palm (i)

when i was very little i remember being given a palm frond as the prime symbolic element connected to palm sunday. to the little kid who lived at the end of an alleyway, it seemed so exotic - and really when i think about it, wow! how did they get them to this little group of ragamuffins in suburban manchester?

looking into the cuban sky was so thrilling because it was often framed or filled with palm trees.

for some of my readers this is as commonplace as it is for me to see maple trees.

but i couldn't get past the thrill each time!

cuba's national tree - the royal palm

the fronds of the palms segmented the sky into little ribbons by day

and by night

at the part of the trunk where the fronds emerge there were these cool spidery features

and all sorts of cool textures in their bodies

ocean's edge (ii)

after the earthquake that devastated haiti, the northern shoreline of cuba and especially the chain of islands i was staying on was altered such that the wave action was somewhat intensified. the thinking is that the many years of accumulation of sand along the coast shifted and was carried back out to sea. the big cycles of nature (of which this is surely one) would be incredible to see if we were able to speed up the tape of time and view the ebb and flow of the various processes that we are privileged to witness for such a relatively short span of time.

having said that, the beaches we walked on were comprised of very fine white sand - not talcum powder fine but finer than salt. in some places about two kilometres down the beach, the wave action was more intense than others, resulting in outcroppings of wave-worn rock, which if you remember my trip to prince edward island last summer, is a source of fascination for me.

i spent some time sitting here with the waves crashing around me.

a small blissful, beautiful space

i explored the rocks each time the waves pulled away - my time was understandably brief

the very little cycles of nature (of which this is surely one) would be incredible to see if we were able to speed up the tape of time and view the ebb and flow of the various processes that we are privileged to witness for such a relatively short span of time.

the scouring of little grains of sand and the insistant, purposeful swirling of water has created these little pockets and portals compelling me to move closer to see what treasures are stored inside or beyond.

her music

her music

her music:

softly bowed

hovering fragments -

filaments

troubling the still surface of

the wine of silence

this piece uses a form suggested by anne welch who is moderating "one stop poetry" this week.

it is called a "shadorma".

i love the name instinctively.

the architecture of the piece is intriguing: the shadorma is made up of a stanza of six lines with no set rhyme scheme. it is organized around a syllabic formula of 3/5/3/3/7/5.

it can have many stanzas, as long as each follows the meter.

this is my first shadorma.

visual prompt generously provided by tess at magpie tales.

for more variations on the shadorma please visit "one stop poetry" .

ocean's edge (i)

the terms of agreement that apply to the meeting place of a body of land and a large body of water

are very similar almost every where i visit.

there shall be a row of trees

then there shall be hummocks covered with windblown plants, some of which shall be grasses

then there shall be ground hugging growth that has obviously weathered much more in its

brief life than i have, or would wish to and yet which somehow holds on so very tightly to its own beauty

and then there will be a breathtaking expanse

oh yes, breathtaking

causeway

i stayed on an island called cayo santa maria which is part of villa clara province off the northwest coast of cuba. santa maria is one of a chain of islands - an archipelago is probably the more proper term for them. each is not entirely distinct because in some places, the space between them is bridged by mangrove swamp.

the cuban poet nicolás guillén described the body of cuba

as like "a long green lizard with eyes of stone and water".

our journey took us off the main island of cuba (we landed in santa clara)

and left the main island via a causeway that spans some forty eight kilometres. it took ten years to build and passes through some simply stunning scenery which at times made me think that perhaps i had returned to southern ontario without my realizing it.

and then just as suddenly, with the appearance of the mountains of mainland cuba through the setting sun

i was brought back to this extraordinary place.

children of the aether

their soft wet bodies

drifted off the screen of my imagining

and merging with the pure white sky

became once more

the triangulated

children of the aether

of my remembering

visual prompt provided by tess at magpie tales

i'm really excited and even proud to tell you that one of my poems is featured over at the astonishing terresa's chocolate chip waffle blog. to read it go right here.

rays

some of the plants were so in love with brother sun that they arranged their bodies to mirror his own.

even as their bodies were preparing to revibrate themselves into another form,

they carried their symmetrical arrays through the soft hues of decay with grace.

how do they know to do this?

luscious

of course cuba isn't entirely green - oh no - it is rich with colour.

i actually prefer the random appearance of colour in all parts and aspects of my life -

there's a tremendous metaphor in that.

seeing flowers was like stumbling across a long-forgotten treasure!

i came back again and again

to marvel at their simple complexities.

i held the petals and delicately brushed them between my fingers, holding them like the most fragile and rice paper. i pushed them against my face. it's so luxurious to feel their velvety softness.

i made sure to get very very close to them to soak in the detail and especially the vibrant energy

that emanates from these very tiny and very unlikely gifts.

another green world

morning arising

i hadn't considered the healing power of the colour green although i've long known that i crave colour of any hue or shade through the winter time. green occurs naturally in many forms but it's presence in leaves is what i miss most profoundly through our wintertime. to be fair, evergreens do come close to satisfying that hunger but their thin elongated bodies don't provide me with the soft hand-like features of leaves, they don't rustle softly in a breeze, and they don't shimmer through all the shades of green as the sun passes over their bodies.

you can imagine my joy - inner and outer - with the instant immersion into the lush green world of cuba.

another green world

most magical of all for me was the presence of vast numbers of palm trees. as a boy i connected these to readings of treasure island and tales of other similarly magical and exotic places

in which adventures were assured!

as a pre-mature adult, i'm drawn to the sensual repetition of their arcing leaves and the deep blue and fluffy- white parabolas of sky that dance in-between.

today's listening included "anthem" (words by leonard cohen) performed by suns of arqa

turn it up!!

