I wonder if those words I hear
Whispered so softly in my ear
While I am half asleep in bed
And murmurs swirl around my head,
I find I’m caught within this spin
Of all the lines I must fill in.
Sometimes I cannot keep the pace
The words seem to get lost in space
And need a sort of safety net
To catch those thoughts I’ve not writ yet !
The poet paints a picture but not with paint and brush
His words create the image there’s music in his touch
Each has his own conception there are no two the same
Tis an old profession and Shakepeare’s favorite game.
Some think the words are foolish and pale in empty air
Please remember David and his Psalms we all still share
His words were so profound they will live forever here
They brought us close to God they will never disappear !
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.
If love had wings, I then would fly
Into your arms to say goodbye
I’ve no more time to gift to thee
This precious breath that’s left in me.
I close the door and bow my head
Too soon the hour I will be dead
Enough here now to say farewell
With some regrets I need to tell.
Can this life be my last resort
Or shall I gain another port
That waits for me to finish here
Ere I pursue this virtue clear ?
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.
This barren rocky precipice that waits beside the sea
And rims the sand’s circumference that is earth’s boundary,
In vivid fascination I do watch with searching eyes
That must scan the water’s surface until it meets the skies,
And where e’er my view dost light, be it simple face or plain
I discern that same wonder which pretends no small explain
Yet does add some mixed texture to the portrait that I find
Bearing just one signature in a likeness of the mind.
Why then is man thus drawn to the countenance of the sea,
Why does he sit there silent as one rapt in reverie?
Can it be that life is all and he merely questions why
As his vision sometimes dims and his wings refuse to fly?
Engaging in that foray which will mark his holy quest
To seek another reason fore he casts aside the rest,
Chance uncover misted veils that have cloaked his destiny
At last to comprehend the ocean’s deep complexity.
Happiness is a state of mind and
love a condition of the heart
Without which man is an empty shell
awaiting life’s meaning to start.
A sagging roof, a window vine
A tattered dress upon the line,
A shutter bangs against the wall
A bottle breaks out in the hall,
A shingle clacks against the house
A trap is set for wayward mouse,
The steps are old and thick with rust
The structure groans with each wind’s gust,
The ceiling creaks with o’erhead strain
The water trickles down the drain,
The trim is lined with peeling paint
A candle flicks upon a saint.
Here life at best seems times unjust
But tarries on because it must.
Have you thought at all about the clouds
As they spread too wide across the sky
And wondered where have they been before
In that giant highway up so high?
Tell me may I join your entourage
Shining bright and white with glory’s glow
Following your celestial path
Will I see or can I get to know?
Far and wide just freely floating there
As they wend their way within my view
Overhead the image grows with hope
I shall spy the sun come peeking through !
I am consumed with a wonderment of God’s world
Its untold secrets hid, its banners left unfurled
The promise of its vision clear now soon to come
Not by the will of man or beast to welcome some
With open heart, love of God and uncluttered mind,
The courage to accept the treasure we may find
No sacrifice can be too large to comprehend
The great beauty we shall know at our journey’s end.
Do you recall those summer days that used to be
When all we did was play beside the sand and sea,
No thought or care to question our security
And whether freedom’s virtues were no longer free,
What’s caused all this, I do not know or cannot see
Who is it now that schemes to curb our liberty?
I think it’s time to put our dreams away
Lest we should lose that touch of day to day
That fills the void of each and ev’ry hour
With common sense that energizes power.
This world’s in chaos, panic lurking everywhere
Compelled to seek an exit safe into somewhere
Seeking hospice for the mind and burdened souls
To find relief for those lost and forgotten goals.
Will there be a pause in time to heal broken rules
For us to learn to save ourselves from mindless fools?
The cure we lack is knowledge of our history
Not understanding what has been or what can be
And so we mask what won’t afford to be revealed
Hence none will query why the truth must be concealed,
Since in this endless questing for reality
We’ve lost the godlike purpose of our destiny.
