Author Information
Vanishing in the Blazing Night
When I'm attending
the late-night theater
of everyday
wonders,
I look up.
In the dark
the Earth has no heart
and even
Pre-Raphaelite roses
look menacing
and strawberries,
gorged with romance,
are smirking strangers,
but on the ceiling
of our home
there is an expanse
fizzing with ornaments,
rising with potential,
falling in wordless worship
and burning with
alien frost. There's
vast Time and
boiling Space
elsewhere
and right here,
almost graspable,
just a
thought-shift away.
So why is the past
forever filling
a decanter of regrets
and why is
the future crowded
with emptiness—
a screaming vacuum—
and what ever happened to
the majestic,
the motionless,
the omnipotent Now
that never left
but is farther
than the hidden elsewhere
behind a
temple of stars?
My heart,
a patient grenade
with terrifying power
to create
or destroy,
spills into a
softer universe
with this thought:
If the Hands
that hold these
simmering eons
hold us,
if we look
into a mirror when
we look into
a steaming galaxy
in the
slow-brewing ages,
if perpetual birth
is possible,
then perhaps
anything is,
yes, even
joy and spirit
being one
and the same,
even a few miracles
breaking into
my small mortal world
like a few
sizzling stars
in my hands.
Patricia Joan Jones
As I read this poem, it is
As I read this poem, it is describing or naming three locations, two related and one opposed to them. The two that are related are the temple of stars and the softer universe. The other place is a dislocation, an absence (geographical or spiritual) from the temple and the soft universe that contains it. In that dislocation (which is how I will refer to it for the rest of this comment), the Earth has no heart, roses look menacing, and romantic strawberries become smirking strangers. The Poet names this dislocation as the screaming vacuum.
But, in the softer universe, we see more comfortable processes resuming: streaming galaxies in slow-brewing ages become our mirror---not a mirror of our collective or individual egos, but a mirror of existence; that, existing on this small planet orbiting a relative insignifcant star, we can see the galaxies streaming in the grandeur and largesse of their existence. But in this cosmic process, of which we are part (whether we are aware of it or not), joy and spirit, being one, bring small miracles into our small mortal world (which blossoms into much more if we keep in mind the great cosmic proccesses going on around us, processes which are such much more visible to us with the use of the Hubble and the Webb telescopes); and it is through our knowledge of thoe processess, which is extended and confirmed by those telescopes, that allowus us---in joy and spirit---to hold sizzling stars in our grasp.
The poem is, ultimately and in summary, a warning: when we enter the dislocation, our vision becomes skewed. When we seek the temple of the stars, in the soft universe, we draw closer to the grandeur of the cosmos and participate in it. This poem proceeds very much like an aspect of Orthodox theology that I particularly like, and that theological aspect suggests that, in this life, and in Heaven, believers become immersed, so to speak, in a partaking of God's nature (and a Scripture in the New Testament actually suggests this, although in the West it is not emphasized). This does not mean that we appropriate God's nature, which, always, remains God; but that God allows us to "dive into it," so to speak, and begin to explore whatever of its depths or volume attracts us. The metaphor given is a sword forged out of steel, which is then plunged into a flame to become tempered. The sword does not appropriate the nature of the flame; but, being immersed in the flame, the sword begins to glow, and its molecular structure tempers and becomes more cohesive, given the entire object a greater strength and usefulness. The poem suggests that this process also applies to the cosmos, which allows us to observe and, perhaps someday, participate in its simmering eons, its slow-brewing ages. When we choose the dislocation, and craft our viewpoint from that perspective, we have a much more negative response to the cosmos. Bur if we choose the soft universe, expressed in the temple of stars, we participate in the grandeur---not that we are deserving, because we are the most undeserving---but because the Maker of that cosmos has given us the gift of participation . . . if we will graap the gift and accept it.
Starward
I owe a great debt to you for
I owe a great debt to you for supporting this series of reflections, in fact, your own theological poems and meticulous examinations of mine have emboldened and inspired me to continue. So with every poem I post comes incalculable gratitude for your kindness.
I'm always gratified in a huge way to read your very insightful and intricate breakdowns of my work as if you had been there from the first glimmer of an idea to the public posting. Anyone who has had the coveted honor of your expert analysis knows what I mean.
I know you haven't been feeling well lately, so I'm very touched by your generosity in taking the time to read and interpret my expression. My deep concern and tireless prayers are with you. Be blessed, Great Pillar of PostPoems.
Thank you for that very
Thank you for that very complimentary reply. But it is I who am indebted to you---who have bestowed on me the great privilege of which I had long dreamed during my undergrad years, to watch a great collection of Poetry being assembled poem by poem before my eyes. You have provided me that privilege, and the opportunity to see a process of which, decades ago, I could only read in the past tense.
However, I understand that, given my verbosity, brevity in a reply is a virtue. And my health, or unhealth, condition tonight insists on brevity. And this insistence is like a playground bully . . . .
Starward
Praying that your condition
Praying that your condition stops harassing you. To so many oppressed by the shadows, are the lantern that leads them home. Take care.
Thank you for the kind
Thank you for the kind words. Although I am having it a little easier, as of writing this, I have some procedures---one quite difficult---scheduled over the next several weeks.
Starward