another day. I do not question whether my benefactor exists! I remember the manners that I was taught as a child and am grateful and will continue to be so for every subsequent breath that I take.Ingratitude is unacceptable! But what I wish to convey to you today is the simple fact that my heart sings and has done so for most of my life in spite of adversity. As we have learned from Job, faith is all! Tears are a necessity, like washing ones heart, purging our emotions not unlike windshield wipers clearing our vision as we travel on life’s “fractious” highway. These are not incompatible feelings but rather complimentary. The point I am attempting to advance is that one needs to be “tempered” by the other, you know “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”! The total of which leads me to an example of both beauty and sadness by Tennyson, “Tears Idle Tears”.
“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn – fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.”
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
As one of the “Apostles” of the 19th century and the genius who followed Wordsworth (whom I also adore) as Englands’s Poet Laureate, his writings are almost immortal and endless, each more valiant than the previous! Do you recall that I have voiced my request for another 100 years so I can get it right this time? His concluding line, “O Death in Life, the days that are no more!” He may just be the “Willie Mays” of poetry, you must make that decision on your own. You’re next up in the batter’s box, try hard to not strike out! He’s a champ!
Sincerely,
Claire B.
This morning I awoke with lyrics in my head, “look, look, look to the rainbow, follow it over the
hill and the stream”. It reminded me of God’s promise to Noah after the deluge that He would
set “His bow in the sky” as a token of His covenant with mankind. Isn’t that a lovely thought?
Just the image of a rainbow brings quivers to the heart and gladness to the eyes, so very
magical . Good choice ! Lyricists romanticize rainbows as in “Finian’s Rainbow” ; “The
Wizard of Oz” with its wistful classic “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, which leads us to
William Wordsworth in a similar vein: “My heart leaps up when I behold a rainbow in the
sky: So was it when my life began; So it is now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die ! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to
each by natural piety”. Wow ! However, today I choose to embrace the last stanza of “Look
to the Rainbow”. “Look, look, look to the rainbow
Follow the fellow who follows a dream
Follow the fellow, follow the fellow
Follow the fellow who follows a dream”.
I’m okay with that, how about you ?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
Are we sharing again ? One hot summer day, August 14, 1935, my mother and I were
walking hand in hand on Zabriskie Street in Jersey City. Windows were open everywhere
curtains moving in the slight breeze, some parted, some knotted on the rods. You could
hear the Philco radios blaring static and sound within, suddenly the windows filled with
people yelling, shouting hoorays! In the streets they laughed and danced and sang “Happy
days are here again!” I turned to my mother, she squeezed my hand tightly and said “Mr.
Roosevelt passed the Social Security Act “. “Thank God !” I couldn’t forget that day, it
was like the biggest party I ever saw, no balloons, no ice cream, but a lot of whooping it
up and delirious people. It’s a memory that still lives happily with me but what I most
remember is that tired old house dress my mom was wearing and how joyous she was.
Some memories are worth keeping, don’t you think ?
I miss my mom, I miss my dad
And all the friends that I once had
I miss the way life used to be
When joy and hope and peace were free.
These days are gone just blown away
With lost remains of yesterday
Oh how I pray and often yearn
For oldtime pleasures glad return.
I realise now this won’t be
Seems most of it was not that free
I’ve tried quite hard to be aware
And understand with love and care
Here in this world the future brings
Broad visions of lifes happenings.
There’s rings and blocks and crayon wax
And books and toys and balls and jacks
These all are part of children’s wares
Like cribs and quilts and rocking chairs.
How sweet it is to watch the young
Begin their lives with hope unsung
Their childish glee and joyful songs
Fill youthful days where love belongs.
I miss these years as I grow old
And wish I knew those stories told
When I was just about their size
With curly hair and blue green eyes.
I’d be so glad though it’s too late
Next stop for me, lifes golden gate.
