Hamsa*, the great wild Canadian goose,
This weekend we had a pre-writing assignment, and we shared our first poems last night. Here is mine.
has returned.
She appears about this time every Fall.
This is her 7th year.
She has a large clutch here on the Coast of Texas,
She appears about this time every Fall.
This is her 7th year.
She has a large clutch here on the Coast of Texas,
having hatched out 16 this season.
Her task is a formidable once, which she carries out swiftly,
with not too little noise.
Her voice is not gentle dove-like cooing,
Her voice is not gentle dove-like cooing,
but rather a loud disturbing honk!
A sound which challenges
(and consoles)
strong, not weak, even disquieting.
She swoops in, gathers us around her, and guides us
She swoops in, gathers us around her, and guides us
through a weekend of creative grace,
then off she flies, back to her native Canadian tundra.
And we wait, another year, for Hamsa to return.
Hamsa* is a Sanskrit word for a migratory bird, usually pictured as a swan or a wild goose. An “animal mask” of both the universal creative impulse and the self-realized saint. It “symbolizes the divine essence, which, though embodied in and abiding with the individual, yet remains forever free from, and unconcerned with the events of the individual life.” (Heinrich Zimmer), from The Yoga of Breath, by Richard Rosen.
And Hamsa, in this poem, is our own Richard Osler, flying in from Canada each Fall to lead us through a wonderful weekend filled with grace, a poetry-writing weekend, poetry as prayer.
And we wait, another year, for Hamsa to return.
Hamsa* is a Sanskrit word for a migratory bird, usually pictured as a swan or a wild goose. An “animal mask” of both the universal creative impulse and the self-realized saint. It “symbolizes the divine essence, which, though embodied in and abiding with the individual, yet remains forever free from, and unconcerned with the events of the individual life.” (Heinrich Zimmer), from The Yoga of Breath, by Richard Rosen.
And Hamsa, in this poem, is our own Richard Osler, flying in from Canada each Fall to lead us through a wonderful weekend filled with grace, a poetry-writing weekend, poetry as prayer.
This weekend we had a pre-writing assignment, and we shared our first poems last night. Here is mine.
Marking My World
(“What kept you alive
all those years keeps you from living.”
Li-Young Le
Remember the Marks-A-Lot?
the marker “whose ink stood the test of time”
permanent, resistent, never fading,
with its chisel tip on one end and bold point on the other?
The marker used to draw all kinds of shapes:
triangles, squares, rectangles, and parallelograms,
all boxes and containers that,
well,
contain.
That marker could be used to write words in big, bold letters,
clearly visible,
rules that could not be broken,
lines that could not be crossed,
veiled threats meant to put us in our place,
to keep us from venturing too far:
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“Children should be seen and not heard.”
“Nice girls wait to be invited.”
“Ladies don’t go without an escort.”
“A woman’s place is in the home.”
“A woman’s work is never done.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
Don’t just stand there and knock, Jesus.
Batter my heart*.
Break all the boxes.
Spill all the contents.
Life is messy.
I want to risk and live.
*from Holy Sonnets: Batter my heart, three-person’d God, by John Donne
Sheila Conner
October 23, 2015
Poetry As Prayer, Surfside
1st Challenge
1 comment:
Love both of those poems. Thankful I got to experience Hamsa two years ago. :-)
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