A Poetic Cycle

A Poem by Dean

It seems to me that I have submitted this before, but I do not find it on my list on this site--so do tell me if you've seen it.

(You'll find the following a bit different, from me at least, and much of it was composed several years ago,
and then updated now. I have long admired the work of Mr. Connor, and these fragments from his larger work,
"Silent Fire" led me to incorporate them (with deep respect and gratitude) in my own work. So the quotations
are entirely his, and the meditations in each section, my own. As you will see, my work offers no competition
to his, and I offer them with modesty and humility. I hope you can take something from it.)

'Meditations on "Silent Fire" by James A. Connor'

"Halfway through a distant breath, the night revealed itself as joy"

Surprise intruded;
flesh rebeled against the sterile darkness,
and the moon's far side began to hum its resonance.

Distinction cloyed
and everywhere was close enough to be--
the cold, the burning of the stars, the void, the vanishing of me.

My micro-world
was instantly replaced with purity that so entranced
that there upon that highway with its dust of snow,
I danced!

"A stray thought nested inside my head, and joy retreated"

No small amount of rudeness
so asserts its rights, as that leaping simian
within our minds; were he outside,
his freedom would be cause for exultation.
Yet he is my captive, and I his helpless god.

III

We watch for signs, landmarks to the next miracle"

The price of miracles ascends with the demand,
I would suppose, and poverty proportionate.
Listen to the hedonists of everyday
who sing of dreams, of days to come,
who pencil in their ecstasy on calendars and memo pads
while wonder never has a chance.

But songs are born of trees, of silent sentinels
that teach, that tear the lightning from the sky,
that die to show us how to mourn, and thus
to show us all the miracles of grief adorning
the unseen.
Songs are born of sacrifice. They are the signs.

"On the journey inward, silence is the landscape we travel through"

There are no bags to pack.
Four concentric barriers are bridges, narrowing,
and one may cross them knowing less each time
and knowing, knowing that unknown
which words, and commerce, self and dreams deny.
...Until there is no need to wonder why.

"You hope your friends will understand, but instead, they worry"

A new reality is closing in, refined, compressed, distilled.
Strange blanket that it is, I draw it closer still,
for it is mine alone, soft armor, colorless
and dry of its own truth.

"Religion at its core is the estuary where spiritual rivers come together
and blend with the sea"

I always feared a core religion kept within a drawer
dilute, emasculate and slippery--
a sterile compromise,
But then the rivers gathered and the salt romanced
and bonded them forever; it is the sea from which we came,
and of it, salt and soul and creed and current flow as one.

VII

"You learn to desire the silence, not just in the abstract,
but in its immediate presence"

Silence is different from quiet, not only in degree.
There is a mothering, a refuge flower-like
when sadmess furls and peace is dressed in certainty.
It comes as evening will suggest itself
before it gathers in the world, and then becomes dominion
slowly stealing from the light, and from the night beyond/
It settles in as set apart,
while flashes of a jealous kingdom
rage around me, fade in protest.
Who is the possessed? Who the possessor?
But that is thinking...noted...set aside.

Then it comes. The knowing that this time is best.
My chosen entry to the day is something lost,
a death I have the power to prevent.
My eyes are doors to open this retreat
and step back into that much smaller world
that for all its shouting, cannot understand,
where I have been--nor once again, can I!

VIII

"Discover that you are not your thoughts, any more than
you are your activities, possessions, fears, or dreams"

Tell me who you are;
tell me I am not the cousin of Procrustes
and this box I made for you, will never do.
Then tell me, who am I?
Show me the box in which I lie.

"Contemplation is the fullest expression of what we are--
an opening to God"

The greatest mystery is that of self;
the greatest folly yet, the quest to know.
If life is gained through loss of it,
recovering ourselves alone
may open us to God.

"At the core of every human soul is an imperishable flame,
the same energy that permeates all things"

The core of the earth is like that
of the human soul, but for the fact
that it is easier to penetrate,
and that its flame may one day die;
while mine, much farther on the journey inward,
sears an alpha and omega yet unknown.

"Silence gives light to the eyes of the blind, and opens the world to the soul"

Soul chasing is my favorite game.
There are no implements but silence,
sealing up the crevices of my retreat.
I go there when I cannot see or hear,
and am refreshed; I cast aside the heaviness
that is my body, face a virgin light
that floods my world with cosmic radiance,
and cower before its splendor.
~

© 2013 Dean

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Reviews

Linda Marie Van Tassell

Corrections:

"flesh rebeled against the sterile darkness," should be "rebelled"

"when sadmess furls and peace is dressed in certainty." should be "sadness"

I think this is the lengthiest poem that I've read by you yet, and it's obvious that you spent a great deal of time and effort in writing this it.

My favorite lines are:

"If life is gained through loss of it,
recovering ourselves alone
may open us to God."

For me, this whole poem speaks to the life that resounds within the silence. We are so distracted by so many things today: hurrying to and fro, televisions, radios, newscasts, cityscapes and noise scrapes, that we rarely take the time to just enjoy and be, to reflect upon the silence. Truly, it’s as if we are running from ourselves, afraid of what we’ll discover; and so we hide in the noise – a distraction from the truth of feeling unfulfilled.

Most often, I sleep with the radio on. In fact, I always have noise in the house of some kind, whether it be the television in the next room, the radio, what have you. For me, it provides a sense of not being alone. Quite often, I find myself unable to sleep, distracted by the conversation on the radio, as I listen to talk radio most often. There are occasions when I have turned the radio off, in favor of the silence, and find that I sleep so wonderfully.

I guess the only reason I don’t do it more often is to avoid the silence that reverberates that I’m all alone.

This is very well written and obviously important to you, as the silence should be to us all.

Great job.