Hands off
Hand it in
Hand it over
Helping hands
Hand made
Hand me downs
Hands down
Hand is a handy word
December 09, 2009
The poetry of hands, 32
December 08, 2009
Ungraspable and sewing
“... Ungraspable and sewing
she listens to the wind passing by
fatigued on account of the birds.”~ an excerpt from The Time of Birds by Colombian poet Luz Mary Giraldo
December 04, 2009
Insubordinately curious
It was just me and the just-rising man in the moon on my walk; we discussed my curious streak of insubordination (“not submitting to authority”) / New Jersey / Dec. 2009
“This I always remember — insubordination: it became a way of life for me after that.”
~ Azir Nafisi in her wonderful book about curiosity and insubordination in the face of tyranny Reading Lolita in Tehran
“Curiosity is insubordination in its purest form.”~ Vladimir Nabokov (as quoted by Nafisi)
December 02, 2009
Adverbly pronouned she verbed
The bright red leaves on the spirit tree frame the new angled porch window / New Jersey / Nov. 2009
When I was in grammar school I had a hard time learning the “parts of speech” (according to a grammar web site there are eight of them: verbs, nouns, pronouns, adverbs, adjectives, prepositions, conjunctions, and interjections). Reading came easily to me. I don't remember having to actually learn to read. One minute I couldn't and the next I could. I remember feeling so empowered — I could read not only books, but signs and billboards and things on the TV and newspapers — and I read voraciously. But I couldn't be bothered with learning the parts of speech and failed a number of tests. I was thinking about this recently after a discussion about school. It occurred to me that reading came so naturally to me that to actually break sentences and thoughts down into “parts of speech” seemed not only unnecessary, but ruined the poetry of the words. It spoiled the beauty of reading for me. Even though my (adjective*) teacher (noun*) railed (verb*) at (preposition*) me (pronoun*), I wasn't going to waste time with it. And all these years later I can say that I've gotten along just fine with words after all.
* According to the dictionary; I can't say for sure.
December 01, 2009
It replicates in endless haloes
I don't ever remember the summer Black-eyed Susans still blooming in December; they must like the often-warm and frequently-wet weather we've had this fall / New Jersey / Dec. 2009
“I sing praise to the play of the spirit, it replicates in endless haloes, tears loose from tangles, then in soft tissue waits for a new manifestation.”
~ an excerpt from Lesser Psalms by Edvard Kocbek
November 30, 2009
Their rhythm is always the same
Delightfully colorful seeds in my November garden; I think the secret to a content life is to always be germinating new ideas and thoughts and projects and talents and interests / New Jersey / Nov. 2009
“I sing praise to seeds, their rhythm is always the same,
they open and close and jealously transmit their secret.”
(from Lesser Psalm by Edvard Kocbek; full text of the poem after the jump). . . and I sing praise to the rambunctious rhythm of the family: Turkey Stomp
November 24, 2009
Listen for the yes
Light reflected, light refracted, light my way: Light becomes so important at this time of year. In the summer the sun blinds me and washes out lesser light. In November I drink in every speck of light, every morsel. My eyes feast on the light. / New Jersey / Nov. 2009
“You have to say YES every time: Every other time and maybe aren’t enough, and I just have to take care of 47 things. If you want to pet the cat there’s no use chasing it under the bed, you can see that much, if you want to open your letters and read them there’s no use slicing them up, ripping and kicking and hitting: You can see that much too and the logic between 47 and 17 is clear, what’s clear is what you see through and cut yourself on, and it hurts, your skin hurts far too much, scratches, wounds, and there’s nothing else to do: You just have to keep going, without watching every step and until you can hear it, totally clear: YES.”
