My friend, Ingrid, of Experiments in Fiction has posted this call for submissions on the climate crisis and/or biodiversity loss.
Tag Archives: Poetry
The Universe in Motion
Comet Hale-Bopp Attribution: Philipp Salzgeber / CC BY-SA 2.0 AT (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/at/deed.en)
Born before our before,
traveling till after our after,
ice and dust of timeless time,
the molecules of cosmic gases,
atoms of our world, forever
and after
the comet revolves through space
around the sun–our shining star–
our light-filled center, we circle it
year after year, through revolutions,
revelations in art, technology, war
to peace and back to war, revolve, resolve
to see this ball of light,
the icy comma tail–
it comes and goes
and we continue, revolving
electrons within us spin,
looking to connect
to something,
We’re attracted, we’re repulsed–
between darkness and light,
revolving
revolving
revolving.
I’m hosting dVerse Poetics today. The prompt is revolution.Come join us!
Two Poems in Twist in Time
I’m so excited to have two history poems up in the most recent issue of Twist in Time magazine. And my poet friend Luanne Castle has a creative nonfiction essay in it, too!
You should read the whole issue, but here are links to my poems, SS St. Louis, 1939 and Salem, 1692.
Looking at Yesterday, Seeing Tomorrow
Monday Morning Musings:
“Sunrise, sunset,
Swiftly fly the years,
One season following another,
Laiden with happiness and tears.”–from Jerry Bock and Sheldon Harnick, “Sunrise, Sunset,” Fiddler on the Roof (1964)
Sunrise, Pitman Golf Course, June 2020
Sunset at William Heritage Vineyards July 2019
After thousands of sunrises and sunsets
the years fly quickly,
faster now, summer turns to autumn,
spring tears fall and shoots appear–
winter snow glitters on our heads.
Once I was a turtle,
slowly walking across a road
I hid my head from others
though I showed off my lovely carapace,
then you took me from my shell
and brought me into the world of people.
I showed you the world of books and art,
introduced you to exotic turtle food
and we played and burrowed deep,
into our blanket nest.
Our children were fawns
long-legged, shy, and fey,
until their camouflaging spots faded,
and then they sang the songs of birds
and gathered the wisdom of owls
tossing words, pitching music, and beaming light
into the world–
sometimes it was reflected back
in all the colors of the universe,
bringing love.
And now?
The water calls to me in rivers, streams, and oceans,
I sometimes carry the heavy weight of my shell,
but you share the burden,
and when I look at my reflection,
I see worlds beyond worlds–
the absurdity of the upside-down,
the glowing rays of a double sun
the promise of all the ifs,
and the hope in infinite possibilities stretching to forever.
I do not look to yesterday but walk into the future.
We celebrated our 42nd wedding anniversary a few days ago, but we’ve known each other since ninth grade. To celebrate, we went to Ocean City, NJ and walked on the beach for a couple of hours in the morning, avoiding people as best we could. Then later we went on our first real outing since March. We went to a winery for our anniversary dinner, where we sat outside physically distanced from the other patrons, and after a brief thunderstorm, we enjoyed wine, pizza, and gelato. I think we were both a bit giddy to be out. I put my mask back on whenever our masked server came to the table.
Merril’s Movie Club: Back to more obscure Merril films. Both are on Netflix. We watched See You Yesterday, which we both really liked. All of the acting is excellent, especially the two engaging leads who portray brilliant Black teens hoping to get scholarships to good universities—a future. But this is very much a Black Lives Matter film, and they attempt to change the past. Playing on the theme, Michael J. Fox has a cameo appearance.
We also watched Bulbul, an Indian horror film—though it’s not a jump out of your seat horror. It’s more of a dark fable with beautiful cinematography. It deals with a child bride and her life as an adult in her husband’s household, where her best friend is her brother-in-law. There is a tale of a demon/goddess who lives in the trees and swoops down to attack men at night. The story is retold throughout the movie. We both liked it, though I think I liked it more than my husband did.
Waiting, Watching, Waking
Odilon Redon, “The Muse on Pegasus”
Born in a dazzle of smoke and ice,
time travelers dancing to the rhythms of the universe,
their songs hold secrets, a symphony un-tongued,
but felt and heard in the wind–
of life, death,
and a longing for love—
the music of lust and light,
why, and if only—
we turn away, when we should linger,
waiting for the storms to end,
and watching for dawn to come, laughing
waking the morning blooms.
