Garden News, Aug 2011

I can hear the traffic
from my back door:

click-clicks from hummingbirds in the leaves,
wasps, bumblers, jellowjackets and honeybees

10,000 gnats
and a dozen dragonflies
- dinosaurs of the skies

breezes

currents

I can hear the traffic
from my back door,

and the traffic count
is high today.

on the 4th anniversary of his crossing over

my teacher

he taught me

feeling : real
observation : real
dreamspace : real
memory : real
vision : real
thought : real
being : real
connection : real

and don't doubt it

What is real?

you are
now is

microcosm : macrocosm

Garden News, Summer Solstice 2011

it smelled of lilacs
and then the rain

now Egyptian perfume
is on the breath of the iris
so pale blue
it's pearl white

chamomile blossoms
bits of sunshine

luminescent sage flowers
butterflies of purple

and hummingbirds
in the columbine

red strawberries
green gooseberries
currant buds
apple starts
raspberries ready to grow
vegetables. planted.

blessed be this abundance

-skyhawk-

My Grandfathers

great fortune
-great blessing-
so many grandfathers
each a balance
-innocence and strength-
dudley
costello
cope
ten bears
wallace
men who knew
the power of silence
-of celebration-
and of confidence
in the face of fear

clifftop dreamspace [1997]

i walked the cliff in a daze

turtle came from the ocean,
snapping his beak,
shouting secrets i couldn't hear

dancing hawk circled overhead
calling for ceremony

the stones knew,
but i ran away,
afraid

Snow Ghosts

echoes throw
sounds round
canyon expanse as
blades are raised, then
boom, doom for
snow flowing in
gutters under
newer flurries

they hazard the blizzard,
drivers of the night,
mettle on the metal
clanking, cranking
snow rowers
here, we heard -
saw, we naught
but lights - tonight

the snow ghosts
so fast, they pass
booming, looming
then flashers slashing
windows kindled against
freezing, teasing
crystals distant only
by windows kindled

racing, erasing
winter's hints
so fast, they passed
we see
flashers, dancing
reflected, projected
distracting our catching
the actual, factual
2-ton machines -
but the snow, it goes
proving the moving
done by ...

snow ghosts

Mythological Dimensions of Neil Gaiman

So there was a call for papers, and a friend and I answered the call. But we were too late, by a few hours (damn that time zone confusion). Here's a copy of our proposed abstract for a paper on the mythological dimensions of Neil Gaiman. While it most likely won't go any further than this blog, I hope you enjoy this foray into literary realms!

***

Perhaps it’s the human condition, built somehow into our DNA: the eternal, mythical Quest. From The Odyssey (Homer, classic, ancient Greece) to American Gods (Gaiman, classic, modern Earth), we respond deeply to the quest and all of the mythological elements that go into it. The stakes are always high, the mission unique, and, in Gaiman’s (and our? modern? American?) world, magic is always nigh.

In response to the call for abstract submissions on “Mythological Aspects in Gaiman’s Work,” this exploration assumes the Talisman as a mythological aspect, and explores the nuances of what makes a talisman, what makes a Gaiman talisman, and what this has to do with the modern world.


Seeing and Not Seeing: Talismans in the Mythological Modernism of Neil Gaiman


With every quest comes a Hero; with every hero, a Talisman, conferring on its bearer “supernatural powers or protection” (www.wordnik.com/words/talisman).

Gaiman takes this iconic element of ancient myth and shapes it for a modern mind. Everyday objects suddenly becoming magical is a gift for the masses. Giving that magic a purpose, in the hands of a questing hero who probably is just a regular modern human, makes every one of us that much closer to the archetypal possibilities inherent in such a journey. Facing our demons, going for the gold, finding the key—these are “everyday” quests, and Gaiman gives us this bit of magic that opens our eyes to the powers of the imagination in creatively seeing our way to the end. Talismans, including magical mirrors, keys, and boxes, are all around us. The modern mythological aspects are so complete, in fact, that one might call his genre “myth” as much as Science Fiction, for he truly employs the powers of myth profusely and consistently.

In Gaiman’s world, magic is everywhere. A talisman could be a stone, a carving, a letter: common, everyday items, uniquely powerful. Sometimes objects of power will work for anyone, but a talisman is special in that it often “works” for Only One: one hero at a time.

The talisman is often mentioned or noticed early in Gaiman’s stories. Its acquisition by the hero marks the beginning of a quest. Its loss may mean death for the hero. Its return—or bequeathing to another, for her own adventure, if the talisman will allow—often marks the end of the quest. And when you think the quest is done, but you still have the talisman, WATCH OUT, because there are still things to be learned, forces to be met, and fate to be had. You may only get one chance to step through the Door, help the Invalid, or meet the Teacher to which the talisman has led you.

Gaiman’s talismans are also unique in that they often are used as not only markers of the quest, but also for “Seeing and Not Seeing.” Talismans are used to See the Path, or the Universe, or the Real fabric of the world each hero is in. Witness Coraline and her hollow stone, labyrinth talismans in Neverwhere, or the Monk in Dream Hunters and his glowing slip of paper.

And just like that … we are drawn in. Gaiman lures us into classic, carefully crafted stories as easily as if he were telling a “regular” story. The merge is seamless. This is part of Gaiman’s genius. He takes “heavy” mythological journeys into the modern world, to merge not just east and west, but above, below, old and new. The Warrior, the Trickster, and the Monk are all around us, if only we look through new eyes.

Gaiman’s talismans can help us do just that.

Interstitial

last year's thoughts
pile together
like so much laundry

finished pieces
fly, fly away
like paper airplanes -
origami word birds

last year's journal
leaves gaps
like so many invitations

last year's thoughts
provide good fodder
like so much good manure

this year's interstitial thoughts
will be rich
like so many buds of spring

Clutter

The re-arranging piles
are now
piles of constants,
in rows.
Satisfying, somehow -
this small order
from chaos.

Sincerity

I grew up
not knowing sarcasm
Only experiencing it
occasionally
as barbs of veiled
intentions

My father was strict
on this notion -
Anything but Sincerity
is a Colossal
Waste of Time

It's deeply ingrained
and I Sincerely
thank him
for the lesson