Category: songs/poetry

  • Happy Solstice to You!

    John‘s been trying to convince me that we should start celebrating solstice rather than Christmas–it’s his attempt to get us to open the gifts just a few days earlier. While I admire the sentiment, especially because I’m just as eager as he is to begin unwrapping, we’ll be waiting until the 25th. :)

    So here’s a lovely poem from Deborah for the shortest day of the year. May it be a good one for each of you!

    The Shortest Day
    By Susan Cooper

    And so the Shortest Day came and the year died
    And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
    Came people singing, dancing,
    To drive the dark away.
    They lighted candles in the winter trees;
    They hung their homes with evergreen;
    They burned beseeching fires all night long
    To keep the year alive.
    And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake
    They shouted, reveling.
    Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
    Echoing behind us – listen!
    All the long echoes, sing the same delight,
    This Shortest Day,
    As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
    They carol, feast, give thanks,
    And dearly love their friends,
    And hope for peace.
    And now so do we, here, now,
    This year and every year.
    Welcome Yule!

  • poetry schmoetry

    It seems that no one reads poetry much anymore. Poetry books don’t sell well, most contemporary poems seem trite or obtuse. But I often feel an overwhelming urge to write poems anyways–images just tumbling out of me and onto the page. I am rarely satisfied with my efforts, as these poems rarely say what I intend them to say. But I am determined to persist with poetry despite my challenges with it. So today I am posting a recent poem in celebration of Muriel Rukeyser’s birthday (ok, it was actually on Friday, but I think it still counts). As Muriel wrote in her book The Life of Poetry, “I wish to say that we will not be saved by poetry. But poetry is the type of the creation in which we may live and which will save us,” or to borrow an aphorism from Oprah, one thing I know for sure: poetry matters.

    So below is a poem that I recently wrote for my monthly reading/writing group. It’s not necessarily profound, but I enjoyed writing it and I would like to share it with you. I would most like to know what your favorite lines/images/stanzas are. Thanks. :)

    For two of me

    I gave her my cold shoulder
    which she took in her teeth
    biting here and there, around the
    tiny stitches of scar

    we were on a knee
    in adoration of a
    rough patch, the burn
    that never washed away

    then the rounded weal,
    with furrowed marks
    of fruitful years
    and a worthy song

    a thin star there on
    her bone-still spine,
    lying down to sleep,
    holy oil still damp there
    deep in my hair

    and her stepping strongly
    along my way,
    with mercy because
    she will dream now.
    ~December 2006

  • Three Queens


    Inspired by the text of Norma Farber’s poem (which follows), I asked my kids tonite how the Christmas story might be a bit different if there were three queens that visited Jesus rather than three Kings. CatGirl replied that the queens would’ve been more practical than the Kings, and would’ve given gifts that the baby could really use–like a cradle. I liked my daughter’s reply. I also really liked the thoughts in Farber’s poem, and while I’m a little sad that the Queens were late and had to leave early, there’s something in their practicality that’s more endearing than that of the Wise Men.

    The Queens Came Late

    The Queens came late, but the Queens were there
    With gifts in their hands, and crowns in their hair.
    They’d come, these three, like the Kings, from far,
    Following, yes, that guiding star.
    They’d left their ladles, linens, looms.
    Their children playing in nursery rooms,
    And told their sitters: “Take charge! For this
    Is a marvelous sight we must not miss!”
    The Queens came late, but not too late
    To see the animals small and great,
    Feathered and furred, domestic and wild,
    Gathered to gaze at a mother and child.
    And rather than frankincense and myrrh
    And gold for the babe, they brought for her
    Who held him, a homespun gown of blue,
    And chicken soup with noodles too,
    And a lingering, lasting cradle song
    The Queens came late, and stayed not long,
    For their thoughts already were straying far
    Past manger and mother and guiding star
    And child aglow as a morning sun
    Toward home, and children, and chores undone.
    By Norma Farber

    [Note: I encountered this poem as it was sung at a lovely concert today by the Orange County Women’s Chorus. Bravo to the OCWC for another stellar performance and for inspiring such thoughtfulness about the holiday season!]

  • For future reference

    Ok, file this one away for future reference:
    -If you find these two containers of leftovers in the fridge:
    1) about half a serving of veggie chili leftoever from the huge pot your brought to Karen’s party yesterday
    2) misc calzone ingredients–black olives, garlicky mushrooms, and tomatoes
    You will really like this mixed together into one dish and heated up in the microwave. Yeah.

