PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

allways a filling meal: allways a filling meal

Great to see you dear HW: I miss myself on PP. But please don't think you're not in my mind . I'm plagued with time constraints. I wish you well

And now, in this world, we: And now, in this world, we have entered a "nuclear winter" of discontent, to tweak a phrase from Shakespeare's play, Richard III.

It is no small thing trying: It is no small thing trying to match your sublime and poetic impressions with an expression of gratitude equal to their value and depth, so I'll just say plainly:  thank you, great scholar, wordcrafter and interpreter of the cosmos, for such a generous evaluation filled with striking descriptions and profound personal experiences. That it brought forth memories of pivotal moments makes me feel that I've fulfilled an important purpose in my writing.   Your astonishing review is a gift I accept with deepest humility and immeasurable gratitude.   Sending prayers for your safety and comfort. Peace and every blessing. 

I love to comment on a: I love to comment on a Patriciajj poem when it posts, because the posting and sharing of each of her poems is an event of importance and significance.  I think my previous comments have demonstrated my genuine admiration of this Poet and her tremendous cosmic vision; and while I am more grateful than words can express for being mentioned in the notes---quite an honor to be included---my motive for writing this comment is the same as it has been for all the other comments I have posted:  admiration for, and literary interest in, the Poet whom I believe embodies the very best aspects of postpoems as a website and a community of poets.    Reading this poem tonight is a special treat, because tomorrow I must face a painful medical procedure.  I have had several of these same procedures before, but I can never get used to them; and the night before is almost always loaded down with fears, real and imagined.  But this poem will give me some relief from that.     When I first viewed, on the nightly news, the preliminary photographs from the James Webb, I was overwhelmed by a plethora of thoughts going back to 1964, when the end credits of the series Outer Limits used to appear over a montage of astronomical photographs from (I believe, with faulty memory) Mount Palomar, which was then using a cutting edge telescope to obtain these images.  Since that time, the stars have been important to me, and the James Webb has taken us further toward them than any other human endeavor.  And one of the thoughts that kept revolving in my mind was, What will Patricia make of these?  I am not claiming to have inside knowledge of the poem's origin or the time of its appearance; but I was convinced that the photographs would provide some inspiration to her . . . because they have arisen from her chosen venue, the area of reality---human and cosmic---which she has chosen as the setting and subject of her magnificent poems.  And in her exploration and cartography of that subject, she never---and I do mean, NEVER---strikes a false note, and never strikes out.  She always knocks it right out of the park, in a textbook example (including this poem) that I would recommend to any new Poet studying the art and the craft of Poetry.      I think this poem perfectly captures the sense of awe and of inspiration that comes from viewing the JWST photographs, the same wonder that I, a six year old only child whose only siblings were books and depictions, felt when my parents' old-fashioned, twelve channel television brought before my eyes those marvelous Palomar photographs.  Astronomical photographs are not shackled by time:  they connect past, present and future; as does this poem.  The vision of outer space, and of the furthest distance, in time and physical length, that we can see---whether through the Lighthouse at Pharos, the royal observatory at Greenwich, the Hubble, or the JWST---gives us the impetus to construct cosmologies to explain what we can, and to acknowledge the mystery of what we cannot explain.  I happen to believe we are alone in this Cosmos, and that one of our specoes' vocation is to construct, extend, and adjust our cosmologies as a way for the Cosmos, into which we have been placed, to explain itself to itself.  It is not egotistical to believe this (and I can only speak for myself); it is, imstead, a good reason to restrain the ego so that it gives way to the presence of the Cosmos in our souls.     And Patricia's Poetry, of which this poem is one of her centerpiece examples, shows us how it is done.  Just as the constellations were named for poetic creations and symbols, by the astronomers (which means, star-namers; but they only assign stars to the names which the Poets have already created), so it remains a  task given to Poets to assign words and phrases in precise verbal constructions, as carefully chiselled as the finest statuary, in an explanation that Poets offer to their readers; that Patriciajj offers to us, who are privileged at postpoems to be her readers.  During the early part of my adolescence, I loved to read science fiction stories in which one or more characters seemed to have a deep connection to outer space.  I never, then, dreamed that a rare and small number of Poets, people who have really proven themselves to be Poets, retain and present that same deep connection.  Patricia is one of those poets.  I do not think that perspective can be chosen, the way, say, I might choose what necktie to wear, or what I request for supper.  The perspective that Patricia has, and that makes her so distinguished among all of us at postpoems, is a gift; it is a part of her nature, as deeply imbued in her as her DNA; and, to put a metaphysical spin on it, even more deeply imbued than DNA.     The JWST has provided us with a glimpse into the grandeur of the Cosmos.  This poem by Patriciajj is a celebration of that grandeur, and a lasting testimony to the effect upon us of that grandeur.      

Wow!  This is exquisitely: Wow!  This is exquisitely beautiful.  The skillful repetition of the word, Love, makes the poem seem like a litany in a ritual to which only the initiated are admitted and which they, only, fully understand.