My Saturday collaboration with the Poetry Oracle.
Perhaps
Monday Morning Musings:
“Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.
Now I’ll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.”
On the inside, looking out
as the earth comes alive
white-flowered and robin-trilled,
visible joys
invisible hazards
Tiny Beautiful Things
torment us–
miasma, they once believed,
poisonous vapor,
now we know a virus drifts and sits—
stay far away, wear a mask,
and wash your hands—
“Out damned spot! Out—”
we say
in collective panic, guilt,
and a truthful reminder
of scientific fact,
facts, a dear commodity
often ignored, as if invisible,
against the gaudy lies,
pink flamingos standing on one leg.
But now the world is upside down,
will we value the invisible
in the after
as we never did in the before?
Stop, take a breath–
Puddle Reflection–the upside down world
remember the dreams.
“My mother told me this story,”
I say in mine.
It is not a true story
of my grandmother,
but it is a story of women,
of carrying on,
of working and making do,
my inner me reminds me
of this—but also to dream, to smile.
My mother visits with my dead father,
she walks an imaginary pet dog
through hallways she cannot walk,
dreamworld connections
beyond time and space,
we reach out
in our virtual Shabbos dinner–
again
connecting
and again
The morning after–my work is done.
holding our friends
and loved ones however we can.
The world outside blooms, trees hold wisdom,
and the river still flows,
carrying ghosts and dreams.
Delaware River from South Jersey
The gnarled, wise face of this mulberry tree.
I hope all of you and your loved ones are well. Sending virtual hugs to all of you! And cookies. I baked these Hamantaschen yesterday.
Merril’s Movie Club: we watched three totally different movies this week. All on Prime.
The Handmaiden, a Korean movie (in Korean and Japanese) inspired by Sarah Waters’ novel Fingersmith, with the setting changed from Victorian London to Korea in the 1930s. It is sumptuous, beautifully filmed, and erotic (NOT a family film) with sly, fun plot twists.
The Invisible Man. This new version with Elisabeth Moss is a fast-paced thriller (not horror). If I had seen it in the theater, I probably would have jumped in my seat more than I did. It is also about domestic abuse, which if you want to get all metaphorical, is often an invisible crime. It costs $20 to rent, but I had that much left on an Amazon gift card—plus we’re not going out to the movies.
The Last Black Man in San Francisco.This was one I had thought about seeing when it was playing in Philadelphia. I would definitely watch this one again, and of the three, my husband and I liked this one the most, and we thought if we had gone out to see it, we would have had a long post-movie discussion over wine for this one. Watching the trailer for this one just now, I wanted to see it again. It is inspired by the main character Jimmie’s real life story. Perhaps it is a true-to-life fiction about dreams and lies. Nearly the entire cast (including the street corner Greek Chorus) has San Francisco connections. There are weird random bits within this movie that somehow just fit in–I suppose like when you walk through a city and see strange sights and people.
We also watched the Netflix series, Unorthodox, which is inspired by Deborah Feldman’s 2012 memoir. This is an excellent four-episode series—we watched two episodes each night—in Yiddish, German, and English about a Hasidic woman from Brooklyn who leaves her life and goes to Berlin. Israeli actress, Shira Haas is outstanding as the main character, Esty. Haas had to learn Yiddish for the role.
All the Seconds, Connecting
This moment–sparkling.
Monday Morning Musings:
“Nourish beginnings, let us nourish beginnings. . .
This moment, this seed, this wave of the sea, this look, this instant of love.”
-from “Elegy in Joy [excerpt]”
Muriel Rukeyser – 1913-1980
In the slow sailing of time
and the dazzle-dance of stars
in all the afters
and the befores
we find connections
heroes still live
chasing one another for eternity
unable to escape
though larger than life
and immortal
(as long as we see them)
even if they vanish
in the rosy blush of morning
like the dew
like the second that has just passed
never to return.
