attica-ruth: 2022

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?

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.

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?

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.]

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

Sunday, June 19, 2022

OUR KING

John 18:36

Do you mock, saying, “Behold your king

where he hangs, nailed to a tree”?

Mock on, for by His will

on the cross He reigns still

held not by nails but love

that we may be

from sin’s thrall free.

On the cross He will remain

until He comes again.

We lift our hearts to Him above,

and His praises sing.

AFTER ST. PAUL

Philippians 4:6

My sufferings are marks of your love,

Beloved, the means of my salvation.

My soul, when you make supplication

lift your voice in thanks to Him above.

Shepherd who followed this straying sheep,

hold me close: in your arms may it come

to me, the falling asleep,

till you raise me to take me home.

Tuesday, June 14, 2022

CROWNS

“Love one another as I have loved you.” ~ Jn. 13:34

Your patience, Lord o’erwhelms

my limping mind: seven decades

to prepare it for swift sowing

since harvest time draws near.

Crown of thorns to interpret

sought I vainly; like a flash

was it revealed. We name you King,

Christ Jesus, rejoice to place a crown

upon your head. Ah, how we need

a crownèd king to make

our lives blissful – as each

imagines bliss.

Only humans, crowned by wish

or force, know how the gold,

the gems, as thorns begin to press

yet rarely speak out this truth.

Alas, of many reasons for thorn crown

forced on your head, my God,

is foolish wish for ideal king

in minds like mine, proud of pebbles

from shores of a sea of books –

Platonic ruler regretting

till The Mask of Apollo you lifted

to reveal how little I knew

true kingship: yours.

Your Love is your crown,

Your Kingdom a Heart

opened to draw us in.

Sunday, June 12, 2022

FOR TRINITY SUNDAY

ON THE HOLY TRINITY

St. Catherine of Siena: "O Trinity, eternal Trinity! Fire, abyss of love ...Was it necessary that you should give even the Holy Trinity as food for souls? You gave us not only your Word through the Redemption and in the Eucharist, but you also gave yourself in the fullness of love for your creature."

St. Pope John Paul II: “A great mystery, a mystery of love, an ineffable mystery, before which words must give way to the silence of wonder and worship. A divine mystery that challenges and involves us, because a share in the Trinitarian life was given to us through grace, through the redemptive Incarnation of the Word and the gift of the Holy Spirit.”

St. Francis de Sales (from a consecration prayer to the Trinity): “I vow and consecrate to God all that is in me: My memory and my actions to God the Father; My understanding and my words to God the Son; My will and my thoughts to God the Holy Spirit.”

CONSOLATION & REASSURANCE
Romans 5:1-5

¹Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.²Through him we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in our hope of sharing the glory of God.³More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance,⁴and endurance produces character, and character produces hope,⁵and hope does not disappoint us, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit which has been given to us.

Conclusion of Dante’s Paradiso, and translations

Paradiso: Canto 33: ll 115 – 145

Ne la profonda e chiara sussistenza
de l'alto lume parvermi tre giri
di tre colori e d'una contenenza;

e l'un da l'altro come iri da iri
parea reflesso, e 'l terzo parea foco
che quinci e quindi igualmente si spiri.

Oh quanto e` corto il dire e come fioco
al mio concetto! e questo, a quel ch'i' vidi,
e` tanto, che non basta a dicer 'poco'.

O luce etterna che sola in te sidi,
sola t'intendi, e da te intelletta
e intendente te ami e arridi!

Quella circulazion che si` concetta
pareva in te come lume reflesso,
da li occhi miei alquanto circunspetta,

dentro da se', del suo colore stesso,
mi parve pinta de la nostra effige:
per che 'l mio viso in lei tutto era messo.

Qual e` 'l geometra che tutto s'affige
per misurar lo cerchio, e non ritrova,
pensando, quel principio ond'elli indige,

tal era io a quella vista nova:
veder voleva come si convenne
l'imago al cerchio e come vi s'indova;

ma non eran da cio` le proprie penne:
se non che la mia mente fu percossa
da un fulgore in che sua voglia venne.

A l'alta fantasia qui manco` possa;
ma gia` volgeva il mio disio e 'l velle,
si` come rota ch'igualmente e` mossa,

l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle.

To God the Father

Great God: within whose simple essence, we

Nothing but that which is thyself can find:

When on thyself thou did'st reflect thy mind

Thy thought was God, which took the form of thee:

And when this God thus born, thou lov'st, & he

Loved thee again, with passion of like kind,

(As lovers' sighs, which meet, become one wind)

Both breathed one spright of equal deity.

Eternal father, whence these two do come

And wil'st the title of my father have,

As heavenly knowledge in my mind engrave,

That it thy son's true Image may become:

And sence my heart with sighs of holy Love,

That it the temple of the Spright may prove.

~ Henry Constable

Within the clear profound Light's aureole

Three circles from its substance now appeared,

Of three colours, and each an equal whole.

One its reflection on the next conferred

As rainbow upon rainbow, and the two

Breathed equally the fire that was the third.

To my conception O how frail and few

My words! and that, to what I looked upon,

Is such that 'little' is more than is its due.

O Light Eternal, who in thyself alone

Dwell'st and thyself know'st, and self-understood,

Self-understanding, smilest on thine own!

That circle which, as I conceived-it, glowed

Within thee like reflection of a flame,

Being by mine eyes a little longer wooed,

Deep in itself, with colour still the same,

Seemed with our human effigy to fill,

Wherefore absorbed in it my sight became.

As the geometer who bends all his will

To measure the circle, and how so e'er he try

Fails, for the principle escapes him still,

Such at this mystery new-disclosed was I,

Fain to understand how the image doth alight

Upon the circle, and with its form comply.

But these my wings were fledged not for that flight,

Save that my mind a sudden glory assailed

And its wish came revealed to it in that light.

To the high imagination force now failed;

But like to a wheel whose circling nothing jars

Already on my desire and will prevailed

The Love that moves the sun and the other stars.

~ Laurence Binyon trans.of Dante

My apologies for the mess made by Blogger of my spacing. I have no technical knowledge to correct it.

~ Dante

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