Poetry Blog No 194 High Fly White Clouds

HIGH FLY WHITE CLOUDS

 

This poem starts with the concrete image of clouds 

and ends with metaphysical reflections. Some would 

be critical of that but I believe poetry can have a role 

in philosophical thought. It seems as time has gone by 

there has been a certain sort of academic critic who 

wishes to restrict the role of poetry until there is 

nothing left and all thought must be expressed in 

dreary prose. Yet the thought and its means of 

expression are not ever really separate as any 

translator will discover- hence the problems 

involved in taking a poem from one language

 to another. The poem plays with various line 

lengths and rhythms but keeps the actual lines metrical. 
 

                     HIGH FLY WHITE CLOUDS
High fly
white clouds
in the far sky,
sailing on through
afternoon blue,
like passing thoughts and drifting dreams
across awareness- where it seems
just as an inward sky with signs
of all the happenings of time
upon the calm heights of infinity;
like memory.

High fly
wild clouds
on the blue sky,
ever-changing, none the same,
bringing earth the greening rain,
nourishing,
like all the restless happenings,
like all within our seeing,
giving life to growing 
human spirit being,
upon the calm heights of eternity...

like the world's own
memory.

Blog No 193 Winter Day

WINTER DAY 

 

Sometimes another's poem can directly inspire you to one of your own. One winter's day I was trying to translate Rilke's "Autumn Day" (poetry Blog No 160) and was inspired by the oblique way his imagery suggests more than its surface meaning and feeling. So this was a modest effort of own, from my own scenery.

WINTER DAY

A small wind steals pale whispers from the leaves

of many high trees with soft-swaying crowns.

From cloud-free sky the winter shine rains down.

And coated black and white,

some butcher birds seek perches in

a she-oak's green-brown robes to sing

and others take the air's abode with wings

to ride the distances of light.

Walk up a little with noon's sun inclined

to mild, warm beams that soothe the brush of breeze

and draw on you the cloak of lonely ease;

stand in the outward view

and count the hills unclimbed

that vanish in the endless blue.

Blog No 192 I Brought You Roses a villanelle

I BROUGHT YOU ROSES... a villanelle

The villanelle is a fixed form like, for example, the Shakespearean sonnet. That means it has a fixed number of lines with a fixed rhyme scheme, although the line can vary in length from three to five feet. In the 20th century the iambic pentameter is the commonest line length- I brought you roses on a rainy day.

The word villanelle derives from the Italian villanella, referring to a rustic song or dance, and which comes from villano, meaning peasant or villein. Villano derives from the Medieval Latin villanus, meaning a "farmhand" The etymology of the word relates to the fact that the form's initial distinguishing feature was the pastoral subject. from Wikipedia

The fixed form was only codified in 19th century France and became popular in English. Subsequent to the publication of Théodore de Banville's treatise on prosody "Petit traité de poésie française" (1872), the form became popularised in England... from Wikipedia.

The form consists of six stanzas. The first five stanzas have three lines each (tercets). The last has four lines (quatrain). There is a set rhyming scheme with certain lines repeated as "refrains". Using small letters to represent rhymes (a, b) and R1 and R2 to represent repeated lines this scheme can be represented as (R1a, b, R2a) (a,b, R1a) (a,b, R2a) (a,b, R1a) (a,b, R2a) (a,b, R1a, R2a). 

 

With its repeated lines the form is well suited to subjects that are slightly "obsessive". The most famous modern example is Dylan Thomas' poem "Do not go gentle into that good night".

I BROUGHT YOU ROSES... a villanelle

I brought you roses on a rainy day

To open out their beauty to the eye.

The cold wind blew the petals all away.

A symbol for the hidden heart were they,

Where secret petals open like a sigh.

I brought you roses on a rainy day.

My words were lost and all that I would say

Was gone in ocean and the cold-wind sky.

The cold wind blew the petals all away.

The mundane wind rules sky of cloudy-gray.