~ Yes, by Danish poet Katrine Marie Guldager
November 23, 2009
As if there were no sky
Dear so-called leaders, please dispense with secret talks and granting favors to people who give you money and preening in front of tv cameras and false righteousness and arrogantly proclaiming that you know exactly what every american wants and just do the right thing — give us a decent health care bill; please; we're counting on you; please; we're begging you; please; we're getting desperate; please, please, please / at the Delaware River whipped by winds of change; NJ / January 2009
“ . . . what are your intentions,
you, so called leaders
of mankind, what is hidden in your whispers behind dark glasses,
what is the meaning of your silence
of your loquacity, of your continuous meetings
and secret talks, pilgrims knock in vain
on other doors, artists connect in vain arches
of palaces rising from new foundations, in vain children write
slogans on the walls, in vain are the discoveries in megaphones
in vain the sacrificing of women kind, in vain
parades and volleys, volleys as greetings, volleys
as warnings, volleys for punishment, too many
bans, too many orders, as if there were
no sky, as if there were no man.”~ an excerpt from “History” (Zgodovina) by Slovenian poet Edvard Kocbek
November 19, 2009
On your way
On the boathouse at dusk / Mountain House / Sept. 2009
“If you get far enough away
you'll be on your way back home.”
November 18, 2009
An area of vorticity
“ ... the things you can't remember tell the things you can't forget ... ”
This line has been swirling through my head for the past few weeks. A function, I think, of age, life and all the nor'easters that have hit New Jersey this fall. The nor'easter winds circle back and blow the leaves in endless circles, around and around. In my head, the things I can't remember spin with the things I can't forget. The line is from Tom Waits' haunting song, Time. Over and over, I hear Waits' rich, gravelly voice and the song's mournful melody. It has such wonderful imagery: “the wind is making speeches,” “it's raining hammers, it's raining nails,” “Mathilda asks the sailors 'Are those dreams or are those prayers?'” Guess I'll have to wait for my storm to pass; for the vorticity to slow. “... so put a candle in the window and a kiss upon my lips ...”
* Nor'easters are usually formed by an area of vorticity associated with an upper-level disturbance or from a kink in a frontal surface that causes a surface low pressure area (“vorticity” is the tendency for elements to curl or spin).
November 13, 2009
To great clouds, light and free
For Mary Alice who loved Goodnight Irene and the memory of hearing Paulo on the guitar and Tom singing to her . . . we'll see you in our dreams / New Jersey / Nov. 2009
In the wonderful book The Leopard, Don Fabrizio reflects on his imminent death:
“With the slightest effort of attention he would notice at all other times too the rustling of the grains of sands as they slid lightly away, the instants of time escaping from his mind and leaving him for ever. But this sensation was not, at first, linked to any physical discomfort. On the contrary, this imperceptible loss of vitality was itself the proof, the condition so to say, of a sense of living; and for him, accustomed to scrutinizing limitless outer space and to probing vast inner abysses, the sensation was in no way disagreeable; this continuous whittling away of his personality seemed linked to a vague presage of the rebuilding elsewhere of a personality (thanks be to God) less conscious and yet broader. Those tiny grains of sand were not lost; they were vanishing, but accumulating elsewhere to cement some more lasting pile. Though 'pile,' he had reflected, was not the exact word for that matter. They were more like the tiny particles of watery vapor exhaled from a narrow pond, then mounting into the sky to great clouds, light and free.” ~ Giuseppe di Lampedusa
I love this idea of things sliding away here and being rebuilt elsewhere as we age. It makes me wonder ... when people die do they also take little particles of those that they love with them to a new rebuilding? It would explain some of the feelings of loss -- as if parts of yourself are falling away.
November 12, 2009
An invisible cloak, The poetry of hands, 31
Uncle Josip, Jelisava & Anton jauntily watching over us / Philadelphia, PA / circa 1940s
“May the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.
And so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak to mind your life.”
~ a blessing from John O’Donohue
Remembering the 54th Anniversary of your most auspicious day. Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad.
November 10, 2009
Emotion in the air
Concrete art / Croatia / May. 2005
Let the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin wall remind us that walls are not the way to solve political problems in this world. Over time the final (and 4th) version of the Berlin wall (made of prefabricated concrete slabs) became a canvas for colorful and graphic graffiti art. When the wall came down, the decorated pieces were dispersed around the world (see the list and some examples here). Berlin Wall Art displays a record of “the social, political, and artistic expressions of the wall surrounding the city of West Berlin.”