But this instant,
and the next,
a beginning each time
like this seed
a burst of lavender and yellow
comes again, crocus then daffodil
through the years,
four seasons,
one birthday to another
we celebrate you
we celebrate us
a special dinner,
cake and presents,
you smile
say you’ve been thinking Vera, Chuck, and Dave
but I’ve brought you a bottle of wine
and you’re still my Valentine
I still need you and feed you–
let us nourish beginnings,
the moments that pass too soon–
my mother tells me my father wrote songs
she says she knows they’re his
though they say anonymous
because they’re about her,
the moments they had
when he saw her
and she could still see
and the doctor can fix her eyelid
but not her sight
or her green eyes
dimmed by time
almost a century
our oak tree even older,
and ghosts dance beneath its boughs
where we had a swing,
a yellow baby swing,
somewhere in time
maybe it exists still
gently swaying
a rippling memory
like old window glass
of what was–
and I could connect them
the present and the past,
Wavy window glass of the Merchant Exchange Building, Old City Philadelphia, 2020 Merril D. Smith
and then that moment
would pass, too
elusive like a ghost.
Does my mother really see him
my father?
In the movie
the women are bound by the past,
broken by war
wanting to nourish new beginnings
will they heal
connect to something more than ghosts?
They are filled with emptiness.
And she is frozen.
What happens to the ghosts
when past moves to future?
We watch a show of future times
space ships and androids,
but still there is war.
Treachery seems to fill the skies
everywhere, so we look for heroes
in the stars
and watch their dazzle-dance
and mark the passage of time
with cake
as we nourish love, drink–
“Sunday School” at Tria Washington West
and so, the seconds pass
from birth to death
all the in-betweens
seeds to flowers, kittens to cats,
stars explode and are reborn, connected.
***
Random bonus cats.
Cats and reflections! Philadelphia.
Sometimes we like each other.
Merril’s Movie Club: We sawJoJo Rabbit on Prime. I think my husband liked it more than I did. Not that I disliked it, but. . .I’m not sure if it worked. It’s hard to laugh about Nazis. Parts of it I did, and the little boy in it is wonderful. We saw Beanpole in the theater. Another one that is difficult to say, “I liked it” because of the subject matter, but excellent acting–the two leads especially are astonishing–but also the whole cast. It is definitely a bleak movie set in post-WWII Leningrad, but I can’t stop thinking about it.
We started watching Picard, even though I really don’t want to pay for another streaming service, but Patrick Steward as Jean-Luc again and daughters are watching it. . . and yes, that is an Enterprise pizza cutter with our homemade pizza.
To Drive the Dark Away
Monday Morning Musings:
“Stars, in your multitudes
Scarce to be counted
Filling the darkness with order and light. . .”
–“Stars” from Les Misérables
“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.”
Susan Cooper, “The Shortest Day”
“Even if all life on our planet is destroyed, there must be other life somewhere which we know nothing of. It is impossible that ours is the only world; there must be world after world unseen by us, in some region or dimension that we simply do not perceive.”
–Philip K. Dick, The Man in the High Castle
The shortest day approaches,
we celebrate with tales and light
in centuries-old traditions,
we gather, talk, and drink
to drive the dark away
to drive the dark away
we count the stars
on the shortest day,
they fill the sky
with order and light.
With order and light
soon we’ll celebrate
eight nights of Hanukkah
to drive the dark away,
remembering
remembering, my mother says
girls were not sent to school,
but her mom knew where everything was
in their store, she could find the peas
the cans had pictures
the cans had pictures
and she knew the prices
she could add the figures quickly–
order in this world
like stars in the sky
like stars in the sky
we make patterns in our brains
memories form
and we fill in the gaps
stories of might and if
stories of might and if–
is the movie a cautionary tale?
What happens when we mess with nature?
Or is it tale of mothers and children,
variations on madness and guilt?
Variation on madness and guilt,
describe a host of myth and legends
along with greed, anger, and lust,
in animating stars, clouds, and trees
we try to make order of our world.
We try to make order of our world
in patterns and statues and stories.
In art and poetry and song, we transform
and celebrate the light within
and without
and without this ability
what would we be?
Worlds unseen, other dimensions
beyond the stars, but here now,
we drive the darkness way
we drive the darkness away
with love and light and food
with sisters and sister-friends
with children and mothers and kin
we let the light in.
It’s been a busy, crazy week, and I apologize for being so behind in visiting and reading other blogs. I’m finishing reviewing my copyedited book manuscript. There have been many calls and text with my sisters about my mom’s care. We had to suddenly go to my mom’s when an aide called out sick. While there, we discovered that PBS was showing the 25th anniversary concert version of Les Misérables, which my mom and I both enjoyed. We did a “Nightmare Before Christmas” tour for my early birthday celebration with younger daughter—it turned out to be a fun evening of talking and drinking. We visited the Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Christmas Village.
