Ghazal: Calcified Naivete

Living inside the braided folds just for today.
Tangled roots whisper; I can’t hear what they say.

Memories are a splinter in the eye.
Promises broken become calcified naivete.

Black Swan, slippery like Mercury—haunting.
(A life lived well is not a parley.)

Water ceasing to hydrate what is crumbling.
Silt becomes an urn for ashes someday.

Days are shorter as darkness encroaches.
Mornings sweeter with precious days.

As civilization collapses under its own weight,
we desperately need you to disobey.

***

While I am a huge fan of both Rumi and Hafiz, this is my first attempt at writing a Ghazal. I rarely use any form at all with writing, other than haiku.

I enjoyed the constraint. I think I’ll keep going with this.

free range (love)

I’m writing this to just get it out.

To put it down.

I found a smattering of random notes in my writing desk. There are pages and pages of observations. I’m putting them here because I think maybe there is a theme but I may only find it by sharing. I also don’t want to lose track of these fragments. As an intrepid bricoleur, the ephemera is everything to me.

The first two, scrawled on index cards from my thesis research:

The Masculine objectifies everything.

Why lure her into a pasture instead of joining her in the open prairie? What are you afraid of?

Notes from a day and conversation with a guy I dated.

Homemade bone broth. The gift of a backpack. Lightning.

Cage(s)

Cage-free.

Lure – allure.

The Paleo Relationship

Free range love.

A conversation heard between two thirtysomething white males over breakfast one Sunday morning at a local diner:

Pac-12 (I don’t know what this is. Sportsball I think.)

Bank accounts. They discussed having secret accounts so their wives wouldn’t know all of their funds. They didn’t like having shared resources. One said, “When you’re married, you do have to answer questions. That’s what sucks.”

(They didn’t want their strip club escapades to be discovered.)

Frat boys talking about weight loss. Different guys at the same booth. (Men often eat really quickly.)

Random notes written during this breakfast. Somehow related.

Everyone is moving away from their moms. From where they came from.

Powerful young woman vs. Shrill older woman.

And another note that seems completely non-sequitur is from the wayback machine. When I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do for my research in grad school. It says:

“Image-based storytelling and civic dialogue to connect scientists with students and the general public.

People listening to one another.”

Scientists didn’t get involved but the rest happened. And it still is.

My advisor told me that this work would continue well beyond grad school and indeed, I am finding how it connects not only with other work I’m doing but with my own evolution.

Finally, from another index card, an affirmation:

I bring healing to wounded places.

(Yes.)

All of this reminds me of this poem:

Just as the winged energy of delight

by Ranier Maria Rilke
(translated by Robert Bly)

Just as the winged energy of delight
carried you over many chasms early on,
now raise the daringly imagined arch
holding up the astounding bridges.

Miracle doesn’t lie only in the amazing
living through and defeat of danger;
miracles become miracles in the clear
achievement that is earned.

To work with things is not hubris
when building the association beyond words;
denser and denser the pattern becomes––
being carried along is not enough.

Take your well-disciplined strengths
and stretch them between two
opposing poles. Because inside human beings
is where God lives.

And so I continue on. Researching. Creating. “Building the association beyond words” and allow myself to kiss the unknown as I am wont to do.

angel of the quake [or the patriarchy is crumbling]

angel of the quake

she clings to his leg
holding up the fractured pillars
(white marble with purple veins)

she clings to him
looking up with such devotion
(the master feeds her)

she clings to his leg
holding on to a crumbling world

she is in the rubble now
her hands bleeding
seeking his eyes

he doesn’t see her
his eyes averted
(he sees only all the work he must do)

neither of them see
the water rising
but she is under first
the water filling her lungs
(he doesn’t notice)

he leaves to
find an oar

An ekphrastic poem I wrote inspired by the photo “Angel of the Quake” by Manuel Álvarez that I had the privilege to see at the Frye Art Museum as part of the Manuel Álvarez Bravo: Mexico’s Poet of Light exhibit.

***

The patriarchy is crumbling. Creating chaos. Creating opportunity.

The poet Holderin wrote

Danger itself/

Fosters the rescuing power

Danger and risk can serve to lift us out of our complacency. It’s certainly true that comfort seems to keep us deadened in many ways. Clinging to crumbling pillars will not end well. We can co-create a new reality.

Embrace the new.

Imagine new possibilities.

Stay woke.

Love.

***

Note: Image is a piece in I did in 24 hours as part of 14/48: The World’s Quickest Theater Festival in January 2014, now in a private collection. We were given a prompt, a support, and 24 hours to create a work of art in whatever medium we chose. I didn’t know at the time that would one day have an orange-haired clown as POTUS but that’s how the Unconscious works, isn’t it?

fore bidden

FORE
now so
vulnerable
our diversity being
ignored
entitlement reigns
(rains)

evidence-
science-
based
(base)

//drop
the
bass
808
33″
not
45
in
your
face//

my transgendered
son
once a fetus
now
burgeoning
manhood
facing future
(not forbidden)

welcomed
bidden
(prayed for)
received
loved

bright
sun
(son)
future
BIDDEN

My response to 45’s “forbidden” words. Fuck that.

Check out this bit of guerrilla art: Love it!

fractal wound

vulnerability

soft folds
(ripped open)

revealing

deep slash

bound

peer into darkness
(infinite landscape)

fractal wound
binding

like a river winding
through a canyon

he saw all worlds
contained

we both saw
Her

here.

now.

Ekphrastic poem inspired by the Hana Hamplová: Meditations on Paper exhibit at The Frye Art Museum. I saw it once, alone, and once with a date. We both marveled at the raw eroticism of these photos. No idea if that was the intent.

These photos are a reminder to me of the ephemeral nature of life. Of bodies, words, ideologies. Flesh changes throughout our lives, a constant reminder of change. Once tight it becomes thinner but also softer, revealing new worlds beneath. Discovery always awaits attention.

I recommend this exhibit which ends December 31st. It’s truly beautiful and thought-provoking.