THE MOOR
—R.S. Thomas
It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.
There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart's passions—that was praise
Enough; and the mind's cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.
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Ronald Stuart Thomas would've been 93 years old today. He passed away in 2000. I was able to sift back through old Medusas and find his first and middle names (which Taylor Graham tracked down for me last year) because I've spent some time recently cataloguing Medusa’s messy kitchen, making lists of all the poets who have appeared on these pixels over the almost-one-year of her life. I also went through all the comments, some of which I missed the first time around, including a wonderful poem by David Humphreys which was buried in the Comments section on Oct. 16. David says:
Magpie davidhumphreys, artinheaven
A magpie hops across the road,
cottonwoods rustling
in summer dusty wind.
A magpie loops into a tree,
black and white and royal blue.
I found a feather beside the road,
dirt red with iron,
sagebrush smelling clean
as ozone after thunder.
The magpie’s call is
shrill and clear,
the raven’s cousin without fear,
scavenger asphalt shimmer.
Handsome as a prince
or bird of prey,
bowing with a smile.
(This is a response to #4 Dogen haiku posted on Oct. 16, 2005)
__________________________
Thanks for that, David! I also discovered that “splogging” was huge last fall—you know, that thing where spammers use the Comments section of your blog to tell you how great your blog is and, by the way, howzabout checking out theirs (which turns out to be an ad for knives or condoms or whatever…)—but has definitely tapered off. I just wish the comments thing could be accessible to all, without having to sign up for a blog, but feel free to drop your comments to kathykieth@hotmail.com. She's knows Medusa well enough to pass such things along...
Anyway, thanks for helping keep Medusa on the "air", but our job isn't over yet. Poetry, poetry, poetry. It's hard, messy work, but somebody's gotta........
Last-minute addition to the calendar: Poet and teacher Catherine Fraga will be reading tonight (Wednesday, 3/29) in the CSUS library gallery at 7:00. Poet's Corner Press published her chapbook, Running Away with Gary the Mattress Salesman, in 2005. The event is free and open to the public.
NIGHT SKY
—R.S. Thomas
What they are saying is
that there is life there, too;
that the universe is the size it is
to enable us to catch up.
They have gone on from the human;
that shining is a reflection
of their intelligence. Godhead
is the colonisation by mind
of untenanted space. It is its own
light, a statement beyond language
of conceptual truth. Every night
is a rinsing of myself of the darkness
that is in my veins. I let the stars inject me
with fire, silent as it is far,
but certain in its cauterising
of my despair. I am a slow
traveller, but there is more than time
to arrive. Resting in the intervals
of my breathing, I pick up the signals
relayed to me from a periphery I comprehend.
_____________________
Speaking of birthdays, yesterday was The Day for littlesnake broadsider Judy Halebsky, whose Almost Turning Over is still available free at The Book Collector, 1008 24th St., Sac., along with the brand new Rattlesnake Review. Getcherself one of each, toot sweet... And Happy B-Day, Judy!
—Medusa
Medusa encourages poets of all ilk and ages to send their poetry and announcements of Northern California poetry events to kathykieth@hotmail.com for posting on this daily Snake blog. Rights remain with the poets. Previously-published poems are okay for Medusa’s Kitchen, as long as you own the rights. (Please cite publication.)