On Irony and Love Songs with Grapefruit and Pomegranate

Some people… wrap themselves in a thick blanket of irony of sarcasm and greet every expression of sentiment or affection with a sneer. We’ve all seen our share of these tough guys and gals, who curse or ridicule every expression of what really matters. “How banal, how boring!” they say, when they hear a sweet love poem, like the one below (first published in the Emerging Urban Poets 2010 Calendar). I remember, I was like that, too, deeply wounded and hiding my pain under a mask of worldly indifference. There was no hope, no future, only the reward for work done in the present. All love declarations I heard were a gigantic lie. The Universe was wrong, all around me. We lived in Hell. Or so I thought.  In my new life vision the Hell part has been upgraded to the level of Purgatory, the place of atonement, relentless testing, endless life exams. Yet, there is hope, there is love, and there are glimpses of Heaven.

The concept of “irony” (from the Greek term εἰρωνεία eirōneía, “pretended ignorance”) is a great invention of romantic heroes, starting from Lord Byron, who protected their vulnerability with an armor of disaffection, finding themselves alienated from the whole world. It still is a useful literary device, but why is it wrong to be ironic in life? To spend your life so well armored, that no real emotion may pierce it? That’s exactly why. This separation from others, this distance, alienation, is the plunge of the soul into the emptiness of a spiritual void. Ugly things become possible: indifference, cruelty, unwillingness to help others, to care for anyone at all, but your own career goals or physical comfort. 

I was going to say I “hate” irony but that’s not true, I do not hate anything, nor anyone. I have pity instead. I consciously cultivate in myself an ability to be filled with love and compassion for everyone. (Do I fail in that? Of course, but it is not giving up that matters…) The moral choice of refusing to be ironic, in life or art, may have unpleasant consequences. Some “real” poets would think me silly, and my love poetry sappy and trite, as I happily write a next sweet line while listening to the rich mezzosoprano of Patsy Cline or Ella Fitzgerald, warm as liquid honey: “I’ll be loving you… always… with the love that’s true… always….” 

These words were once addressed to a real person, just as my encounter in the garden really happened… but I don’t think we need to know such details, to feel refreshed and nourished by love.

The bitter-sweet pink grapefruit and the baby pomegranates from my garden are a perfect illustration of our topic for today.

A Portrait in Brackets

               “… you promise eternity almost, from the embrace.”

                     Reiner Maria Rilke, The Second Elegy, Duino Elegies

I love every hair on your head

every wrinkle, the round scar

in the middle of your forehead

like Cain’s mark – you are

the chosen one, the untouchable

The little freckles on your nose

shine – endearing, childlike

It was supposed to be

summertime when they came

Here’s summer all the time, already

My love stirs for your full, half-open lips

waiting for my kisses, as I caress

the sharp contours of your cheeks –

I hold them in my cupped hands

looking straight into your eyes

There is no world

only us and the birdsong

at noon in my garden

I love the quiet confidence

of your fingers, skillful hands

like my father’s – solid, able

to fix things, take care of me

I touch your skin, tracing a line

down the nose, soft lips, and chin

I brush against the prickles

of your goatee, before reaching

a sweet spot on your neck

Below your shoulders, under

the smoothness of hard muscles

the bell of your heart welcomes me

The blood sings in your veins, love

surges towards me – I do I do I do

I rest my head on your chest

and listen to your heart

that beats and beats and never

stops playing the music 

© 2009 by Maja Trochimczyk. Published in 2010 Calendar, Emerging Urban Poets, Pasadena.

A Lesson for My Daughter

After a ruby-colored glass of Merlot

I told my daughter the secret of the Universe.

I solved it at noon, by the river

Questions, as I thought, do not matter

The right answers to life are “Yes”

And “I Love You”

If you build a circle of “Yes” all around

Affirming who you really are

You will be safe

If you say “I Love You” to everyone

near you –  very quietly, so they can’t hear

but you know

You will walk in a sphere of gladness

That no insult or curse

May pierce

You will find yourself hidden deeply

Where love blossoms, laughter bubbles

And joy overflows

© 2006 by Maja Trochimczyk 

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This article and two poems are published in the June issue of The Voice of the Village.

Photos from my garden - grapefruit and pomegranate.

On Virtues and Gratitude in Time for Thanksgiving

For my class on Ethics and Values in the Arts that I taught at the Pitchess Detention Center in Castaic, I tried to simplify the centuries of moral teaching into a clear scheme that's easy to visualize and remember. I came up with an idea of focusing on virtues, and selected Four Cardinal Virtues as the core. I enriched this framework with what I called the Four Moral Actions. Below are fragments of my introduction that outline some of these fruitful ideas. I end with a couple of poems on gratitude, that I'm gradually learning every day.

