Monday, October 10, 2022

 Anyone who would like a PDF copy of the following titles, has only to email me. A message here will reach me, and I will delete it - to protect your email address - as soon as I make a note of that.






Friday, August 05, 2022

PAVANE, and RESPONSE; IN CONCERT; WANG WEI REVISITED

 











So young and yet so grave,

Child, what thoughts

Hold you so still?

Upright, your gaze far-seeing

Beyond the frame

- And the thoughts –

Which hold you in a trance,

Is it the slow-stepped dance

You see, or the cortège?

 © 21 May 2011 by Ruth Heredia

RESPONSE

Child am I no more, dear poet,

And my gaze no more is distant.

Nor does the dance, so lovely, fix my mind,

Nor rites of death make me look grave.

 

Whate'er the thoughts absorbed me once,

Eternity's the one that hovers,

Ever a slight distraction.

Whate'er it was once held my glance,

Now are my eyes fixed ever

On where the Sun’s new risen,

And light flows out the gates of heav’n.

© 21 May 2011 by Ruth Heredia; edited 5 August 2022 by Ruth Heredia

Infanta Margarita Teresa in a Blue Dress, 1659, by Velázquez. Born in 1651, married at 15, she died at 21, from 7 pregnancies in 6 years.

IN CONCERT

They walk in the Fortunate Isles,

The ones who fashion the music:

Some lucid as angels' minds,

Some subtle most like Divinity's –

And these are they whose breath

Stirs in the strains of their music.

 

How but by re-making –

Sinking awhile the self

Into the music's maker –

Can streams be drawn from Elysium,

Magical, clear and true?

 

When maker, music and re-maker

Are one enchanted dream,

Do they smile, Liszt, Beethoven,

As by the stream we linger,

That flows from the Fortunate Isles?

 © 14 May 2012 by Ruth Heredia


WANG WEI REVISITED

(original text)

A new-risen sun – unseen –

had blue-washed the sky to moonstone softness;

silk rolled the river, rippling grey,

shot with flashes of silver and gold.

Small ebony stick-men in small ebony boats

cast nets she must imagine.

Distant cliffs, picked out in malachite,

bowed grotesquely to distant waves;

trees carved in emerald, some in jade,

some dressed in coral, jewelled the mountain.

There mist lingered, or was it smoke

from minute red-roofed houses?

On a rock quite near, alighted a cormorant,

suspicious bulge in his serpentine neck.

Under filigree bridge, on rolled the river,

on to the far-off shimmer of sea.

Like flakes of pearl, seagulls dived

for invisible fish.  A miniature hawk descended

in slow concentric spiral.

 

She mused on Wang Wei, who had passed through a door

in one of his landscapes, to Those Above.

Behind her doors opened – “Breakfast is served”

- and she went through.

Behind her the river scrolled on for ever,

li upon endless li.

 

~ E.M.R.H.           3 October 2012

My only excuse for tampering with your poem was that I liked it so much that I couldn't resist rewriting it in the present tense and making it lighter in tone by editing out tautologous expressions. I have also left out the definite article 'the' with its heavy thud. I plead guilty of unwarranted intrusion. I am assuming you know Ezra Pound's beautiful translations from the Chinese. Especially 'The River Merchant's Wife.'  Birje

Dear Birje, I feel privileged! Thank you so much. You have lifted my poem to another level and taught me much.  Some teachers are born and never lose their 'magic'. Yes, I had met Pound's translations before I met Wang Wei as painter. CHINOISERIE, the story in which I found him, is so good I've attached it. It was copied in 1967 with a fountain pen into an exercise book, from a tightly bound volume of Ellery Queen's Magazine. The ink has faded and the paper is brittle so I transcribed the text to the comp - and being me, illustrated it.

grazie a J B-P

 A new-risen sun – unseen –

washes the sky to moonstone softness;

silk-roll river, rippling grey,

flashes of silver and gold.

Ebony stick-men in ebony boats     ('stick' takes care of small)

cast nets, she imagines.

Distant cliffs, picked out in malachite,

bow grotesquely to distant waves;

trees carved in emerald, some in jade,

some dressed in coral, be-jewel the mountain.

lingering mist. is it smoke

from minute red-tiled houses?

 

On a rock quite near, a cormorant alights,

suspicious bulge in his serpentine neck.

Under filigreed bridge, the river rolls

on to shimmer of sea.

Flakes-of-pearl seagulls dive

for invisible fish.  A miniature hawk descends

in slow spiral.          ( a spiral is concentric)

She mused on Wang Wei, who had passed through a door

in one of his landscapes, to Those Above.

A door opens behind her, “Breakfast is served”

 

The river scrolls on         (endless takes care of 'forever.') 

li upon endless li.

 

[In Ezra Pound style, Birje amends my poem [highlighting done by me], as Pound did with Eliot’s The Wasteland. In fact Pound’s corrections transformed Eliot’s poem in a way that is a huge surprise to anyone who has been taught to respect Eliot as a great poet!

Our correspondence was on the day of composition; poem published as amended by Birje.] 

 © 3 October 2012 by Ruth Heredia

My dear teacher at university, and later my friend, Dr. J. Birjepatil, particularly liked my poems inspired by art, and the one inspired by performers of music [see above]. Two memories produced the Wang Wei poem: the description in Chinoiserie by Helen McCoy, of a long-lost scroll painted by Wang Wei, and a morning at the Mangalore Club which overlooks the Netravathi River, with Debussy's solo piano music playing on a cassette in a little player. That was in the mid-1970s.

