Author Information
One More Moon Beside Me
In the dark
that is the light,
beneath Aquarius and his
watery flame
and something close
to healing,
I share the night's appetite
for this raw living,
but I don't leave the
small world
because I love the
wide stillness more,
I leave the world
because I love it too much,
because I accept
the privilege,
the test,
of being here
with my other voice,
still a stranger
waiting patiently outside
my doubt.
The river is content
to be a lost soul, some
scattered lyrics, never complete
and running off with pebbles,
shards of moon and some
instant knowing.
Now that is perfection:
to never be finished
and always becoming,
never used up
and forever new.
We're saints
of a different sort
on chiseled nights like these.
My guess is the
so-called righteous ones
were never completely rabid
with longing for anyone
and never saw Divinity in
the shameless lily or
the forbidden void
where stars are pinned
and only faith
dares to go.
A love I call amazement
joins me like a second moon,
unravished, intact and
just beginning.
No feet are needed
for this journey.
I believe
and I am there.
Patricia Joan Jones
"Forever new"
Somebidy firgot to tell my body about renewal. Yet, I intend to go out smiling - it is and so far was GREAT! 71 - a lot of friends gone and are missed. Stay safe! ~S~
My body hasn't gotten the
My body hasn't gotten the message either. But you're still young and fabulous! Always a pleasure when you stop by. Thanks.
a place and time only the
a place and time only the mind can go
ron parrish
Thank you for stopping by and
Thank you for stopping by and leaving such thought-provoking insights.
you`re welcome pat
you`re welcome pat
ron parrish
This poem's center of gravity
This poem's center of gravity is "the forbidden void where stars are pinned and only faith dares go." This poem particularly reminds me of the French and Russian Symbolists' poetry. I am not saying that Patricia is one of them; that is not my privilege to assert. I am saying this poem is like theirs in its use of symbols to enter the forbidden void, where the stars are, with a faith in the powers of her language skill to be able to limn that void, and to harness the power of the stars' light in order to illuminate the human and humane content of this poem and, indeed, of all her poems. The void is called forbidden in this poem; forbidden to all but the initiates, and Patricia is one of the chiefest initiates---in a great lineage that extends as far back as the Hellenistic poets, and includes the greatness of Vergil.
The purpose of the Poet's initiation, and of the exploration of the forbidden void, and of the harnessing of stars' light is to approach "the love I call amazement . . . unravished, intact and just beginning." This, in my opinion, also is a statement that expresses the purpose and function of her entire body of poetry, not just one poem. Her consistence is that of the greatest of Poets---for example, Stevens, Vergil, and Mallarme. She is not what I have elsewhere called a "scapbook" poet---one who takes a morning stroll and writes about things observed, and only as they are observed within the local (and often, yokel) dimension. Patricia's observation places the items she names within a cosmic context, with a moral significance attached to them. She elucidates the mystery of our existence; unlike the scrapbook poets, who gather only the superficial, much of which is debris and detritus, like Pop Stevens' "The Man On The Dump." Her poems, like Stevens', instruct us in the marvelous . . . as much by what they exclude as by what they include.
Her achievement is not nearly finished, and continues to expand and expound before our very eyes and ears; her Poetry's glory resonates throughout postpoems, and I am very glad---and undeservedly privileged---to bear witness to that.
Starward
I'm the one who's privileged
I'm the one who's privileged to have such an insightful observer accompany me on my pilgrimage and offer the deepest understanding, the most sincere appreciation and the most valuable motivation. It's incredibly gratifying that you read my work with such an intuitive grasp of my vision and the interpretations of a true poet. If there's a word for my immeasurable gratitude, I'd like to know it.
I have said before, but I
I have said before, but I think it bears repeating (although it is intensely personal) . . . during those four undergraduate years I studied the "creative curves"---so to speak---of T. S. Eliot, Wallace Stevens, and Vergil; but I was frustrated because these were established, completed, achievements. At moments of doubt's anxiety (and there were some), I wondered what my effort---in that particular pursuit---was all for. I did not suspect, way back then, that I was being prepared for the event of watching your literary accomplishment construct itself before our very eyes . . . at this late stage of my life, when I can most appreciate it. I have had the privilege of experiencing the thrill of watching a very Major Poet at work---just as astounded explicators watched Eliot and Stevens; or even the Emperor Augustus watched the Aeneid slowly assembling beneath Vergil's pen. I should like to say I prepared for this experience; but it would be more honest to say that I was being prepared for this. And, in the midst of this health affliction, I am the more grateful that it has not prevented me from being able to watch the process of your Poetry---the way (permit me to repeat a favorite metaphor) an astronomer ardously and enthusiastically studies an emerging star in the iridescences of a nebula.
Starward
Thank you for your very
Thank you for your very moving and eloquent words of support. They make all the difference.