“The paintings on the Berlin wall always had an exceptional touch. It was always one extra emotion in the air which transformed every wall painting into a strong political act.” — wall artist Thierry Noir
November 04, 2009
Fistful of flowers
Darkness comes suddenly now
Setting sun draws new patterns on the wall
Outside a world constantly changing
Things falling away
But all is not lost
You bring me a fistful
Of brightly colored flowers
And a bag of still-warm soft pretzels
Scent of mum
Scent of fall
Scent of life
Scent trail to find my way back
November 03, 2009
Fortified with ribbons
How wonderful to walk down a busy city street on a gray day and find the “Ribbon Vault on Arch Street” by the artist and sculptor Robert Chambers (see another of Chambers' ribbon creations here). An entire storefront, filled with ribbon spools hung on the walls, with the ribbon spilling and coiling down and out into the display windows. Repeating a theme is such a powerful statement. One uncoiled ribbon looks like something left behind by mistake. A bulging window of ribbons of various colors and widths is a celebration. Chambers says: “My work very often references a sense of experimental playfulness” and “I find myself constantly toying with visual connections between science and art, forcing them into a realm of senselessness and chaos.” I wish I had a vault of ribbons.
November 02, 2009
Comemoração de todos os Fiéis Defuntos
Comemoração de todos os Fiéis Defuntos (All Souls' Day); remembering our loved ones / a display at the Dia de los Muertos celebration, Houston, TX / Nov. 2007
"A raw and rainy night is left outside, as we enter a beautiful cozy room.
A circle of women is gathered but one friend is missing, one chair empty.
A ritual begins. Salt, water, sage, bells call forth a blessing of memory of their dear friend.
Gradually the chair holds a form, as stories are sculpted with the clay of loving words.
With laughter and tears, the women mold the clay with remembrance.
Each friend in the circle has fleshed out the beauty of this lovely woman; facets of personality, texture, movement, serenity and her endearing spirit.
The chair has been filled, the circle closed. Anita lives in our hearts and minds."
~ Remembering, by Franciska
October 28, 2009
Face-to-face with our psychic integrity
“In my ideal version of Halloween, we wouldn't scare ourselves with images of ghoulish skeletons, eyeballs floating in cauldrons, and hissing, three-headed snakes. Rather, we'd confront more realistic fears, like the possibility that the effects we have on the world are different from our intentions . . . or that we have not yet reached our potential . . . or that people we like might completely misread and misunderstand us. Then Halloween would serve a more spiritually useful purpose. It would bring us face-to-face with actual dangers to our psychic integrity, whereupon we could summon our brilliant courage and exorcize the hell out of them. Costume suggestion: exorcist. (Begin by exorcising yourself.)”
October 23, 2009
Inhale, listen, observe
The new screened-in side porch transports you to a calmer and simpler place; inhale the fresh air, listen to the street sounds, observe the movement of the sun / New Jersey / Oct. 2009
“As you simplify life,
the laws of the universe will be simpler.”~ Henry David Thoreau
October 22, 2009
Macabre
The colorful scarf I've been working on; piecing together a collection of woven fabrics / New Jersey / Oct. 2009
The spiders have been busy in my house. I keep coming across tiny cobwebs, spun like the finest of silk in odd places, usually only when the light happens to hit them right. A cobweb is really a masterpiece of design and weaving — a network of fine threads spun by a spider. I think of some of the beautiful fabrics that I have been working with — all designed then woven, too. At this time of year some people decorate their houses with fake cobwebs. It occurs to me that perhaps my delicate, woven cobwebs are not a sign of insufficient housekeeping, but rather they are “seasonal decoration” not to mention works of art and design. I resolve to leave them undisturbed. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
October 15, 2009
The heat braced without burning
The angle of the fine October sun makes colors glow and warms the face; so different from the burning sun of July and August / Beach Haven, NJ / October 2009
“... and the sun was back on its throne like an absolute monarch ... The heat braced without burning, the light domineered but let colors live; from the soil cautiously sprouted clover and mint, and on faces appeared diffident hopes.”
~ describing October 1860; from The Leopard by Giuseppe di Lampedusa
October 14, 2009
The silence between the stories
The beach at night / Beach Haven, NJ / Oct. 2009
Imagine that you had a dishcloth
Bigger than the one mothers put on the bread
To slow its cooling, that you could spread
Over the whole kitchen floor to bring up its face
As clearly as the features on the cake.