IN CONCERT was written, though two years later, in response to hearing a live recording of Liszt's Piano Sonata in B minor; and live broadcasts, heard 'live', from the Proms of 2010, of Paul Lewis playing all five of Beethoven's piano concertos.

Life's exigencies have dimmed the first amazed and enthralled sense of being in the room as the composers themselves played their music.... But the gratitude remains, a perfume from that far-off time.

Ruth Heredia is the originator and holds the copyright to all material on this blog unless credited to some source. Please do not use it or pass it off as your own work. That is theft. If you wish to link it, quote it, or reprint in whole or in part, please be courteous enough to seek my permission.

If anyone wishes to read a collection made in 2017 of my verse, please write asking for REFRACTIONS, and state your email address - which will not appear here. No charge, only respect my copyright.


Wednesday, August 03, 2022

PEARL ~ retrieved from 10 years ago!

 









Lit within, lit without,

Swathed in glow of sun and sea,

Girl with a drop of light

Nestled against your cheek;

Turning, just-parted lips

Rosy from the touch of his brush;

Who were you, who are you,

Enigmatic child?

Whence comes that look,

What can it mean,

In your mind, or in his?

 

A pearl suspended from her ear,

Her luminous face

Laid gently on

A backdrop dark as night,

Gathers into her eyes

And porcelain cheek

Reflection of his mastery of light.

 

A moment, a gleam, a thought, a smile

Fixed – despite philosophy –

In a pearl that hangs in her ear,

Whose face lights up the night.

 © 1 August 2012 by Ruth Heredia

 

Ruth Heredia is the originator and holds the copyright to all material on this blog unless credited to some source. Please do not use it or pass it off as your own work. That is theft. If you wish to link it, quote it, or reprint in whole or in part, please be courteous enough to seek my permission.


Monday, July 25, 2022

TWO LOVES

To have my love for Thee grow,

Space must I make for its flow

Into my every part,

O’erflowing from my heart.


For thy Love too, I yearn;

Ponder thy Word to learn

How I may live free of sin,

That thy Love may grow within.


That our loves mingled may rise,

Lifted to the prize

My soul yearns for, to be

Ever a part of Thee:

Nestled in thy Heart

Never from Thee to part.

  

© 25 July 2022 by Ruth Heredia

 

 

Ruth Heredia is the originator and holds the copyright to all material on this blog unless credited to some source. Please do not use it or pass it off as your own work. That is theft. If you wish to link it, quote it, or reprint in whole or in part, please be courteous enough to seek my permission.


Friday, July 22, 2022

AGONY IN THE GARDEN

 









(after El Greco & his Studio)


Rocks surround Him, closing in:

friends’ failure; betrayal; hatred relentless.

Fiat voluntas tua non mea

face radiant in surrender

He lifts to compassionate angel

bearing the Cup He accepted.

 

Tested not a fraction of His trial,

I am bidden bear my burden

to that door where He waits,

to lead me into Light Eternal.

 

© 21 July 2022 by Ruth Heredia

 

 

Ruth Heredia is the originator and holds the copyright to all material on this blog unless credited to some source. Please do not use it or pass it off as your own work. That is theft. If you wish to link it, quote it, or reprint in whole or in part, please be courteous enough to seek my permission.


Sunday, July 10, 2022

TWILIGHT

 







 




May your love, O Lord, make me

what I was called to be

the words sing out from the liturgy

in your heavenly city,

your Bride on earth.


It is time, says Hosea, to go

seeking the Lord.  Here below

asking, knocking, waiting, though

my life takes another blow,

I see your broken knees.


Holding back the cries, the tears,

with your promise battling fears,

I long for, feel the end nears

while these words sound in my ears:

“I did not think

the waiting would be so long.”


© 10 July 2022 by Ruth Heredia

Archbishop Georg Gänswein recalled that Benedict XVI once told him “I would never have believed that the last stretch of the journey ... would be so long.”


WORDS

Words are worlds, they hold

high hill, rich plain,

field, forest, fountain,

rivers and seas.

Words have sound;

in my ear they sing;

in my mind spreading

ripple-like their meaning;

they come from the One,

the Word, the Father’s Son,

around me, within me,

my very life, my true love.


© 10 July 2022 by Ruth Heredia

 

Ruth Heredia is the originator and holds the copyright to all material on this blog unless credited to some source. Please do not use it or pass it off as your own work. That is theft. If you wish to link it, quote it, or reprint in whole or in part, please be courteous enough to seek my permission.


Wednesday, June 22, 2022

LOVE THOUGHTS


“Thy love” runs the prayer; not so

think I.  Thou hast not love, for

Thou art Love; it is Thy very being.

Father art Thou: how may’st Thou be

Save by having children?  Such as I?

Yea, many better, some worse,

All thy children be.  Though some reject,

Despise Thee, O Jesus who died for me,

And rose in true Manhood, true Divinity.

How but Love art Thou, Holy Spirit,

Advocate, Assistance Divine,

Who giveth me Counsel, Comfort,

Strength?  Thou who art Gift,

Gift-Giver, Life's spring, Love’s flame,

Me sustain, as saveth Corpus Christi

A soul all His own, for Love it claims.

 POSTLUDE

I asked to be filled

With love for the Lord;

He took me at my word,

And now my soul longs

For Him, nor will be stilled

Until with Him to whom it belongs.

 

© 22 June 2022 by Ruth Heredia


Ruth Heredia is the originator and holds the copyright to all material on this blog unless credited to some source. Please do not use it or pass it off as your own work. That is theft. If you wish to link it, quote it, or reprint in whole or in part, please be courteous enough to seek my permission.