What follows is my first completed product of this vow.
This poem began with a few lines rolling through my mind, as my poems often do. The problem was that nothing further developed, so I decided to help it along by writing to form; hence, the sestina. By conforming to a particular pattern, I forced myself to extend my thinking. At least I am writing.
GENTLY DOES THE NIGHT
Gently does the night go into day
Like lovers parting lips and giving way
To old familiar, tender pleasures.
Then boldly rising, Sun thrusts the moon
Careless from his bed into a weary world
Where nightime treasures end,
As all soft loving dreams will end
When shown beneath the harsher light of day.
The risen sun looks down on this cold world
And calls us forth to go about our way
And busy our time with no thought of the moon
Or other of those softer natural pleasures.
Our days we fill with things that pass for pleasures --
Getting, spending, working with no end
Until the shly shining rising of the moon
Parts herself again to gentle out the day;
We live our lives of busyness this way,
Worn out and wearied in a wondrous world.
Our artificial, busy, concrete solid world
We fill with artificial, solid, concrete pleasures --
While harshened, hardened hearts along the way
Pull us only to a solid, hardened end,
Baking us with fire and heat like day
Solidifies his hold on earth and blurs the moon
Until the moon herself forgets she's Moon
And is subsumed into the brighter world
And blotted out by day.
Were there not times when natural pleasures
Triumphed in the end?
Were we not made to live another way?
The night herself can light a better way
If we would pause in wonder at a moon
That shines past concrete to the end
Of this harshened, heavy-hearted world
Devoid of pleaures.
The gentle light of night can blot the day
And put an end to life's unnatural way,
But only if each day we choose the moon's
Sweet sleepy treasure over a concrete world devoid of pleasure.
Well, first I love this by the very nature of its existence. What an intelligent meditation and study, turned voluptuously into a poem. This is filled with emotional power and gives us the right amount of mystery...the personification of sun and moon, day and night. You always articulate with moving clarity.
ReplyDeleteGreat lines:
"The night herself can light a better way
If we would pause in wonder at a moon
That shines past concrete to the end
Of this harshened, heavy-hearted world..."
Reminds me of Shakespeare! Bravo, dear poet!
yes, have to say it strikes a big chord with me. so true alot of it.
ReplyDeleteglad you're writing anyway
Seeing as I see much more of the moon than I do the sun, I think your muse returned from the bright misty places. Aye the concrete certainly seems somewhat gentler in the light of the moon (even if one needs to be packing to see it {'-)}
ReplyDeleteKaren, you thrill my soul. Not only is this poem beautiful (and I love what it says), but I am so happy that you are writing every day. You’ve gone beyond what many people do or know. The muse comes with sweat. I have stacks and stacks of bad work that I won’t show anyone. I call it my compost pile. It is full of seeds that will eventually grow.
ReplyDeleteI’m really impressed with what you did with your seeds. This is a wonderful poem. The form is lovely. As with all your poems, I love your voice. The flow is beautiful. It feels like a prayer.
Some of my favorite lines are:
"Until the shyly shining rising of the moon
Parts herself again to gentle out the day;
We live our lives of busyness this way,
Worn out and wearied in a wondrous world."
I love that music!
The concrete juxtaposed with the natural world is fantastic. The idea of the moon forgetting She’s the moon blows me away (in a good way). We sometimes do forget. I’m glad I have you here to remind me. Five stars and two thumbs way up:)
Kay - I'm glad you feel this one, Miz OMM. Your words are too kind. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteNiamh - Thanks!
TWM - A different kind of heat, huh? ;-)
Julie - Thanks for your mention of the wordwork. I love, love, love the sound of words, as I guess all poets and writers do. Thank you for recognizing that and for your very kind words.
Hats off to forging ahead! I hope your well is replenished soon.
ReplyDeletePerhaps the sun and moon here are your own pushes and pulls.
oh honey, did you read my journal at the bedside table, or my blog?
ReplyDeleteyou inspire the muse-stoker to feed the fire.
Dianne
Philosophy put to verse. What more can one ask? It's terrific.
ReplyDeleteagree with all that's been said - i get the sense from "At least I am writing" that you're not that thrilled with it, but it doesn't feel forced at all. there is wonderful music in it - i love the way "Until the shly shining rising of the moon" reads like it's being run up a flagpole, and how "Worn out and wearied in a wondrous world" is wave after wave of "wow".
ReplyDeleteand have to admit i'm at a loss when it comes to most forms like this - wouldn't know a sestina from a sawmill - i looked it up just now. but this doesn't feel like words applied to form to me, it feels like form rose out of words.
'Gently does the night go into day
ReplyDeleteLike lovers parting lips and giving way
To old familiar, tender pleasures.
Then boldly rising, Sun thrusts the moon
Careless from his bed into a weary world
Where nightime treasures end'
Lovely, just lovely!
Gently Does the Night
ReplyDeletemy new vow is to write every day, even if I write badly.- This is a good decision, Karen. I also have a minimum number of words per day, but that cannot apply to poetry.
That being said, I love your poem and its gentle feel of a cycle that could be, maybe not broken but certainly enhanced by looking at things in different ways… Beautiful…