You’d have a print you could lift up
To the light and examine for individual traces
Of people who came to swap yarns, and sit on
Sugan chairs that bit into the bare floor, leaving
Unique signatures on concrete that creased
Over time into a map you could look at and
Imagine what those amateur cartographers
Were thinking when their eyes fell, in the silence
Between the stories, that was broken only by
The sound of the fire and whatever it was that
Was calling in the night outside.~ Mapping the Interior by Irish poet Eugene O'Connell
October 07, 2009
To my friend
An energetic send-off for Anita, riding to the cemetery on the back of Luis' bike with German flag / New Jersey / Oct. 6, 2009
Anita was my friend.
When I think of Anita, I think of beauty. Her beautiful smile. Her voice greeting me - the special way she said my name, Leeesa. Her affectionate hugs. Her laugh. Her enthusiasm. Her energy. The way she would say, Hey, check it out.
I think of the beautiful garments that she knitted. The way I got to know Anita is through our knitting group. Anna and Anita knit using the German style which is fast and efficient. I knit in the clunkier American way - slower and not so efficient. I remember watching Anita knit socks with four double pointed needles and marveling how she always knew which needle to go to.
She was also a skilled seamstress. She could fix things that were torn or needed to be hemmed or alter something to make it fit. And she created beautiful objects with her sewing machine. One year for our Christmas knitting party she made us sturdy tote bags from laminated pieces of paper that she had sewn together. It is a real work of art - and beautiful, both inside and out.
Anita surrounded herself with beauty. Her house is filled with beautiful, interesting objects and collections. She created a magical atmosphere in her backyard for her summer parties - hundreds of tiny white lights strung across the whole backyard, little seating nooks everywhere with couches and tables, candles all around including under the long tables. The atmosphere transported you from New Jersey to a German beer garden.
When I came out of the hospital last week and got in the car, Twist and Shout was playing on the radio and it reminded me of Anita's 60s parties. I loved watching Luis and Anita dance at those parties. They could salsa like crazy - Paulo and I would get Luis to teach us the moves, but we didn't have that hip action … the two of them were really something to watch.
Anita surrounded herself with beautiful things. She created beautiful things. She was a beautiful person inside and out.
Anita adorned and beautified the world.
And she adorned and beautified my life by being my friend.
October 06, 2009
Whisper to a breeze
Sometimes the tree has done all its work / New Jersey
“May I be a great big tree
so big I can’t see those taking shelter under me,
a deep green conical figure wrapped in serenity
Just as I dangle my bare feet in the water
may my roots joyfully draw
from an unknown subterranean current
May I be such a great big tree
that those who look at me
will naturally feel peace and repose
Yet may my luxuriating branches and leaves
whisper to a breeze like stray hair
May they awaken before anyone else in the rosy glow of morning
May their blue shadows be cast on earth
spreading like a trailing lace skirt
May my thoughts be kind
May my thoughts be refreshing
The tree will not move
The tree will not speak
yet may it be a ladder heavenly children ascend and descend
If someone comes and rests by me at the height of day
I will provide deep shadow and infinite comfort
On a stormy day
I will be even greater, more stalwart
I will firmly anchor my roots in the great earth and will not sway
Yet my sap will flow smoothly
even my incised wounds will issue forth a refreshing scent
Soon I will whisper a smiling song
When night arrives I will dissolve into darkness
unbeknownst to people
may the song alone become invisible ripples”
~ A Great Big Tree by Kiyoko Nagase
September 28, 2009
Beautified by her presence
Over 100 years ago my great-grandmother Jelisava left her village in Croatia to join her husband in America. She never returned, but 95 years later her descendants traveled to her village and discovered her niece Katica (called “Mima,” for grandmother). Mima spoke no English but through the patient translations of her grandson Tonci we were able to learn more about Jelisava, her husband Anton, and their family and form a delightful bond with her. She knew the stories of things that had happened before she was born. She knew the Croatian songs that my mother had heard as a child. She made us Turkish coffee and gave us pure, cold water from the well in the back with the date '1863' carved into it. We had never known of her existence, but she had a photo in her house from the early 1950s of my mother and her siblings.
