A musical piece in three movements

For A.B., as usual

1 / Collapse

Several times he seemed
ready to collapse
under the burden of
pain from unhappy love

Yet always managed
to pick himself up –
by his own scalp,
so to speak

But there were moments
when collapse seemed
the sweetest thing on earth –

the final breaking of those
iron rings in his heart region
that would manifest pure love

2 / Sweet

An infinite sweetness
bearing no relation
to the object of collapse

Something truly
unconditional – an oath
not to ever betray

love, that particular love
regardless of anything
that might happen

3 / Yearn

Despite it all,
in the face of despise:
there it is – near-blind,
sighful yearning

The more un-
fullfillable
the better

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written around Collapse, Sweet, Yearn from 3WW.

Too many years

I opened the door and I found I was looking at danger
It’s been so many years but we’re hiding our faces like strangers
She says that she’s got to go but there ain’t no way
I’m letting her walk while there’s something to say
It’s been too many years
to watch our hearts die in this way.
She’s feeling a time for a seasonal change and she’s yearning
To shake the trees of our love in the streets where the leaves are for burning
All things on this earth were made for the dying
One look in my soul says there just ain’t no use trying
It’s been too many years
to watch our hearts die in this way
In an unwritten time I thought that life was for sharing
And living together was simply a matter of caring
But things did not work out like I planned
and alienation has left me here damned
It’s been too many years
to watch our hearts die in this way

– Jorma Kaukonen

The dilemma of seeming to know each other too well, for too many years, becoming almost strangers. Unfortunately, there is no rendition of this wonderful song by ex-Jefferson Airplane and Hot Tuna lead guitarist Jorma Kaukonen on Youtube.

Posted for One Single Impression and The Stranger.

I know you a little better now

Once again for A.B.

I know you a little better now
than before, will

know you better again tomorrow
and the day after

I knew the sparkle before,
the sparkle in your dark brown eyes

Last week I noticed the wrinkles
around your eyes – you’re

thirty-seven after all, I noticed them
from the side as we were driving along

And yesterday it dawned on me
that you’re also fickle –

capricious for capriciousness’ sake;
you call it spontaneous

And don’t tell me you don’t thrive
on compliments on your beauty –

I know you better than your daughter
who is like you,

dancing away throwing a mane of hair,
curious of its effect

“Did I do a good throw?”
she said over her shoulder

I can’t wait to hear what you will say
over your shoulder

The day after the day and the day
I will know you better

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written to incorporate Fickle / Sparkle / Wrinkle from 3WW.

Covert

For A.S.

With all my cavorting
– and yours on top! –

we never know
who we’re dealing with.

You told me today
that sometimes

you did not know
who you were talking to

when talking to me –
my inner child,

my outer child,
my higher self

or whatever
(I don’t have

the nomenclature
down), and which

layer of you was
communicating with me.

“We’re complicated,”
I said. “No,” you said,

“complex.” That
definitely came

from your mouth
and went into my ear.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written upon inspiration by “covert” for Sunday Scribblings.

Kamala Das passed away

Kamala Das, one of India’s eminent poets, passed away on May 31, 2009.

Kamala Das alias Kamala Surayya alias Madhavikutty passed away in a private hospital at Pune, India, on Sunday early morning. She was 75. She had been undergoing hospital treatment for the last few months.

She wrote in English as well as Malayalam, her native language. She is considered to be one of the outstanding Indian poets writing in English.

Her popularity in Kerala is based chiefly on her short stories, novels and autobiography. Much of her writing in Malayalam came under the pen name Madhavikkutty.

A poem by Kamala Das from an earlier post.

Bear

As he would occasionally do when taking a solitary walk, he shifted into another being. This time it was a brown bear, to enable him to climb a tree and survey the forest from a different point of view.

This was his first time as a bear. He relished the feeling of powerful ease with which he was able to use his claws on the rough bark of the tall, thick pine he’d picked, and the total absence of his usual fear of heights. But he also noticed how thoughts and associations not his own were infiltrating, which he knew to come from being a bear. His sense of smell had increased tremendously, to a degree that was overwhelming. He could sense that there was carrion nearby, and his sensitivity to traces of urine and dung in the vicinity was acute.

His human soul was somewhat let down because his bear-self did not think of his surroundings as beautiful – they were his habitat and therefore entirely normal.

Stirrings of hunger were there, and they were for the dead animal about 20 yards away, for other things his human self did not consider terribly appetizing, but also for the chocolate in his own backpack which he’d hung from the lower branches of a smaller tree.

Time to return and attack that chocolate before some other bear would try and get to it.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written for Café Writing’s May/June project, The Magic of Milne. Photo Credit: Tony Campbell.

