L'aura del Campo

O thief of words

L'aura del campo

LATE AUTUMN: 7 Masa'il (18 December) 46º and partly sunny.

'é a lua, é a lua, na quintana dos mortos'
♣ Federico García Lorca ♣

Ophelia called this morning to say hello and let me listen to the birds. Which was fine until I heard a strange bird-sound. Turned out to be Gabby, the pomeranian-chihuahua. Now if he only had wings ... . Pictures in malaya 's blog: "Invalid Entry" 

Met Kami Day for coffee at Henry's yesterday. She brought me my two copies of Kansas English that has my poem Constellation of the Ox printed on page 1. Yep. #1. ! This issue (Volume 90, No.2) had a theme of evolution, or should I say "everything changes".

For comments: "Constellation of the ox" . Although it could be tweaked further, this is how it appeared in publication:

Constellation of the Ox

The old road follows the flint stone path
where oxen forded the Baron Fork.
Along the banks of the Illinois:
all signs lost except this bridge.

What signs are found within our DNA
to tell us we've descended from the stars.
What ancient trace can be followed back,
across the bridge from whence we came.

And if we ever find that primordial stream
that flows hidden through our blueblood veins,
will we be greeted by two old ox eyes
fording some long forgotten dream. [162.747]

Now after so much death and sadness this past week, a change of subject matter. What do I do about the following poem? It has rhythm and meter (8-10). It does not depend on rhyme. It DOES depend on double-entendres and images. It has a feel of a sonnet about it without technically fitting the form.

O thief of words!

O steal my poems, word by word,
lips pressed together, only space for moans,
the tongue-turned-traitors seeking depths
beyond old rhythms, rhymes or sound.
New ways to touch replace what's empty;
fragrance mingles, forging memories.

O steal the image of my loneliness,
stash it where the sun has never shone,
crush it with a warm embrace of laughter,
keep my sense of timing for yourself,
then don't let go. The narrative
that once I spun? It's yours to own.

O thief that steals the image of my tears,
repaint them with your broad-brush-strokes. [163.507]

Not everything is negative around the world. Sometimes the 'little' guy gets his due. In Botswana, the San (Bushmen) have won their right to return to lands they have known for centuries:

http://www2.ljworld.com/news/2006/dec/14/bushmen_regain_land_rights_botswana/

It is encouraging to see Human Rights victories in Southern Africa this year. Especially, with the onslaught of AIDS and certain unmentionable despots still devastating the region.

North America and Australia should take note of the advances of indigenous peoples. The resurgance of long suppressed groups in South America (Bolivia) and Africa should be a cause for reflection.

IMAGES while walking north on Haskell from 19th: dust lies on the garbage bags, the bumper stickers of the cars. The sun cannot warm the air, three days before the soltice. The lamb's-ear is still soft to touch; the grass still tall. In all a pleasant day for the man who jogs in a suit of black and white under blue and over brown.

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 Kare Enga