[A dear one, B, has called the story of how our families were reunited “a mythic tale if there ever was one”. Another dear one, K, describes “that day in Sveti Vid, when the sky literally opened up and God must have been blowing us all up the dirt road in Tonci's car, to the vine-covered patio, where a multi-generational bloodline met and the air became pregnant with memories and meaning. To me, that moment was both a treasured flashback of our ancestry and a testament to the imperishable love of family, even when the relationships are only through passed down stories and photographs.”]
We were beautified by her delight in finding us, by her love for us and her family, by her continued prayers for us. She died on Sept. 26th with her beloved grandson by her bedside. We shall miss her lovely presence.
“He 'adorned and beautified it by his presence,' the prayer book says — did it just by being there, presumably, just by being who he was, the way anybody we love very much and who loves us very much can more or less do it too.”~ Frederic Buechner writiing about Jesus at the Marriage of Cana
September 23, 2009
Sitting vigil
Anita / Nov. 2008
We stroke your hair, hold your hand
Whisper in your ear in this room
Straight out of star trek, state of the art
Everything buzzes and whirs and blinks and beeps
Tubes and bags and flesh and technology inside
It's a room with a view outside
The soaring blue of the Ben Franklin bridge
An elegant church steeple, Camden's tall city hall
I think this would please you
We stroke your hair, hold your hand
Talk and tell stories and I think that I see you
Sit up, listening to us with a gentle smile
John the nurse brings a tray with
Coffee, tea, fancy Pepperidge Farm Cookies
Chocolate and butter comfort in fluted paper cups
This would please you, too
The chaplain says can I say a prayer for her? Of course
Yes, yes we're her sisters, thank you
A woman sweeps the floor, she sprays and mops
A lovely scent, apple she says, yes that's it
This would please you for sure
The first good day after the surgery
You couldn't wait to be down on your hands and
knees scrubbing your kitchen floor
We stroke your hair, hold your hand
Is she cold? She doesn't like to be cold
A respiration nurse cleans a tube
Just two days ago they brought you here
Huddled, weak and barely breathing
And yet you asked after us -- how you doing?
Now, pumped full of drugs, drugged with drugs
All we can do is stroke your hair, hold your hand
Whisper that we're here, we're here dear friend
Say I love you Say I love you Say goodbye
September 14, 2009
Releasing the caged mind
September is made for picnicking outside under the leaves and fading light and stars / September 2009
"When we go out among nature, clay is returning to clay. We are returning to participate in the stillness of the earth which first dreamed us. ... Indeed, the beauty of nature is often the wisest balm for it gently relieves and releases the caged mind. Calmness flows in to wash away anxiety and worry. ... Over against the world with all its turbulence, distraction and worry, one should cultivate a style of mind that can reach through to an inner stillness and calm. The world cannot ruffle the dignity of a soul that dwells in its own tranquility."
~ John O'Donohue in Beauty The Invisible Embrace
September 08, 2009
Resonance
The house that whirled with song and dance and laughter and tears and rising and falling and this and that falls still / Mountain House
Some thoughts from wiremesa:
Today is the day of the resonance you wish would not slip away … not now … later, but not now
Today is the day of the generation rising and falling, its sweetest secrets untoldToday is the day of the dervish whirled room suddenly falling still
September 01, 2009
Patience is power
Spider web with its occupant; the web was built ingeniously, I don't run into it when I come out of the house since the right side is attached to the porch roof / New Jersey / August 2009
Patience is power;
with time and patience,
the mulberry leaf becomes silk.~ Chinese proverb
August 28, 2009
Listen . . .
“The sounds of the earth are like music, the old song goes, and the sounds of music are also like the sounds of the earth, which is of course where music comes from. Listen to the voices outside the window, the rumble of the furnace, the creak of your chair, the water running in the kitchen sink. Learn to listen to the music of your own lengths of time, your own silences.”
~ Frederick Buechner, from Whistling in the Dark, A Doubter's Dictionary