From my little Kazakh warrior

My dear James, last night was wonderful! You were so gentle and sensitive, yet you knew when to be strong and firm with me. I do like to be chastised when I have been naughty, just a little , and you knew exactly how much force was enough to send me into ecstacy. You can be so stern, you nasty man! And when you spoke Swabian to me! That made me wild! And your homemade spätzle was divine! You are the perfect man, James. So well read, so cultured, so knowledgeable, yet so unassuming, so humble. That combination drives me crazy (as you probably realized ). I can’t wait until we meet again, James. – from your little Kazakh warrior

Notes
This was written facetiously by a friend and colleague of mine as part of an e-mail by that same little Kazakh warrior he forwarded to me. It was the one and only association that came to me for Inspire Me Thursday’s Warrior theme.

Maligned

“I have been maligned by a cryptic flash,” declaimed Tommy theatrically.
Gerald added a few pinches of salt.
“Taste! – I think that will do,” he said, offering a spoonful of the bright yellow sauce.
Tommy turned away in distaste.
“What is it now,” Gerald said.
“You never listen to me. All you care about is food – cooking and eating, cooking and eating!”
“Oh come off your huff. You like my cooking. And anyway, I’ve been listening all along.”
“Prove it!”
“I believe you were saying that someone, most likely your loving mother, said something about you behind your back that you didn’t like, and you found out about it somehow.”
“No! I said ‘maligned by a cryptic flash’! Does that sound like my mother? Or any real person for that matter? And it’s quite poetic, by the way. But you wouldn’t know, maker of curries.”
“Thank you, dear Thomasina, for putting me in my rightful place. But let me return the compliment and call you by your real name: flasher of malignant cryptics and soon-to-be eater of pungent elliptics and sensibly cut rhomboids.”

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Woven around Cryptic, Flash and Malign as suggested by 3WW.

Wasn’t born to follow

And if you think I’m ready
You may lead me to the chasm
Where the rivers of our visions
Flow into one another
(from “Wasn’t born to follow”, written Gerry Goffin / Carole King, as sung by The Byrds)

I have no guru,
not much religion.

I doubt the old books,
doubt the old gods.

Still I look for truth
and know

there’s eternity,
there’s much more

to life than atoms
and cells.

And even though
I know we’re all

one, all grapes
off the same vine,

I often feel alone
as a meteorite shard,

crashed somewhere,
lying unrelated,

and as shut into
myself

as a stone.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Posted for Sunday Scribblings’ Follow.

Note
The song “Wasn’t born to follow”, performed by The Byrds, was part of the soundtrack of the 1969 movie Easy Rider starring Dennis Hopper, Peter Fonda and Jack Nicholson. In essence, the film is about a new dream of freedom crushed by an old, restrictive world order that does not tolerate anything but itself.

It is written that …

It is written that future Man will move up one step on the hierarchical ladder to become a creator, just like the angels, archangels, thrones, excusiai and others are creators. Thought, which already has creative powers in some select few – think of healers that can heal long-distance – or in everyone, more than we might think, will then be much more directly creative. You think of a plant – it will be there. You think of growing the plant – it will grow and flower, directed by your thought, as you watch. Everything you think of will manifest itself. Sound good? Think of multitudes of people doing this at the same time. Some other person might think of shrinking the plant you’re trying to grow. Just as it is now, people with creative powers might not necessarily be good people – they might be mostly interested in using their creative powers for egotistical or destructive purposes. But then again a lot of problems might be solved. A hungry mother would wish for food and receive it for herself and her children, all served instantly on a nice platter. People in an area affected by drought would wish for rain and get it. Or they could choose to grow their produce without rain. We could choose to have our mobility without noxious gases – we would simply wish for flying saucers, blimps or whatever vehicles and move them at will. To Australia, Sri Lanka, Greenland, Palo Alto, Yucatán – wherever, at whatever speed. What opportunity for mankind, for happy times!

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written in 15 minutes on the process of creation for Café Writing.

Kashi

Upon flighty arrival
in Kashi I felt myself
sequestered in a clay pot
in sand in some poor
smoky kitchen – kept
wondering when I’d
ever get out of there
again to expand, move
about – kept wondering

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written for One Single Impression and Smoke.

Twilight in the garden

The April weather was lovely and mild. I’d taken my cup of tea out on the patio along with the newspaper, taken sips, put a blanket over myself as I lay back on the lawn chair and fallen asleep just as the sun was beginning to set.

I awoke with a start a little while later – there had been a slight noise. Perhaps the neighbor’s cat had stepped on something with its inaudible paws, and that something had moved, making the noise.

I peered through the twilight, and then I saw it – a garden creature, slight and grey, wearing a pointed red hat, stood on the stone border near the daffodil clump, seemingly doing stretches. I suppose I’d heard the small thud of its landing on the stone as it jumped down. More garden creatures emerged from flowers all over, and the garden was filled with tiny thuds.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written for Café Writing’s In the Garden.

True self

Remove that earnest
reactive layer
and emerge!

