Author Information
Vesuvius
Folder:
Nature Centuries brewing:
a blend of ruby chants,
obsessive love
and rage,
the lid flies toward
a cracked and gasping sky . . .
Free
to howl with sulfured breath,
cast spells from a cauldron
too long unseen.
Give back to Prometheus his
stolen flames:
here, star-clad lord,
take back your blinding
gift, processed into
plumes of gold . . .
here is liquid hate,
what hate should be:
black whips
and blood and scales
of fallen angels,
here, take the boiled
heart of Earth
and mold new worlds
to punish.
Help us, Heaven,
our souls cry,
how beautiful is hell!
How beautiful the
dreams born
in fire.
by Patricia Joan Jones
Although this is an unusual
Although this is an unusual poem for Patriciajj to have written, it is not out of place in her collection. The same cosmic perspective is present---the same awareness of great forces in process around us. I think she uses the volcano (is it Veusvius?) to represent those cosmic forces that sometimes scare us: the neutron stars that can smash whole solar systems that draw to near them; those pulsating stars that sometimes release large bursts of lifekilling gamma radiation; and those wandering asteroids, and other debris, that could bring life on earth to extinction. The volcano is a metaphor of all these, and at the end of the poem, dreams are still born out of the volcanic fire. This is classic Patriciajj,
J-Called
That's exactly what I was
That's exactly what I was going for! At the time I wrote this, I was locked into airy romance and somewhat mainstream religious poetry, which was well received on the forum where I posted back then, but I wanted to try something different. The response was polite, but tepid, but I didn't care. Just something I wanted to do.
I had no idea that many years later someone with a penetrating eye for allegory and an appreciation for the overarching meaning of existence would read it and approve. I'm deeply grateful.
Even tepid responses are
Even tepid responses are useful, in their way, for gauging a Poet's greatness. People who cannot appreciate Poetry give it, at best, a tepic response. While I am no admirer of Ezra Pound, he should not have been discouraged when Mussolini pronounced The Cantos "diverting." Tepid responses are like those minor aches and pains we must all endure: but only the truly alive feel aches and pains. The dead, or the inanimate, have no feeling of them. The mediocre poets do not recognize their own tepidness; the great Poet, like you, will receive some tepid response once in a while. It is like stumbling over a stone in a meadow: it means one's steps are at least moving over solid ground.
And your remark has just enabled me to understand how to fully forgive an affront that has aggravated me for some time. Thank you . . . for this poem, and for the wisdom of your remarks in its notespace.
J-Called
Thank you for that very
Thank you for that very enlightened perspective. It helps so much. I've changed the title to "Vesuvius" because of your brilliant comment. I should have thought of that years ago, but I was a bit careless with titles.
Thank you for saying that,
Thank you for saying that, and I am honored to have had something to do with that change. You are always so kind to me.
J-Called