Nothing to Save Us, But Love

—Photo by Joyce Odam

TO MUSICK

(After “To Musick” by Robert Herrick)

—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

I take your word—spell it olde—

impose the distance ever between

the now and then—enter—and be

there—listen for the beginning

that leads to here—that fills

between—that resonates—

that endures—only a thought long

and a yearn away

from what still charms the soul.

and enchants the ears.

________________

SPELLS

—Joyce Odam

 

Take my reluctant hand

with its seven slow lines

that go outward from the palm.

Trace my sad histories

with your discerning fingers;

hum a soft song.

Pull my eyes to your face

and there erase the seven sorrows

that I hide from myself.

Mention the tomorrows;

mention the seven lies that fit.

I will love you. I will leave

my hand in your hand while you

hypnotize my oldest terror.

I will follow you through

your language made of praise

while you gaze me deeper.

Soon I will float through your eyes

and there disguise myself with

seven veils. You will get lost

in them.

 
______________

SUMMONED
—Joyce Odam 

True as the gold light in your eye

that fastened like a sun

to my dark mirage,

a circle of stars, a core of words,

like a power surrounding you.

I was only heat-shimmer—

spinning in the light.

We did not reach,

I was dreaming on a blue ice floe,

you on another.

There was nothing to save us,

but love. Even our souls wept.

 

—Photo by Joyce Odam 

 

CHANT FOR ROPE JUMPERS

—Joyce Odam

catch in a pony tail

tangle the curl

twist in the fingers

rope trip a girl

rope be a measure

rope be the lie

jump to a thousand

and we’ll never die

slap on the sidewalk

snag in the grass

here comes a cripple

don’t let him pass

we never stumble

we never cheat

death fears the rhythm

of our feet

jump into moonlight

night is a hole

rope is a circle

that hands unroll

ninety nine hundred

jump till we drop

here come the mothers

to make us stop.

                

(first pub. in Yankee, 1964 and

Chapbook: The Confetti Within, 1964)

_________________

MEMORIES

—Joyce Odam

one by one I arrange them

on my shelves

sharp and brilliant

like glass

light-catchers

dust-holders

vain and useless

poignant and repetitive

giving in at last to new ones

                  ~

how my collection grows

conjured real

by tricks of incantations

become semi-precious

like stones

held by a spreading shimmer

till they dull and blend

by loss  

by years

each indiscernible

from the other

__________________

BREAKING THE SPELL

—Joyce Odam

It is how you repeat sad phrases to me

in your soft voice that diminishes . . .

                  ~               

If only you could give me music

I might hear . . .

                  ~               

Had you died, I would grieve, but silence

is only silence, as death is death . . .

                  ~               

Your body moved in a quiet dance—

a slow wreathe to the music I could not hear . . .

                  ~

How clever, the music, to escort you

into somewhere unreachable . . .

                  ~               

You turned away into yourself.

Not a shadow, not a mirror followed this . . .

                  ~

I pulled from myself what I knew of you,

all your spells and confusions . . .            

                  ~               

When you returned, it was with nothing you

remembered.  I wept and named you love.

______________

Thanks to Joyce Odam for today’s gourmet cookery, and congratulations to her on her 88^th birthday! We are celebrating the occasion with her first-ever photo album on Medusa’s Facebook page—be sure to check it out!

This week’s Seed of the Week is La Golondrina. It seems like I see her nests everywhere, with giant beaks peaking over them, peering down at me. What do you have to say about La Golondrina—and why hasn’t she returned to Capistrano??

Also: last week our Form to Fiddle With was to write entire stories out of six words. Carl Schwartz stacked the six words rather than putting them out on a single line, giving each one more visual weight and making the form more poem-like. Taylor Graham invented another variation, making each line a six-word story that could stand on its own and then stringing them together with a very loose thread. (See her example, “60-Word Bio”, on our August 1 post.) But Taylor’s form needs a name—any ideas?

And we have a new Form With Which to Fiddle—the idyl/idyll (apparently nobody can decide how to spell it). The examples on Wiki are beautiful but somewhat archaic—nobody says you have to use old-fashioned tongues to admire the bucolic world around you. Let loose your idyllic self however suits you...

___________________

Today's LittleNip:

LOYALTY

—Joyce Odam

You have brought me a love poem,

and I learned its words and sang it back to you.

Your prayers were chants of sorrow.

You made me learn them, and now I pray for you.

You make circles and circles, which I enter.

They are both vanished and deep. Where am I.

Your eyes pull downward, and I find drowning

and a dark sleep. We are so old here.

Our eyes have turned to a grave of sadness.

The other mourners have left, and we no longer weep.

______________

—Medusa

  —Photo by Joyce Odam