– James Steerforth

Written around earnest, layer and reactive from 3WW.

Today

Dedicated to Rabindranath Tagore

His lotus went unheeded – I knew not
what fragrance the south wind would carry
to induce strange longing

In fact, I knew not the south wind

I am so ignorant – occasionally! –
I told myself

And too concerned with myself
and the writing of poetry
that comes from that self
or something like it

Let the lotus and the south wind be

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Note
I was going to rewrite a poem by Rabindranath Tagore I had just read, trying to “rejuvenate” it (take out that 19th century British-style stuffiness he instilled in his own translations), and this was the outcome, sort of a Rabindranath Tagore gone New York Poets piece only somewhat related to the original.

Happens to go well with Totally Optional Prompts’ Rewrite issue.

From Gitanjali by Rabindranath Tagore

20

On the day when the lotus
bloomed, alas, my mind was
straying, and I knew it not.  My
basket was empty and the flower
remained unheeded.
Only now and again a
sadness fell upon me, and I
started up from my dream and
felt a sweet trace of a strange
fragrance in the south wind.
That vague sweetness made
my heart ache with longing and it
seemed to me that it was the
eager breath of the summer
seeking for its completion.
I knew not then that it was
so near, that it was mine, and that
this perfect sweetness had
blossomed in the depth of my
own heart.

– Rabindranath Tagore

The landing of the Allies in Normandy as foreseen by Wassily Kandinsky in 1911

Soldiers with semi-halos
prostrate on yellow sand,
machine gun on stilts
on beachhead, red
bunker spewing yellow
flame, black triangle of
landing craft beached,
front severed by thick
white tree-like trunk,
serrated edge

– Johannes Beilharz ( © 2009 )

Author’s notes
The outcome of a recent visit to Munich and the marvelous Kandinsky show there at the Lenbachhaus. Impression III (Concert) of 1911 provoked the above ekphrasis the instant I saw the painting.

According to the catalog, Kandinsky attended an Arnold Schönberg concert on January 2, 1911. The painting, done the next day, demonstrates that the “impressions of an external nature” serving as the source of a series of paintings titled “Impressions” could be acoustic as much as visual.

The above poem could be called a third-generation impression in yet another form – writing.

The painting cannot be reproduced here for copyright reasons.

Oracle

I say
that daffodils
are going to be
at least three
weeks later
this year
than last

– The Oracle of Cannstatt Cave

Quarter moon in a ten cent town

The title of this 1978 album by Emmylou Harris is derived from a line in one of the tracks – Easy from now on – authored by American songwriter and artist Susanna Clark and Charlene Routh. The album cover art is also by Susanna Clark.

Easy from now on

There he goes gone again
Same old story’s gotta come to an end
Lovin’ him was a one way street
But I’m gettin’ off where the crossroads meet
It’s a quarter moon in a ten cent town
Time for me to lay my heartaches down
Saturday night gonna make myself a name
Take a month of Sundays to try and explain

It’s gonna be easy to fill
The heart of a thirsty woman
Harder to kill the ghost of a no good man
And I’ll be ridin’ high in a fandangled sky
It’s gonna be easy, it’s gonna be easy from now on

Raw as whip but clean as a bone
Soft to touch when you take me home
When the mornin’ comes and it’s time for me to leave
Don’t worry ‘bout me, I got a wild card up my sleeve

It’s gonna be easy to fill
The heart of a thirsty woman
Harder to kill the ghost of a no good man
And I’ll be ridin’ high in a fandangled sky
It’s gonna be easy, it’s gonna be easy
It’s gonna be easy from now on

By Susanna Clark/Carlene Routh

Posted for Moon at Inspire Me Thursday.

The picture of my heart

Above all and foremost it’s a muscle that pumps. I see its strands of flesh, contracting and letting go, gushing red blood. The heart itself is also red, and the other heart behind it and in the center is red as well sometimes, but there the picture gets blurred. This heart often beats for the world it is in love with, and for A., who’s a gem in this world, and all too often the beats slow and speed up or, at worst, come to a standstill with A. and her perception – all unrelated to her, uncaused by her. Other heart stirrings are there, but I find they are much less distinct, in danger of subsiding, never really having a chance against this heart for A., this firmity, which in itself seems like a muscle, a ring, another ring of heart extending far outside the body. Ignorant, blissful A. – she has not the slightest inkling that a heart and a world depend on, palpitate with her graces. But then again it’s just one heart in the embroiled masses of hearts. Just one.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written in approx. 9 minutes for Café Writing and its Love Letters project.

Persistent callous interference

How can you so persistently and callously interfere?

It’s my life – and you’re preventing me from living it the way I’d like to. I’m sick of it! And please stop waving your Koran, Bible or other old book at me for justification.

What it boils down to is that you’re a control freak. That’s all.

Your loving daughter A.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written around these words from 3WW: callous, interfere, persistent.