Heart's flower has folded like a foolish cry.

I brought you roses on a rainy day.

O, then I knew you would no longer stay

And so forever I must pass on by.

The cold wind's blown the petals all away.

The rose has gone and now the cold winds play

About my mind where fading echoes die.

I brought you roses on a rainy day.

The cold wind blew the petals all away.

Blog No 191 Autumn Town Two

AUTUMN TOWN (TWO)- seven haiku

Once again on the streets of Lismore NSW. Late May 2018. With "snapshots"from a cheap phone, haiku collected from "moments". The syllable count- 5, 7, 5 is arbitrary in some ways and it has been argued that it allows more words than the original Japanese form. On the other hand it is a discipline that forces brevity and leaves a distinct "form" to each. Writing haiku helps you to look hard at the "everyday."

AUTUMN TOWN (TWO)

seven haiku

ONE

Parking Lot. Great fig,

Branching over cars and trucks,

Embraces autumn.

TWO

Between loud car streams,

Traffic island's tall palms bear

Heavy autumn fruit.

THREE

Upon grey, winged one

Steps with red feet, bright seeing-

Pigeon on May street.

FOUR

Small palm in mall space.

No sun. No rain. Do you know

Autumn is outside?

FIVE

Time reminds. Autumn

Goes to winter, goes to spring.

Shop window of clocks.

SIX

Above autumn street

Clouds drift. White billows on blue

Show wonder formings.

SEVEN

In rocks and plants, big

Goanna rears steel-mesh head,

Says- Don't climb on me.

Blog no 190 Wind Callls the Leaves to Whisper and Dance

WIND CALLS THE LEAVES TO WHISPER AND DANCE

Writing poems for younger readers is a good challenge as it demands a simpler approach- that is the end result needs a certain clarity while still being evocative. There is an unfortunate tendency (possibly brought on by academic essay writing on poetry) to believe that profundity in poetry can be equated with obscurity. The short lines in this poem get their form from a stressed syllable followed by two unstressed and various variants on this- Come, leaves on the branches, And play the wind's secret, soft song. The consonants in the poem try to evoke the rustling sounds of leaves in the wind.

WIND CALLS THE LEAVES TO WHISPER AND DANCE

Come, leaves on the branches,

Come shiver and whisper,

And play the wind's secret, soft song.

Green clusters on trees,

Come flutter and bustle,

And hustle and rustle,

Sing to the songs of air's choice,

Be the wind's voice!

Come fallen, dead leaves,

Come dance the wind dance,

Stir to the wind's unseen touch.

Come fading, dry leaves,

Come twirling and swirling,

Scattering, whirling,

And dance to the wind's secret beat,

Be the wind's feet!

Poetry Blog 189 When I Woke

WHEN I WOKE

 

 

In the following short poem you can get a feeling for the anapestic foot. The anapestic foot, so called, in two unstressed (or "short") syllables followed by a stressed (or "long") one. A feeling for this swift "beat" can be experienced by taking two short steps followed by a long one. It can be vocalized as "ta, ta, TUM". In this poem there are four of these feet in each line ( When I woke it was late and in winter in night ). A four-footed line is called a tetrameter so this could be described as being written in anapestic tetrameters.

WHEN I WOKE

When I woke it was late and in winter in night

And in quietness and shadow I felt I was caught

In the sense of another awareness and sight

In the light of the lightless, as secret as thought.

And the dreams from the darkness still rang in my brain

And the clouds wove a blanket that hid star-born light.

And beyond the dim walls there the sound of soft rain

Was the whispering voice of the winter and night. 

 

New Poetry Blog No 188 Narrow Roads to Inner Lands Scene 11

  Basho statue at Hiraizumi

SCENE ELEVEN FROM NARROW ROADS TO INNER LANDS 

 

Takate

In this scene Bashō mentions a visit to a famous temple and later, speaking of a renowned warrior, once more reflects on the transitory nature of fame, leading him to write a well-known haiku.

