poem: The Light as Seen Through a Screen of Ferns

I.

 

My friend I beheld the limitlessness

        of possibility

   in your hands that day.

It had the trappings of nostalgia.

 

I saw the peach colored skies

    and extended twilights of long drawn-out 

 July days

   of my youth.

I was again counting wingbeats

   of tiny kinglets

      in the fir trees;

the clean taste of sweet birch bark

     and teaberry graced my tongue,

   and I tracked foxes through unspoiled miles

        of snow

to far-off interior destinations.

     Crystal castles of hoarfrost

        crept inspired into my tales.

 

Your embrace just makes me remember

   something about a time

         before life's betrayal-

      the surety

of convictions.

         You are the part of me that recalls

   dancing barefoot

       in alpine meadows;

the lost little girl in me

   that hid in giant Pennsylvania ferns

   when life got too real... and stayed there.

 

II.

 

And she shyly comes forward,

   taps the woman I have turned into

       on the shoulder-

            she says that

you are to me the stillness of winter's hushed brooks

      flowing under layers of trapped ice;

           you are the orgy of spring's passion,

      the productivity of summer;

           the bounty and wistfulness

of fall harvest and migration.

 

      She wants me to lay you down

              under ferns

and gaze naked, with you

    at the world

tinged green by a screen of ancient chlorophyll,

     patterned by fronds

        dappled in sunlight and dew with cool moss

supporting our supine forms.

 

I imagine your mouth

   tastes like the joy of clear water

     sprung from granite ridges

with ravens doing barrel rolls overhead.

 

III.

 

   I know-

nothing in reality of daytime

      will ever compare to those secret

night rides, in my mind, of my own dark heart-

     on a black horse,

unsaddled, my inner thighs

 soaked and clenching

    as you and I barreled over moors

       those times under the watchful gaze

        of the Seven Sisters

each one a sin more deadly than the last

      and I awoke thinking the dawn was actually twilit,

on fire;

      for a moment I thought of

      nothing more than green dampness in your hair

   and my own unclothed wetness.

 

I thought I might accept that ride for real

     if and only if

night were not going to be interrupted

   by the searing glare of the next dawn's reality.

 

Surrender still beckons just beyond

       the limits of my own awareness.

 

I close my hand around a puff of oysterflower

   trying to protect it

  but it disperses a little at a time

each time the wind shifts

     to a new direction.

 

IV.

 

Red shale has turned to pumice and obsidian;

   and your eyes are lined now

     but I remember you clearly-

you walked me through a limestone maze

    12 years ago

        and showed me a cold blue star;

you told me its light was in me,

   and that the passing of songbirds, kinglets,

           that fly south in darkness

can only be heard by those whose ears

      are attuned to the whispers of fern dreams.

  Did I follow their halting journey to your trees, then?

 

If you were to hone to a surgeon's edge

    a blade of volcanic glass,

slice your palm and the space above my heart,

   and let our red cells mingle-

    maybe we would commit

          to dreams from childhood.

 

     Do friends still make blood oaths?

 

V.

 

I cannot promise you:

    the wind, the stars, the rain

      nor an unbroken line of snow tracks.

Our spheres simply do not coincide.

    And I still wander lost

in yesterday's fieldstone maze.

 

But maybe, some tomorrow-

   I could gift you one single perfect today.

      I don't know what on earth

you would do with it-

    perhaps work it into a gemstone, for me;

        as fine and pure and fragile

    as a single dewdrop

capturing morning sunfire.

 

    You could suspend it on spider silk

and we could gaze on it

     as a recalled vision of naked childhood

          innocence.

