Thank you very much for: Thank you very much for understanding. I let my resentments get the better of me sometimes; but, as I believe, this life is a preparation for the eternal life, and we have to decide, now, what to include and what to leave behind when we soar out of here. I want to leave behind my failures, and this was a major one.
One of the greatest pleasures: One of the greatest pleasures on my creative journey has been getting your take on my work. Being an exceptional Poet with piercing insights into the poetry of others, your opinion is like gold to me. You say that I'm fulfilling my vocation, well, that's that and I can die knowing I wrote a few things that received a fine scholar's stamp of approval. And you have more than "some" credibility!
I was particularly gratified by your exquisite and profound interpretation of my ruminations on stars. The way you expounded upon my idea was so stunning I felt I was reading True Poetry, not just an analysis.
Thank you again and again for not only validating my individual poems, but what has become a personal assignment. Could there be a better gift to a fellow writer?
May God, The Source, shower you with every happiness and bless your own life-altering, poetic mission.
Keep being the reflection of The Infinite Light.
Besides being art of the: Besides being art of the highest order, your interpretation was spot on. Your sharp perspectives are always welcome here, fine Poet. Thank you!!!
Like a brilliantly: Like a brilliantly orchestrated jump scare, your metaphor seized me with its realness, and like all phenomenal poetry, it immersed me. Consumed me, actually. Amazing how you can be extravagantly emotive but delicately athletic with words. A brutal ballet of emotion and talent. Respect!
I almost cried, perhaps the: I almost cried, perhaps the way I might have if I had watched the prodigal son parable play out in real life, your reply. It was that indescribable feeling of being deliriously inspired when you just know that charity, ultimately, wins out; that, every once in a while, things are as they should be. Thank you for sharing your priceless and soul-stirring expression.
When the great literary: When the great literary critic, Helen Vendler, wrote her stunning interpretation of Wallace Stevens' literary strategies (Words Chosen Out Of Desire, a text I very highly recommend for anyone interested in Poetry), she suggested that Stevens deliberately concealed the main gist of most of his poems in their centers, rather than at their beginnings. I have relied on my memory of Vendler's text when I have commented on Patricia's poems; but in this poem, she has overturned Vendler, and outfoxed Pop Stevens himself by putting the center, and the meaning, of this poem at its very end---the final six lines, which are one of the most triumphant set of lines that I have ever read, from her, or on this site, or anywhere else. I have been reading Poetry for half a century as of this past April, and I think that gives me some credibility in stating the uniqueness of her conclusion.
Every line in this poem is a beautiful construction in and of itself, and the sum total of them is a statement of triumphant glory that sounds more like it is a Sacred Text than a poem; but knowiing how closely Patricia is in touch with God leads me to believe that there is more than simply a literary process going on in this poem.
I like her reference to "long- dead / stars . . . more alive / than I'll / ever be / in this life." The reader might wonder about this, and I will try to offer my own interpretation here. Stars produce light and warmth by fusing atoms of hydrogen and helium into heavier elements that then begin to accumulate in their cores and start a subtle shift toward an eventual decline (over how many thousands of centuries) failure of the fusion process so that the star "goes out." But because of the great distance those stars' lights travel to reach our eyeballs, or our telescopes, or the Hubble and James Webb arrays in earth orbits, the star may have already gone out long before we observe its light. So, although a star may be dead in is massive physical form, the light it released is not bound to that form---much like a soul escaping a body at the moment of death. As a Christian, I believe that our souls may very well be the most alive at the point of death because, at that point, the soul understands---although the mind may be in denial---that it is about to launch into eternity, that it is very close, at that point, to eternity where it will become the best, finest, most accomplished and eternal version of itself (without a loss of identity or individuation). So the stars' light, which has the capability of helping life to thrive, or of speakig to our own souls as it enters our eyeballs, is the best and most accomplished version of itself. When we look at the sky, we do not see the stars themselves, not even the sun itself, but their, and its, light. Although we can see the bodies of the Moon and Planets, because they only reflect light, we cannot see the actual bodies of the producers of light. We see the souls of the stars as revealed in their light, though their bodies may very well be dead, and darkened. I think that this astronomical fact was hidden in the fabric of the Cosmos by God, so that we could discover this metaphysical principle which can teach us something about our own souls.