Who is the BAD BOY of poetry? I’d opt for my special love, Robbie Burns, remember to roll the R ! He began writing rhyme and chasing girls according to his own words in his 15th year. Remarkable! Born 25 January 1759, first of 7 children, one of a kind, handsome roue and charmer of words died 21 July 1796. Wow! I’m not sure if anyone has written more verses than he, like an onion one just keeps peeling away layer after layer, you laugh and you cry and you learn ! No fantasy there, simply magic. My personal favorite ” To A Louse “, yes it’s about head lice BUT it’s about a girl he met in church who refuses to acknowledge him and shakes her long curls as she turns away,
Oh Jenny, do not toss your head,
And set your beauties all abroad !
The light shining through the stained glass window above the pew illuminates the path of her “cooties” and evokes this stunning conclusion:
Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursel’s as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
And foolish notion:
What airs in dress an’ gait wad lea’e us,
And ev’n devotion !
Just another one of my magic prods, 7 words, ” to see ourselves as others see us”. Can’t beat it right? By the way, the best biography of Burns that I know is by William Ernest Henley ( 1897 ). Sound familiar? Between the bible and the bards, if I had another 100 years, it wouldn’t be enough time to absorb and digest the thoughts and words and ideals to fill my need ! Not so bad for a public high school grad with one semester NYU night school and one year at a NY Art School, what do you think?
I’ve found one truth in all I do
It makes no sense here without you
My hopes and fears don’t change it much
I miss your voice, your kindly touch
The pleasant joys we two have shared
The happy days we’ve known and cared
To some it is the gentle grace
The glow of peace upon one’s face
I miss your wisdom and your calm
It kept me free and safe from harm
It’s slipped away into the mist
And left me here alone, unkissed.
I’ve learned once more to understand
That life proceeds at best unplanned
Yet leaves us with this last pleasure
Times relived in silent leisure!
Shall we speak of another poet of whom I know little or nothing about, only the words? R.L. Sharpe, c. 1809, and the poem, ” A Bag of Tools “, beginning with the line, ” Isn’t it strange that princes and kings and clowns that caper in sawdust rings and common folk like you and me are builders for eternity? ” Powerful thoughts and words, ” Each is a given bag of tools, a shapeless mass, a book of rules and each must make ere life is flown a stumbling block or a stepping stone”. Will you know which choice you have made when you approach your final destination? But of course by then, it is too late for correction, isn’t it? Life is about choices, ” The lady or the tiger “! However, another poet of small fame could be Adelaide Crapsey who observed ” On seeing weather beaten trees”, in eighteen simple words, an entire philosophy, ” Is it as plainly in our living shown, By slant and twist, which way the wind hath blown? ” Just the thought leaves me breathless, how about you?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
The beauty of aging is the peace that it brings
And the visions of life bearing hope on its wings
Like the wind in the trees in a timeless embrace
Caressing the dreams shining bright on this pale face.
So we travel along while expecting not much
Just the hint of a smile and the joy of a touch
With a wave of the hand and a quiet “good night”
As the eyes close in sleep “tis the end of the flight !
I have traveled so far along lifes thorny way
Searching for peace to follow the end of each day
As these days quickly fly like the turn of a page
We need courage and wisdom both cautious and sage.
We need to be reminded that God’s love is always there
Along some darkened corridor or up a lonely stair
Or else where on the precipice beyond all cautions call,
How can His help be summoned to protect us from a fall,
It’s with our faith and true repentance and His loving care
That we beg our steadfast God that His angels will be there !
I used to be married to this person I know
I must say that it was such a long time ago.
Perhaps had been better if a stranger were he
Unless one of us moves seems I’ll never be free
We live in this small town that’s only one mile square
If I shop in a store you can bet he’ll be there.
It has been forty long years since we shared a home
Much nicer this way as we are each on our own.
And now we are friends and can casually chat
About family and such, about this and that.
It’s been a long road the healing did not come quick
Looks like fate had a laugh and has played us a trick.
So here we are approaching the end of the trail
With our egos intact and a marriage that failed !
And who is that? One George Herbert, 1593 – 1633, another English clergyman, who wrote “The Temple”, a seemingly endless collection of homilies in rhyme! However, no subject remains unnoticed. One needs to ” tip-toe ” gently through the many pages of Olde English sextets, but trust me, that could be an incredible task. My personal favorites appear about halfway, beginning with :
Scorn no mans love, though of a mean degree;
( Love is a present for a mightie king )
Much lesse make any one thine enemie.