If the horses are not afraid one day

     of morning light;

we could heal the scars on our hands and hearts

        and relive the beauty of starlight

     before waking from a dream

beneath ferns.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

another in a dream sequence, still searching for its inspiration

My suggestion for readers is to try reading each section as a complete piece, in and of itself

This work was also translated into Spanish:
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/zorra_encantada/1071605/

Reviews

[Clockwork]

I can certainly see how each piece can stand alone, and I agree that all of them can. However, I think all of them are woven together by threads of time and tremendous progressions of organic images. Some of my favorite lines are "You are the part of me that recalls/ dancing barefoot/ in alpine meadows;"

There are so many lines that hold the light of the inner child aligned with a
kindred spirit. This peace is very alive and energetic, yet grounded in the earth. It was a pleasure to read.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you very much, Christian, for taking the time to read and review this one. I think most people are afraid of it, as we discussed off-line. It may look intimidating, but it is really just a letter. You nailed its meaning. I think we all search out kindred spirits who make us remember the happiness of childhood, before life [supposedly] gets too complicated. I actually wrote this about 2 people I think (it was inspired by a series of dream sequences, and that is the sense I got), one of whom I walked with in the forest the other day. I tell you it gave me a weird sense of deja-vu. He is a photographer, and during the walk, he told me about a picture he took last year looking up through a giant fern, from beneath it. While on the walk, we encountered a small flower dangling in mid-air, suspended by a spiderweb, and he photographed that too. Sometimes, there really are no explanations for the things we dream about.

[Emily B]

this seems so very inspired, worked through some things this weekend, it seems like a small hurtle that might have eternal consequences . . . I wish I could share these words with someone, write them in the stars, or shine them from the fires of the wood stove

i am learning to trust, in myself, in others, in the universe

vaya con dios, travel safely

[Marie Anzalone]

my dear friend: many people mistakenly think acceptance means you quit trrying, in defeat. I have learned it is empowering beyond measure. It is taking stock of all your present assets and determining what you can do with them as they already are. It opens doors to the mystical that seemed sealed shut previously, sealed with solder perhaps. No I am wrong it does not open doors... it... disssolves them. Your own words will shine through soon, I can feel it. Feel free to piggyback on mine for now. Remember too... in order to truly travel with God... we have to accept situations that are somewhat or greatly unsafe... with no guarantee of return to a secure location. I was never ok with that before. Maybe we have all been looking in the wrong places all along? I suggest gazing at the world from underneath a tree, or a bush... or a giant fern, for awhile. And if you find someone who deos not think you are crazy for doing that... pay attention. He has something to teach you, even if it not what you want. Or maybe it is what you want, but it is not his to give. That happens too.

"you can't be careful on a skateboard, mister"
-Stephen King

[Emily B]

the world is opening up all the time :)

[Marie Anzalone]

I consider this a very good thing :-)

[Tree]

There is a lot going on inside these 5 marvelous/interconnected visions. The magic of childhood, Of innocence. The bond of friendship, imprinted, forever. I began to wonder: that, if childhood friends and the dead can return in a vision/dream then one can argue that it never left, and they never died... Then there was the merging of childhood with womanhood ---and the message, inside of there. And your vivid metaphors helped this reader to envision the things that you saw; though, only you can give this vision its final interpretation. And I liked that your journey to understand takes place in a forrest; through you words it is self evident that nature speaks to you, directly. for example. Red shale, pumice and obsidian. The earth, you know the earth, is what I am thinking. And how, in the end you will use this connection for healing, and for love... A stunning journey, Raquelita./ One I will return to

Diego

[Marie Anzalone]