And ultimately, the purpose of Patricia's Poetry---if I may now, as one of her devoted readers, offer my own interpretation---is to participate in the instruction of souls. Not every Poet can do this, or wants to; only the finest Poets are selected for this, and they are almost compelled to do so by their inspiration sources (or, if you will, their Muses). Vergil, Dante, and Eliot (to name just three) do so; I cannot say that Catullus, or John Milton, or even Wallace Stevens do so. And Patricia does so; she does it with a degree of quality that suggests she invented the very concept, and she does it with a consistent demonstration of that degree of quality. Personally, I take it as a gift to my Faith that I have been permitted, by my circumstances, by the chain of events in my life, to encounter Patricia's Poetry. When I die, I will die in my Christian Faith, but I will be better at dying because Patricia has given me such wonderful glimpses of the eternal Cosmos to which our souls will go. In the Orthodox Church's theology, all souls go into the presence of God, and never leave it: those souls who have chosen their own sin natures over God will experience God's nature as Hell; those who have chosen their Faith will experience God's nature and presence as Heaven. Yes, this overturns Dante's great poem about the three separated realms, but it reconciles some parts of the Bible that stumble those who want to preach only hellfire and brimstone. God gave us the Faith for the basic information we need to enter the Kingdom of Heaven; but God also gave us certain Poets, who Poetry addresses the nuances of our life beyond the stars. Patricia is one of these Poets, and, as this triumphant Poem, and all of her Poems, demonstrate so very well, she is fulfilling her calling and vocation with the highest possible success.
my thoughts too:
You are always with me
on the loneliest roads
In my darkest days
In my agony
In my joy
In my brightest times
As one of the old-timers of the site like you, I feel the same. We’ve all been on this very special journey together… through ups – through downs – and through all the in-betweens of life. It’s been a journey of many years… and we’ve all shared our shoes with one another, along the way. And let’s hope we all continue that journey with each other, for a long time still.
Your great memories of Bill’s Gyros..: Your great memories of Bill's Gyros got me thinking about when I was young. Anytime I would be hanging out in the Village with friends, we would always stop at Joes Pizza off Bleecker Street for a slice or two. It's still there, no place to sit, still one of the best slices in the city. Thanks for sharing.
The heart of it, for me:
In the heart of the forest, there is simplicity.
In the heart of the forest, there is glory and beauty and many lessons.
And among the chief lessons – is continuity, as we ourselves fold into the undergrowth, among the oily vowels of time… to nourish the shoots and sprigs of tomorrow.
This was the heart of it, for me…
In the cackling frenzy
of Autumn…
I clutch
every moment
with both hands.
Like us,
the forest
never received
the manual for dying,
but it turns out,
it was simple
enough all along.
When I read this, my first: When I read this, my first response was that I had dated someone just like your description in college; and then my second response, considering the poem as a poem, is that you have described a powerfully cataclysmic experience in such a few brief lines---which attests to your tremendous verbal skill and artistry. I think of a certain novelist who churns out endless pages of horror stories, without knowing when to stop or what to edit; and then I compared this poem, which achieves a supreme effect of horror with a handful of words in a few slender, but very agile, lines.
Thanks for looking at the: Thanks for looking at the poem and commenting. I just learned of this historical incident yesterday, I realize life was considered cheap, in those days, but even so . . . torturing a young man just to learn from his sufferings in order to depict a mythological figure's torments with accuracy? Horrific.
To have survived the: To have survived the labyrinth is often a mixed relief, there is scarring there that occasionally reminds one of the horrors. Thanks kindly for your kind response.
>> View All Comment Activity >>