On Zuiganji temple from Wikipedia- Seiryuzan Zuigan-ji is a Rinzai Zen Buddhist temple in located in the town of Matsushima, Miyagi Prefecture, Japan. Belonging to the Myōshin-ji-branch of Rinzai Zen, it was founded in 828 during the Heian period by Jikaku Daishi.

Also from Wikipedia information on Lord Yoshitsune- Minamoto no Yoshitsune (1159 – June 15, 1189) was a military commander of the Minamoto clan of Japan in the late Heian and early Kamakura periods. During the Genpei War, he led a series of battles which toppled the Ise-Heishi branch of the Taira clan, helping his half-brother Yoritomo consolidate power. He is considered one of the greatest and the most popular warriors of his era, and one of the most famous samurai fighters in the history of Japan. Yoshitsune perished after being betrayed by the son of a trusted ally.

Zuiganji Temple

SCENE ELEVEN FROM NARROW ROADS TO INNER LANDS

Day. On the foothills of Hiraizumi, called Takadate. Enter Bashō and Sora.

BASHŌ

So many miles we've walked since we first left!

Across wide plains where long grass waves with wind,

By sides of sparkling streams and slow, brown rivers,

Through valleys, moorlands - up steep, stony mountains,

You've trod with me as firmest friend and now

Once more I'm leading you up rising ground

To clamber over scattered stones and boulders,

On narrow tracks, in Hiraizumi's foothills.

SORA

But in this region know as Takadate,

My legs are younger for such tasks; but truly

We've seen some weary walking on our ways,

And in these last few days more than our share.

(They sit upon some boulders.)

BASHŌ

Hard ground and twenty miles a day. Indeed,

Our path's been strange since we left Matsushima.

Do you recall right details of our journey?

I must make all our travel clear in thought

For wish to write about our wanderings,

And meld my many notes and all our verses,

Which are as stones picked, scattered, from our path,

To make a modest monument to life.

SORA

Let me recall- to Zuiganji temple

We went and saw its seven stately halls,

Embellished so with pure, gleam of gold.

BASHŌ

Quite true. I met the priest, the thirty-second,

Descended from the temple's first, great founder.

(Sora rises.)

SORA

We left for Hiraizumi on the twelfth,

And trailed a narrow, isolated way

Through mountain regions - paths trod only by

The single hunter or the lonely axeman.

BASHŌ

Not really knowing where we were, our way

Was lost and only by good luck at last

We finished up at port Ishinomaki.

Boats by the hundreds moored in harbour waters

And countless streaks of smoke continually

Arose from houses thronging by the shore.

So after lonely, winding tracks, I took

              Brief pleasure viewing such a busy place.

Yet none would offer hospitality.

So after asking all and everywhere,

We found a hovel and we passed the night

Uneasy in our souls.

SORA

And so, next morning,

We took the river road for two hard days.

We went by wide, grass moors and dismal marshes,

Stayed in a village overnight, and now

Have reached this place, quite famed in history.

BASHŌ

Yes, famed in history, yet half-forgotten.

For here that warrior, great-valiant

Lord Yoshitsune, was met by forced, self-death.

Three generations of the Fujiwara,

Famed family, passed by, drift of a dream.

The mountain stays the only thing unchanged.

The castle's vanished- only shrines are standing,

Their gilded pillars etched by frost and snow,

Their jewelled doors rent by the wind, because

Still-pious villagers have kept them here.

The great lives and the brave deeds of the dead

Slip swiftly into time's oblivion.

And only all-devouring grass still thrives.

(Bashō produces ink and writing slab. He writes.)

Summer grass: is this

What's left at last of deeds and

Dreams of warriors?

(Basho and Sora pause reflectively)

BASHŌ

Ah, hardest ways still wait for us: the passes

Across rough mountain range to Dewa province.

Yet if we cross and safely come back down,

With friends we'll know Obanazawa town.

(Bashō and Sora exit.)

 Yoshitsune

 Basho's Haiku