My friend, I appreciate your reviews so much. You always look deeper and longer. I will tell you that this the concept at the heart of this particular piece is, in the shamanic world, called soul fragmentation/ retrieval. I tis believed that when a person suffers severe trauma, especially as a child, that person actually sends part of his/ her soul to a place where it is safe... often taking some vital thing with it in the process. The mechanisms of how it is believed this happens actually coincide with what PTSD researchers know. A person can re-integrate these parts, but it does not typically happen spontaneously; it requires both a guide and a supportive enough environment for the piece, often seen as a frail, wounded child, to come back "home." Our conecpts of love often become rooted in keeping the soul fragmented. My greatest delights in life were, as you astutely pointed out, in my connections to the earth. Lately, I have been recalling the sheer joy of life. My dreams I think have been trying to tell me why, and it seems I am encountering individuals who provide me with a secure enough place to go back there. Of course I am no longer a child playing in the woods, so the dreams wrap themselves in a cloak of innocence intetwined with a woman's real desires. As you also astutely point out, this path to healing is probably the only path to love, for any of us. I have to be very careful in this space, not to confuse the two. This was written to at least one, possibly more, of those individuals for me right now who are helping prepare the way for a little girl to return to me. Properties and features tend to blend when you touch the universal. If you do re-read, I would suggest you read this as a literal letter. Suspend reality for a moment... and imagine you met someone in a dream long ago, during a difficult transition... and then imagine you meet that person in reality years later; excpet with things like this you are never really sure... there may even be more than one, or for all you know, no-one at all. However, the floodgates to healing have opened, and you are trying to separate out truth from fantasy.

Raquelita

[Tree]

Fascinating, and now it makes perfect sense. Your work can be so deep, so many working mechanisms, to examine. I love that. Poetry does indeed, provide a roadmap to the psyche. And that shamanic soul fragmentation/technique seems logical to me, as it sounds very much like regression... Though to be honest with you, I would feel safer in the hands of a shaman, than a psychiatrist :)

With this backstory information now at my disposal, I Must give this poem another read, thank you Raquelita

Diego

[Georgia Gypsy]

I see this as the journey you are presently in, mixed with childhood memories. I see this as the frond that has yet to open, when it is still just a tightly twisted in the spiral....as it unfolds I am certain you will get a better understanding of what should and will be.
Great flow to the whole piece, and each would stand alone nicely.
K

[Marie Anzalone]

Thanks dear gypsy for your insight. You perhaps know me better than even I do in this. I keep wonderign why the childhood memories but I think I know: I gave up a lot of dreams I am now trying to rediscover, as perhaps we all do. Sometime what helps you remember is a vision in a dream; sometimes another person or two, sometimes an artifice so blended you do not know where reality ends and mythos begins. Sometimes a few simple words tendered will do it. As Schweitzer once famously pointed out, we should be thankful for those encounters with others that burst our flames back into light. I think this frond is best left to unfurl at its own pace... something I have not always been the best at doing.

Thanks for stopping by today to review this tough piece. Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours!

[DrD]

You use adjectives so magnificently there are none left to describe your work. This is utterly magnificent and I want to call it a work of monumental art. I am sincerely impressed with this and stunned at the enormity of your talent. Thank you for the priviilege of reading this.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you very much for your praise of my work. Your words left me stunned. I have reached some in-between stage where my words are not always mine... they come through, rather than from, me sometimes. This is one such example. I was driving, I pulled over to a hilltop, penned this in 20 minutes, and then went to post it. I'd make some pithy comment but that would ruin the effect this one needs. There is no other way to put it: this piece wanted to touch something sacred. We'll leave it at that. Thank you, my friend, for reading through until the end, and leaving behind a comment. Much much appreciated.

[Art Sun]

Marie...there is so much one can take from this poem...emotionally charged with visions of friendship and togetherness, love incorporated within the beauty of two Souls...childhood memories floating within memories and dreams...one can go on and on...or maybe I will just go read this one ...over and over...and over again...

exceptional work my poetic friend...

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, my esteemed poet, for having the courage and perserverance to tackle reading and reviewing a piece as complex as this one. I appreciate your impressions,your insights, and your words. Yes I was exploring a tapestry of childhood innocence, loss of the innner Child, adult romantic love; and the weaving of the three in a dream world. You picked up on the themes perfectly well, whcih makes me sigh with relief, really. This was one of the harder things I have ever tried to tackle. The complexity of human relaionships will never be simple, I think. Thank you for being willing to walk through that tangle with me here.