Where are we now? By 1939 the Great Depression was taking a breather ! The PWA and the WPA had been busy building schools, libraries, city halls, hospitals, county and state institutions for years. While two and a half million brave adventurous young lads from farm and city across this nation became the heart and strength of the CCC movement. They criss-crossed our country clearing lakes and rivers, planting 17 million trees, surveying hills and mountains, building roads, dams and bridges. At the same time saving their families from the impact of poverty by earning a monthly stipend of $30 from the program, $22 of which was sent directly home leaving them each eight dollars for their own use! This was the brainchild of Franklin Delano Roosevelt, the right man at the right time! They swarmed across our land with hope and sacrifice, only a few years later to be called upon to fight our attackers in WWII. These were our “greatest generation” and when the time came, they streamed across the deserts of Africa, the sands of Iwo Jima, the beaches of Normandy and the surf of the Solomon’s ! Next time you stroll among those familiar structures in your neighborhood, check out the year on those brick and concrete lintels and cornerstones, if the dates fall within 1933 to 1943 time frame, chances are they were built by the men and boys who labored long and hard to save their homeland ! Learn to be aware and appreciate the contribution of these “the meanest tools that we may chance to use”. Familiar,huh?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
What is poetry? I believe poets tell the ugly truth, but cushion the telling with soft and gentle words ! My father told me that something can’t be a lie unless it is based upon an actual fact, else it would be a simple fantasy ! Story telling ! Oh well, I’m not astute enough to be able to distinguish the difference but it appears that I live in the right place at the right time ! I find myself torn by dichotomy, on one hand, Diogenes and on the other, Socrates. The thought of carrying a candle searching for an honest man in these “tornadic” times seems senseless, but who chooses to drink hemlock to score a point ? Kind of reminds one of the ” Lady and the Tiger “. When checking on my words and meaning, I find library “source” books much more factual than I.T. shorthand database which reports multiple opinions and conclusions in minutes, even seconds, as fact ! Scant time for nuances, sadly. No more ancient volumes residing in the world’s most sacred library in Alexandria, Egypt, right? Only ashes?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
Do you know the story of Mary Hays McCauley nee Ludwig? Born 1754, Trenton, NJ, more commonly known as “Molly Pitcher” the heroine of the Battle of Monmouth Courthouse June 28, 1778. Last time I was there, more than 60 years ago, she was memorialized with a monument, a plaque and the famous cannon she manned when her husband fell ! In the “good old days”, children revered the brave deeds of those who”purchased” our freedom and rights as the youth of today idolize sports figures. That June day was unusually hot, 100°F, it could be called the “World Series of Battles” as it included all the major players, all the stars of both TEAMS ! Washington, von Steuben, Marquis de Lafayette and Gen. Charles Lee ( who really struck OUT ) for the home team. With Clinton and Cornwallis battling for the visitors !! Americans, 12,000 men, British 11,000. The cannon required water to cool down the barrel after each shot and a ramrod swab out ! Water girls were kept busy carrying water throughout each battle , most were wives. Almost half of the casualties were due to heat stroke. In 1822, Molly ( nickname for Mary ) was awarded a lifetime pension for her valor by the Pennsylvania assembly. The victory at Monmouth coming after the crossing at Trenton, ended the larger effort to win in the north and resulted in British retreat to the south, after their escape from Sandy Hook, New Jersey. Molly Pitcher’s Well can still be visited ! How’s that for another homerun for our side ? P.S. General Lee was court martialed as a coward, his “contract” was not renewed, but you guessed that !
Remember the peddlers? Well, I’m still in the 30’s and recalling that bygone era with much affection. Especially the iceman who came once a week the entire year long. We never questioned where the ice came from, much like today’s children who do not query the existence of Wi-Fi. How much we take for granted since Ben Franklin’s experiment with a simple kite in an open field. I think I was about three and we lived on Cambridge Avenue in Jersey City, close to the park on the first floor of a frame building with a wooden porch in front of three large railroad rooms with a shared toilet in the hall! It was just up the steep hill from Hoboken off Congress Street with cheaper rent. It was a very hot summer. If you wonder what “railroad” means think of trains, opening one into another minus wasted hallway space (of course no privacy). Two huge double-hung windows porchside and two in the kitchen, yardside, with wide walls in between, there were large pocketdoors on the front room to save coal in the winter. No bath! Enough said, a huge laundry tub and a folding screen next to the obligatory black iron coal stove with a giant water cauldron over the glowing embers, familiar to anyone? But back to the ice, my dad built a shelf for an oscillating fan and placed an enamel pan with a 10 cent piece of ice on top of the icebox, opened all the windows, and “voila”, old fashioned air conditioning for a dime. No radio, no TV, no online, just the bible, loads of conversation, love, family, neighbors, poverty and ingenuity! Great huh?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
May I share with you? But what shall it be? Big decision, the 30’s, 40’s, 50’s, I’m not sure where to begin as each era is shouting my name! I remember my daddy making “bathtub gin” and the horse and cart peddlers who sold ice by the piece. And stirring a pot as big as myself set on a black iron coal stove with a huge wooden paddle, boiling my baby sister’s diapers, on a homemade stool built just for me. Of course every yard had a huge wooden clothespole that reached for the sky with giant iron hooks where the clotheslines were tied. But the hooks didn’t start close to the ground for security’s sake, you needed a ladder at least ten feet tall. Yes, there were laundry thieves who could shinney hand over fist up that pole to steal sheets off the line. Those wash lines would occasionally fray and it took a juggler to replace them. My daddy taught me how, I was his only “son”, haha, for nine years which is why I am adept at “hammer and nails”. You listened in bed for the squeal of the pulley in case your neighbors were the victims! All pulleys made a noise, no way to silence them, no silicone to spray them. Most stores and homes had little jingle bells suspended on their entrance doors that welcomed all who came. Old habits die hard, I kept those bells on my doors until I moved to Florida to retire. I have a feeling that perhaps a return to the bell system might inhibit some burglars! Do you think it’s worth a try? Keep tuned, there’s more to follow!