    And cheers to a nearly-perfect day yesterday:
    1) An extra hour of sleep (woohoo!)
    2) Family Meeting to discuss the ways different cultures commemorate death, learning about The Day of the Dead celebration coming up on Nov 2, then a super-tasty veggie lunch at the Gypsy Den w/the youngish Friends group
    3) A friend’s call to say she couldn’t use her tickets to the afternoon’s symphony performance and would we want them? A feverish dash by me and CatGirl to make it to the concert. And o-mi-gosh. The new Segerstrom Concert Hall. It is breathtaking. We were just two stories above Carl St Clair’s wild gesticulations, his leaping and stomping on the podium. When it was over, CG couldn’t believe that the time had passed so quickly!
    4) Karen’s annual Pumpkin Slaughter Party (pictures to follow soon). A divine tomato salad by Karen and a gingery fruit salad by Ned. Lots of pumpkin guts. Then an end-of-the-evening display complete with scary music. Best of all, Karen’s health problems which had us so concerned at last year’s party, are now almost completely alleviated. Joy!

  • because my dreams are yours, too

    It’s late and we’ve talked for over an hour. We could talk for hours more, but we know we need to arise early in the morning. So you sing the words of Marc Almond’s “These My Dreams” into my ear as we drift off to sleep holding tight to each other (with ellycat curled in a small ball at our feet)…

    You can have my smile, my tears,
    My wishes, here’s a fortune
    To adorn you.
    I’ll whisper in the night to you,
    Promise to adore and never scorn you.
    And as we grow a little older,
    Try to understand more of each other.
    I will be your golden eye,
    Your master of illusion,
    Or just your lover.

    I’ll be a dragonfly, a butterfly
    A secret, or a little lie to test you.
    A song, a verse, a lullaby,
    A symphony once in a while
    To try and impress you.
    I’ll take your heart to the limit
    The colours of my joy,
    My tears to dress you.
    But sometimes dear
    My heart’s my own,
    I don’t wish to exclude you or
    Distress you.

    But darling…
    In my hand
    The grains of sand
    A thousand million moments of emotion
    Oh… these
    Oh… these my dreams are yours

  • Because I suspect that you need this poem today as much as I do (thanks Margi!)…

    Desiderata

    Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
    and remember what peace there may be in silence.
    As far as possible without surrender
    be on good terms with all persons.
    Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
    and listen to others,
    even the dull and the ignorant;
    they too have their story.

    Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
    they are vexations to the spirit.
    If you compare yourself with others,
    you may become vain and bitter;
    for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
    Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

    Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
    it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
    Exercise caution in your business affairs;
    for the world is full of trickery.
    But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
    many persons strive for high ideals;
    and everywhere life is full of heroism.

    Be yourself.
    Especially, do not feign affection.
    Neither be cynical about love;
    for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
    it is as perennial as the grass.

    Take kindly the counsel of the years,
    gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
    Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
    But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
    Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
    Beyond a wholesome discipline,
    be gentle with yourself.

    You are a child of the universe,
    no less than the trees and the stars;
    you have a right to be here.
    And whether or not it is clear to you,
    no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

    Therefore be at peace with God,
    whatever you conceive Him to be,
    and whatever your labors and aspirations,
    in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

    With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
    it is still a beautiful world.
    Be cheerful.
    Strive to be happy.
    ~Max Ehrmann,Copyright 1952.

  • If you are

    If you are waking up to a grey morning, clouds hanging low and wet like those mornings in China. If you then brew a pot of jasmine tea to break the fog that is in your head from reading history texts until the wee hours of last night. And if you are weary of this day before it has even begun, then this is the perfect excerpt of a song for you to discover in the flyleaf of John Demos’ Unredeemed Captive

    Ring the bells that still can ring.
    Forget your perfect offering.
    There is a crack in everything.
    It’s how the light gets in.
    –Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”

  • literary tie in?