rock the studios!! rock the porches of america!! shake the chateau!! melt the icebound canadian ponds!!!

lyrics (in case you're drawn to sing along!)

anthem

the birds they sang
at the break of day
start again
i heard them say
don't dwell on what
has passed away
or what is yet to be.
ah the wars they will
be fought again
The holy dove
she will be caught again
bought and sold
and bought again
the dove is never free.

ring the bells that still can ring
forget your perfect offering
there is a crack in everything
that's how the light gets in.

we asked for signs
the signs were sent:
the birth betrayed
the marriage spent
yeah the widowhood
of every government --
signs for all to see.

i can't run no more
with that lawless crowd
while the killers in high places
say their prayers out loud.
but they've summoned, they've summoned up
a thundercloud
and they're going to hear from me.

ring the bells that still can ring ...

you can add up the parts
but you won't have the sum
you can strike up the march,
there is no drum
every heart, every heart
to love will come
but like a refugee.

ring the bells that still can ring
forget your perfect offering
there is a crack, a crack in everything
that's how the light gets in.

ring the bells that still can ring
forget your perfect offering
there is a crack, a crack in everything
that's how the light gets in.
that's how the light gets in.
that's how the light gets in.

leonard cohen

leaving and finding my level

"out front" march 12. 2011

winter in what my friend linda calls "the eastern woodlands", brings about a quieting of the spirit.

this quieting can be experienced as the softest of silences and then also as a quelling, a dampening,

an extinguishing and even an ending.

three weeks ago i returned from cuba.

the privilege of visiting such a beautiful country is fading a lot slower than the tan i acquired while i was there.

cuba figures larger than many countries in my own cosmology by virtue of my lingering fascination with che guevara whose revolutionary stance and idealism appealed to me as a teenager scouring the upturnings of the 1960's for whatever felt good and right.

life's circumstances have dictated that my two journeys to cuba have been as a tourist and as a tourist whose apparent priority is rest. i feel compelled to acknowledge that i feel guilt for addressing that need but for those who know me intimately, the nature of the way i work and live my life is such that rest is a commodity that i of necessity must avoid. however, my body (and by extension my mind) are all i have in order to secure my place on this worldly plane and so rest sometimes calls to me and in all kindness to my body,

i answer its call in fullness.

brother che, how could i have known that someday the needs of my body

would rise above the needs of my mind?

the discord between this choice and the echoes of my teenaged revolutionary fantasies was mediated by the fabulously present live music of a group of musicians who appeared regularly throughout my stay in cuba. the energy and the very human qualities of their music, the jazz like interplay and the complexities of their african influenced polyrhythms brought a quality of presence that allowed me to elevate above the discordant experiencing of the surface of my life past and present and to feel something of the voice of a people who have known hardship for so very long and yet who in my talking with them

are so entirely proud of what they have achieved.

trees

one of the great awakenings of my life took place when my aunt margaret (who has always wished to be called simply "margaret") gave me a copy of hermann hesse's steppenwolf as well as a copy of siddhartha.

they opened the world up to me in so many ways that i can trace back to that first astonished reading.

i still admire hesse's work and i'm occasionally thrilled by the unearthing of something of his that i have either not read before or which i have let drift into the netherworld that is my library and which, for whatever reason resurfaces to delight me all over again.

i'd like to share an excerpt here from one of his books entitled "wandering".

for me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. i revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. and even more i revere them when they stand alone. they are like lonely persons. in their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity:

nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree.

trees are sanctuaries. whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. they do not preach learning and precepts, they preach undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life. a longing to wander tears my heart when i hear trees rustling in the wind at evening.

trees have long thoughts, long breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. they are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. but when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy.

herman hesse

from "wandering"

another beautiful excerpt from this book can be read here.

oh the mystery

i'd like to share some beautiful music that was recorded at the punkt festival in september of last year.

here are a few words excerpted from this piece:

well it may have been complete and painless that place

where i could not be reached and went unharmed

i would cultivate my virtues and my vows

and contemplate the stream in days ahead

in that place

i have followed the scent like a stray dog

i have trust in what i found

and welcomed it inside

the undertow

though perilous to avoid

a chasm in the very heart of things

in that place

and oh the mysteries

oh

the mystery

ladies and gentlemen, your headphones please . . . .

exile from paradise / undertow

jan bang: samples

lars danielsson: double bass

sidsel endresen: vocals

jon hassell: trumpet, keyboards

arve henriksen: trumpet

erik honoré: live sampling

additional information about this music and other music by jan can be found here.

skins

there is nothing, there is always nothing.

it has to be filled

with a new, fruitful

space,

then downward

tumbles yesterday

as in a well

falls yesterday's water,

into the cistern

of all still without voice or fire.

all words excerpted from "past" by pablo neruda

by this river

cottages by a river frits thaulow

the morning sky breaks warm and pale

softly straddling the little cottages

it follows the gentle curve of the water's edge

to a sun-softened rock

she makes her way to this place each day

without exception

i wonder at her devotion

to the reflection that welcomes her

a watery plaything

it becomes

the stained glass of her eyes

the arched vaulting of her mouth

caught in the liquid whorls and eddies

her lips form the shapes of words

soundless prayers

in the engulfed cathedral

of herself

like a book

hey golden fish readers and viewers, the very cool nancy (best friend and advisor to the pink rabbit) over at "have genes will travel" is running a little meme to do with what you're reading. if you'd like to wander over and add a dish to the beautiful buffet she's assembling then i think that would be splendid!!!!

go right here!

melt

winter

washes itself away

in great brown lakes

as soft as chocolate

and as cold

as tears