As gunnes destroy, so may a little sling.
The cunning workman never doth refuse
The meanest tool, that he may chance to use.
A lifetime of wisdom in six short sentences with not a word to spare. Well worth the effort ! Consider a foray into the unknown, do you dare?
Sincerely,
Claire B.
Have you heard of an English poet named William Ernest Henley? I was 15 when I was introduced to his “Invictus” in Miss Lorena E. Fry’s English Class in high school. Now that was a very long time ago, it was the era of World War II, or as many of today’s collegians say, “W.W. Eleven” ( you know I’m speaking the truth ). I thought of Henley as totally in control , evinced by his most powerful poetic conclusion as follows:
It matters not how strait the gate ,
How charged with punishments the scroll ,
I am the master of my fate :
I am the captain of my soul.
Wow ! I’ve quoted that composition for close to 70 years, actually it became my personal mantra. Ask my children, they’ve heard it enough I’m sure, and one of them can recite it by rote! Imagine that through these years of adulation. I was made aware that this multi-talented genius possessed “feet of clay” and is believed to have ended his own life ! That shines a new light on his words and causes me to revisit his works with a different perspective, a deeper meaning. Will you join me? Or accept it for what it is, his heroic creed!
Sincerely,
Claire B.
As I scurry about my daily plan
Rapidly rushing as fast as I can
A miraculous thing for one so old
It’s a job to warm my bones in the cold.
And if you don’t think that’s a chore itself
With a grunt and a groan, reach for a shelf
When your body’s progressed to this late stage
Folks give you a seat because of your age.
I laugh when I think that’s where I am at
I recall the days when men tipped their hat
Now they raise their hand ’til you cross the way
And wish you a greeting, ” Have a safe day ! ”
Whoever thought that I’d wind up like this
Just an old lady surviving with bliss?
I’ve loved you God since I was small
Because my Nana told me so.
I loved you when I grew quite tall
And heard the stories I now know.
Because she said you did it all
With kindness and a loving heart
And meant the world to heed your call
To love each other from the start.
I wish I’d learned how not to stall
I’ve tried to follow where you go
The path is long most seem to fall
I know, my Nana told me so.
I stand upon some mountain’s peak
To gather words with which I’ll speak,
Inform the world that I have learned
What wisdom bought and patience earned.
Too oft I’ve seen and much too late
That human love is laced with hate
And chiding words while meaning well
Through futile waste and time dispel
An arrow that lays deeply bound
Into the breast that it has found.
And so it is that as I strayed
I heard the ache of those who preyed,
I saw the grief of those who need
Much loving care and special heed.
I turned away and tip-toed passed
My pulse beat loud, my breath came fast
I bowed my head with hidden shame
And damned the cause for which I came
Such weariness within my soul
One endless search for self-control.
Am I not bold to travel on
To seek this myth of Avalon?
One rose does not a garden make
One blow does not a spirit break,
One wall does not a boundary build
One task marks not a craftsman skilled.
One tear cannot a river fill
Nor silence can a heartbeat still.
One hope that’s dashed against a wall
Can’t will a mind to halt or fall.
One plan that dies before its birth
Can’t cloud a life and all it’s worth.
One fear does not a coward curse
Nor anger sharpen speaker terse.
One wish does not a dreamer hail
One song creates no nightingale.
One thought that carries on its breath
One psalm to lift the pall of death
May gift to all of those that stay
Some glimpse of but another way.
Ideals are part of poet’s dreams
And linger long past use, it seems.
“ Farewell” need not make friendship bend
While death can’t force real love to end.
There’s a single moment that I, at times regret
That’s now become a tarnished fragment of my life
In which I may remember or by chance forget
That somewhere in the past I was another’s wife.
I had another future, knew another dream
With passions I recall seen only in the mist
Like visions in the clouds or ripples in the stream
By chance to recollect some long forgotten kiss.
It lingers in my mind, I cannot tell the why
The sadness of it all, it only comes in waves
It cowers in the dark and will not bid goodbye,
Then follows like a thief into our hidden graves.
| M | T | W | T | F | S | S |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 1 | 2 | |||||
| 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |
| 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 |
| 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 |
| 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 |
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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