    So I’ve been thinking about making an iTunes playlist of songs with literary tie-ins. I’ll need your help in making my list because it’s pretty short so far (and, yes, I do have an eighties bias, but don’t limit yourself to that era):

    “Wuthering Heights” (from Emily Bronte’s novel) Kate Bush
    “Calypso” (from Homer’s Odyssey) Suzanne Vega
    “Killing an Arab” (from Camus’ The Stranger) The Cure
    “The Highwayman” (from Alvert Noyes’ poem) Loreena McKennitt
    “Lady of Shallott” (from the Tennyson poem) Loreena McKennitt

  • for the love…

    A poem from Jen

    For the love of a tree, she went out on a limb.
    For the love of the sea, she rocked the boat
    For the love of the earth, she dug deeper.
    For the love of community, she mended fences.
    For the love of the stars, she let her light shine.
    For the love of spirit, she nurtured her soul.
    For the love of a good time, she sowed seeds of happiness.
    For the love of the Goddess, she drew down the moon.
    For the love of a good meal, she gave thanks.
    For the love of family, she reconciled differences.
    For the love of creativity, she entertained new possibilities.
    For the love of her enemies, she suspended judgment.
    For the love of herself, she acknowledged her worth.
    And the world was richer for her…..

    ~ Charlotte Tall Mountain

  • perfection

    Isabelle provides the perfect backdrop music for a morning of grading term papers. Mellow, French, and rather haunting. Lovely.

  • women’s music


    .

    On Saturday John and I attended a concert, “The Feminine Voice in Music: Past Meets Present.” It was an evening of music by female composers. All of the singers and instrument-payers were also women. We drove quite a ways to attend this concert–two hours up to Ventura thru LA traffic.

    Some highlights:
    –a poem written by Julian of Norwich (1342-c.1416). It began, “As truly as God is our Father, so just as truly is he our Mother.” and in the middle of the singing switched to a solo where a lovely older woman gave voice to the divine feminine, “It is I, the wisdom of Motherhood, It is I, the light and grace of holy love…It is I who teach you to love. It is I, who teach you to desire. It is I who am the reward of all true desiring. And all shall be well.”
    In this woman’s eyes I saw my Mother–the Heavenly Mother that Mormons believe in and revere.

    –An original composition called “Mama” that is part of a requiem written by Naomi Stephan about her mother. The song had only one word, “Mama,” but was incredibly complex. Sometimes sung with joy, sometimes with reverence, sometimes with pain and fear. All of the choir members at once giving voive to that same word, repeatedly, in cacophony and harmony. It made my heart ache. I thought of the many times that I was in so much pain that the only thing I could say was “Mommy…Mommy…Mommy” over and over again like a mantra. I thought of the times when my kids both yelling “MAAHHHMMMEEE!!” at the same time was so wearying that I wanted to lock myself away to some private place where I could no longer hear their cries. I recalled the joy at hearning “mamamamama” for the first time from each child–speaking the words to my breasts as I fed them. Such a sweet and powerful word!! Naomi created magic with that song–to evoke such complex emotions with just one word…

    –Another poem set to music–this one a delight for its imagery:
    “And maybe I shall go with you, my glimmering girl
    To the land of Glyn, to the land of Myrrh
    Where cats wear gleaming fine faces and purple fur
    And the daisies bend down singing lowly: murr, murr.”
    This poem made me think of my daughter. She is (and always will be) my ‘glimmering girl.’ :)

    All-in-all, it was such a delight to hear from these women. Almost all of the singers and composers were crones–not the women that our society usually values or reveres. But their music was so moving. And they women themselves were quite dynamic. Their bodies were of all sizes and proportions, their hair many shades of color from a bottle or a variety of natural grays. They were all so beautiful to me.

  • Just what I needed this morning….

    Yah, a long week at our house. It’s finals week at UCI and we’ve had papers to grade and deadlines to meet and busy kids Oh, and I must tell you E was crowned with the title of ‘Master Artist’ this week by our elementary school district. Her duties will include a presentation before the school board and the city council. And she says it’s okay if her class didn’t kowtow to her (as we did when we learned of her new title), instead they clapped…

    But back to this morning. I was busily getting dressed in our bedroom and John was headed into the shower. He was completely naked and singing along with the “Jesus Christ Superstar” songs that were playing over the speakers under our bed. He was gently swinging his hips, eyes half-closed as he sang the refrain from Simon the Zealot’s song:

    Jesus I am with you.
    Touch me, touch me, Jesus.
    Jesus I am on your side.
    Kiss me, kiss me, Jesus.

    It was both touching and hilariously funny and even a little ridiculous. It was so John–all vulnerable and yet totally living in the moment, surrendering to the music. Totally un-selfconscious. Lovely….