Sincerely,
Claire B.
There is an old saying ” there are but two gifts we can give to our children, one is roots, the other is wings”, Anon. Well, I can assure you never were those words more true than in the America of the 1930’s ! And yes, we did go to bed hungry but we didn’t complain, what good would it have done? We simply learned to share, it became our way of life, that and the love of God sustained us ! I worked three jobs until the time of my marriage at age 25, close to “spinsterhood”. Keeping busy was the impetus of the day, and the time-worn admonition, “Idle hands do the devil’s work” was the familiar motto! We sure had roots as family was our “community” and wings translated into “dreams” of which there was always an abundance! How I miss the love that we knew then, it was free of conditions, fear and bribery. Can you imagine, love for the sake of affection?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
Are you familiar with the term ” hand-me-downs ” ? For those of us who are , it epitomizes a way of life that seems to have faded into a form of casual oblivion ! However, with this disappearance we lose a huge chunk of the basic tenets of our American heritage, our raison d’ etre. I’ve been wearing ” castoffs ” for the better part of my life, which is why and how I learned early to boldly ” cut and sew ” or to turn used sweaters into vests and ” bobby sox “. I was taught to knit and crochet by the age of eight and to weave by ten. It was ” disgraceful ” to discard any object that displayed even the faintest signs of ” resurrection “. Recently, I was thrilled to watch a TV program about the recycling of orange peels into feed for cattle ( chock full of vitamins ). Bravo ! When I was first married, my favorite place to shop was called, the ” Salvation Army ” , and every item chosen became a labor of love ! Each eventually made its way into a ” family heirloom ” or a garage sale, thats American ingenuity and entrepreneurship ! I must admit that as my sons entered grade school, I ceased ” making ” their clothing but they did wear ” hand-me-downs ” for an extensive time after. The result of which is that the youngest of four remains to this day a vision of sartorial splendor ! Hmm, I wonder why?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
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Claire V. Bogdanos 
DATELINE: Hoboken, NJ USA “NIGHTINGALES” ( 2013 ) 2013/07/07
Tags: Blog, Blogging, Commentary, Memories, Naidu Sarojini, Opinions, Poem, Poet, Poetry, Sassoon Siegfried, Writing
In 1945, I stumbled upon a poem, “Transcience” by a poet, Sarojini Naidu. I was unaware that she was a woman or that she was so very special. However, my hungry mind gravitated to her incredible thoughts and words. In my effort to commit them to memory, I devised a plan by using the first 4 words of each of 3 stanzas and it worked. “Nay, do not grieve, Nay do not pine, Nay, do not weep,” now here we are almost 70 years later and with this single device I am able to recall that piece without hesitation. I find that time has not diminished its value or the consolation it carried in its rhythmic style to alleviate the almost unbearable tragedy of that era and its world impact ! This reminds me of another man of note and pathos, Siegfried Sassoon of World War I, still one more voice in the “wilderness “along with a cadre of others. Oddly enough both of these poets shared similarities, born late 1800’s , died after WWII concluded,educated in England and rooted in Indian culture with a passion for peace. Both deserve your attention and respect ! Please allow me to close with the last 4 lines of my personal favorite:
“Nay, do not weep; new hopes,new dreams,new faces,
The unspent joy of all the unborn years,
Will prove your heart a traitor to its sorrow,
And make your eyes unfaithful to their tears.”
by Sarojini Naidu
And so again, we find another facet of magic words in the hands of “word warriors” not to be ignored. I find myself compelled to think of one greater, the Preacher,Solomon, have you read him lately? That’s Ecclesiastes !
Sincerely,
Claire B.
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