Merril’s Movie Club: We saw Little Joe. It’s a quirky film about a woman who develops a new plant that she names for her son Joe. But perhaps there are unintended consequences. It’s filmed in bright colors and with a percussive soundtrack. Emily Beecham won best actress at the Cannes Film Festival. We liked it, but I may not sniff a flower for a while.
We’re on the penultimate episode of The Man in the High Castle on Amazon Prime. It’s so good—and kind of frightening to think of what could be, what might have been, and where we’re headed with the present administration.
From “Designs for Different Futures” Philadelphia Museum of Art
And a more peaceful image to leave you with
Winter trees form a bower outside the Philadelphia Museum of Art–Merril D. Smith, December 2019
B. Franklin and the Kite
Source: The Youth’s Book on Natural Theology, 1840
First a rumble
grumbling in the night,
then a crack, the light
jagged and brightly-white
zig-zagging, where the kite
with hemp strands and key
conducts electricity–
a sight to see,
but from afar—
(check the jar)
this experiment of wonder,
science, lighting, and thunder.
A quadrille (a poem of 44 words) for dVerse where De asked us to use the word “crack.” If you don’t know anything about Benjamin Franklin’s experiment, here are the details from the Franklin Institute—it includes a passage from his article in the Pennsylvania Gazette. He actually electrified the hemp from the charged air, not directly from the lightning, but poetic license. 😉
Remembering
Monday Morning Musings:
“The purpose of theatre is to bring into public that which is kept offstage. . .”
Paula Vogel, The New Yorker, May 12, 2017.
“We have a story we want to tell you . . .About a play. A play that changed my life. Every night we tell this story—but somehow I can never remember the end. … No matter. I can remember how it begins. It all starts with this moment—”
From Paula Vogel, Indecent
About that breeze
carrying the scent of flowers
in the rain—
now rust-tinged with blood–
does it haunt you?
Listen–
the sound of ghosts walking
through ashes, whispering, whispering
the sound of pain
the sound of love and desire
carried through time
***
We walk
(through, around, over
ghosts)
steps echoing
a city filled
with art and history
(Detail) New Mural, “The Promise of Biotechnology” By Eric Okdeh and students, 11th and Sansom, Philadelphia
there a bridge
named for a poet
(who lived in Camden)
who celebrated history
and nature
human bodies and love
(he spoke of that
which was not spoken)
indecent, some said
unnamed the fear
of love
is love is love is love is love
Celebrating Walt Whitman’s 200th with homemade pizza and Auburn Road’s Eidolon wine
We walk after
seeing my mother
her body dimmed,
no longer so electric
but still pulsing light
generates the warmth
the air, the sky
on a beautiful spring
we eat outside
where souls once gathered
celebrating god and man
and new beginnings
(blinks of time)
the ghosts gather
telling the story
over and over
knowing how it begins,
never knowing how it ends
the play begins with ashes
that later return
but remember the rain scene
(that rain scene!)
that glorious love
passionate and innocent
that shocked—
indecent they said,
that play, and this play
about it–
this love song to Yiddish theater,
to theater,
to the light within us
to memory
to time
so relevant the themes again
immigrants demonized,
and we more polarized
and there is fear
all around
(like ghosts)
twelve more dead,
we shake our heads,
go on with life
(with thoughts and prayers)
but the dead stay dead
and the ghosts whisper,
remember. . .
Yet, we create
and generate
(our bodies electric)
music,
art, and poetry
channeling muses
and spirits
remembering
(the rain scene)
the scent of rain
the light through the trees
and love–
there is love
all around
Wedding stalking in Philadelphia, Old City
and friendships
that stay true
through births and deaths
generating
regenerating
remembering
this moment
to the next
always how it begins,
but never how it ends–
the lights go down,
the lights come again,
the ashes fall,
the ghosts whisper,
remember this moment,
remember this
It was a busy weekend: another mass shooting, a celebration, visiting my mom, seeing Indecent at the Arden (I love this play), walks, a bridal shower. We also saw Book of Mormon, the Broadway touring company, but I couldn’t fit that in. We’ve seen it before, and it enjoyed seeing it again.
