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Crucible of Light
There's a gift in here
somewhere—
in this diamond-cutting pain that
creates the triumph and
the countless deaths
in me.
The lake has diluted
my haven of sky:
my jasmine-white
and star-forged armor of
long ago;
crackling testimonies
of power that outdanced kings
and empires and the
arrogance of time;
wind-shattered light scattered
here and there . . .
How perfect to be so utterly
dissolved, so dismantled,
so unbound,
and here, in this
wilderness of
mind,
here is where I will launch
without leaving
the ground.
Let the Earth rise with me.
I'll also take this theater of myths
circling the night,
but this time,
Sacred Music of the Spheres,
send all of me through the portal
or everything is
left behind.
And tell me,
just what is the rite of passage
into joy?
Is it giving like the Earth,
in love with itself, gives,
then takes everything,
then gives back more?
The stars are desolate
next to that devotion,
that deliverance.
Now don't sever
this perfect thread of knowing
with more questions.
In the fullness
of that dying
I live again.
Patricia Joan Jones
This reminds me of a similar
This reminds me of a similar if horticultural image of pruning, were the hurting and severing do not kill but in the healing bring growth and more life, more living. That the calculations however minute are accurate and purposeful, as in the measuring and cutting of diamond facets, imagine the cost of a cutting mistake to the value and the finished product. And much more than the art and the science and math of it all is the heart and the spirit from which flow the wellsprings of life.
here is poetry that doesn't always conform
galateus, arkayye, arqios,arquious, crypticbard, excalibard, wordweaver
Thank you, great poet, for
Thank you, great poet, for such piercing and wise insights into the heart of my message. I value every one of your comments. Peace and Light.
what is the rite of passage
You are one of those fine pillars, that make post poems a continued pleasure for me. To cut a rough diamond, is to study it thoroughly beforehand.
crackling testimonies
of power that outdanced kings
and empires and the
arrogance of time
As for the question - “ just what is the rite of passage
into joy?”
My grandmother gave me the answer to this, long ago…
To appreciate – and love, for happiness and joy – are always the by-product of gratitude.
~/~
Your grandmother gave you the
Your grandmother gave you the key to everything important. Obviously you inherited her enlightenment. Thank you for your amazing feedback. It made my day!
thank you
Thank you Patricia for
this beautiful poem..
each time the universe
has broken your great heart
it became larger
Thank you for using your rare
Thank you for using your rare and innate gift of words to interpret my poem. Such an honor, dear poet!
Although, like Stevens,
Although, like Stevens, Patricia often places a poem's center of gravity away from the beginning, in this poem the first line leads with it. (As I proceed, I should like to excuse the wording of my comment---it may be briefer than usual---due to the my reaction, which they tell me is normal, to the first dose of my Covid vaccine. I feel like I have been run over by a freight train.)
The poem shows us that we dwell between and among phenomena that seem contrary, like dual poles in opposition to each other: she gives us a diluted lake but a sky that is a haven. Remember, though, that the poem summons us to find th gift---between the triumphs and the countless deaths, and the diamond cutting pain. (In this comment, I borrow several of her phrases.) What the poem shows the astute reader, as the reader moves among the many symbols that she deploys as representatives of her vision, is that the existence given us is, when we really examine it, the gift. In one of the most striking comparisons of the poem, and of her entire collection, she states that the stars themselves seem desolate when compared to the enormous value, beauty, and joy of the gift that our very existence bestows on us.
When I was a grade-school youngster, one of my chief annual joys was Easter at my grandparents rural residence. That was one of the most bucolic places I have ever visited; and no arboretum or formal garden that I have ever seen can compare to it. My grandfather delighted in hiding Easter Eggs that always led to an elaborate Basket, and all of it was hidden with a shrewd skill that required that I actually look and examine the immediate surroundings. Patricia's poem reminds me of that experience as it shows me, and every other reader, how to search for, and appreciate, the hidden Easter eggs in our common existence. I can give a poem no greater compliment than a comparison to my grandparents' residence: this poem reminds me of what, I think, my grandfather was attempting to teach me: that some of the eggs are well concealed, and some are obviously placed. It is a joy to collect and collate them---and this is, in my opinion, the most important function of the greatest Poetry. So of course we can expect Patricia's poems to trace the contours and the contents of this experience.
Starward
I can't thank you enough for
I can't thank you enough for digging so deep and unearthing the precise message I was hoping to present, and for holding it up in the light of your expansive and luminous perception. I'm deeply moved that you revisited your favorite memories in one of your favorite places as a result of my contemplation. Your feedback and support is valued more than you know. Prayers and gratitude.
Thanks for the reply. When
Thanks for the reply. When the very shrewd critic, Helen Vendler, published her essay on a reading strategy for Stevens' poetry, she taught me that reading a Poet (like Stevens, and like Patriciajj) who commands such verbal grandeur, while building a body of work that has many intricate internal connections, a reading strategy is absolutely required. Believe it or not, I did not enjoy Stevens' poetry near as much prior to 1982 as I did, and do, after. The vastness of your Poetry makes a strategy very desirable. And the metaphor of my Grandparents' place came to my mind for that strategy. What I learned, on my visits there, was that the "landmarks"---the two cottages, my grandfather's workshop building, the plank bridge and the creek, the wildflower meadow (representing nature) and the pile of discarded metal at its southeast corner (representing human arts)---were not separate items, but all components of one overall effect. A poem by you, or by Stevens, cannot be considered in isolation; there must be an awareness of the total collection even if that awareness is not explicitly stated. (And I am writing this not only for readers at postpoems, but for those scholars and grad students who will look at your work in decades hence.) Because I am not as alert as I should be, it took me a bit of time to get to this point, but I have gotten there. You, and Stevens, remind me of the Poets who named the constellations; who brought forth those patterns from the vast array in the sky that, to a rank amateur or to someone unable to appreciate it, seems like just a bunch of small twinkle-lights. You, like Stevens, and Dante, and Vergil, are a constellator---no, let me amend that, you are a Constellator.
Starward
One could apply your
One could apply your dazzling, astrological analogy to your collections as well. Don't underestimate your epics in the sky. I only wish I had the time and energy to read and analyze more of them.
How do I begin to thank you for your transformative support? May God do it for me someday. Take care.
Thank you for writing those
Thank you for writing those words; very encouraging at this difficult time.
Starward