On Cardinal Virtues and Moral Actions

What is a Virtue? Virtues are character traits that help individuals orient their lives towards a greater good. Virtues help people act properly, morally. The word “virtue” stems from a Latin root, “virtus” – which, in turn, comes from the word “vir” – “man.” The dictionary definition brings together several related meanings:

• 1. Moral excellence; goodness; righteousness.
• 2. Conformity of one's life and conduct to moral/ethical principles; uprightness; rectitude.
• 3. A particular moral excellence, like cardinal virtues
• 4. A good or admirable quality or property: the virtue of knowing one's weaknesses.

A traditional list is that of the Seven Contrary Virtues which are opposites of the Seven Deadly Sins:

• Humility – the opposite of Pride
• Kindness – the opposite of Envy
• Abstinence – the opposite of Gluttony
• Chastity – the opposite of Lust
• Patience – the opposite of Anger
• Liberality – the opposite of Greed
• Diligence – the opposite of Sloth

Its focus on the negative, the deadly sins merely mirrored in the positive attributes, has underscored centuries of moral education that centered on avoidance of evil and fear of punishment, instead of pursuit of the greater good for good’s sake. The purpose of virtues is to act more human, to help create and strengthen societal bonds based on love (trust, honesty, fairness) and to help each individual succeed in his or her pursuit of personal happiness.

In the 20th century, a French philosopher, Andre Comte-Sponville wrote a treatise about 18 different virtues, which included all the above Spiritual/Cardinal Virtues and more. This set of virtues appears in the context of his atheistic and humanistic philosophy: Politeness, Fidelity, Prudence, Temperance, Courage, Justice, Generosity, Compassion, Mercy, Gratitude, Humility, Simplicity, Tolerance, Purity, Gentleness, Good Faith, Humor, Love.

 The unusual list includes the “pre-virtue” of politeness with a surprising and the novel virtue of humor. The discussion of these virtues will be focused on their links to underlying values – physical, psychological or spiritual, and their expressions from the values of being useful, through being pleasurable, to being, to being spiritual.

What about the Cardinal Virtues?

They were outlined in the classic antiquity by Aristotle and Plato:

•  Courage (Fortitude), 
• Wisdom (Prudence), 
• Justice, and 
• Moderation (Restraint, Temperance).

These “four cornerstones of the soul” have been taught to generations to create a moral framework for individual lives and create a balance between the excesses of each of these virtues appearing by itself, in isolation. In the four-part ethical framework presented here, the severity of Justice is balanced by the gentleness of Wisdom (Prudence), which, without the urgent sense of fairness could devolve into fear and inaction. The bravado of Courage (Fortitude) is balanced by the meekness of Moderation (Temperance, Restraint), which, without the passion of courage, may result in withdrawal and passivity.

The image of the “cardinal” virtues is related to the “cardinal points” on a map (North-East-South-West), as a compass for moral life. In a graphic representation, the virtues are located at 0, 90, 180, and 270 degrees on the circle, with the heart of an individual in its center. In another image, they form a circle around a central point and connect to one another; thus surrounding and protecting the core of one’s being.
The balancing act of practicing the cardinal virtues requires a focus on the present, on this infinitely small point in time in which we live, constantly moving from the past to the future. It is by paying attention to present actions, thoughts, and emotions, and by seeking the proper balance of justice with wisdom, and courage with moderation, that an individual may act in a virtuous way and may set a course of his/her life towards real happiness.

The four cardinal virtues, practiced in a way that they balance each other and help the individual remain in the center: courage will be tempered by moderation, wisdom will inform justice. The virtues will change the invisible attitude but will be visibly expressed in moral actions. The direction for the cardinal virtues, the “needle of the compass” are the three spiritual virtues: faith (in one’s own goodness and potential on the one hand and in the goodness of the world on the other), hope (in one’s ability to accomplish one’s goals in the future and in the benevolence of others who will be helpful and will share one’s successes and help on the spiritual path) and love (for oneself and others, spreading from within in concentric circles from the nearest kin and closest friends, to all people).

THE CORNERSTONE

Justice: Do what's right, what's fair.

Fortitude:  Keep smiling. Grin and bear.

Temperance: Don't take more than your share.

Prudence: Choose wisely. Think and care.

Find yourself deep within your heart

               In a circle of cardinal virtues

                                  The points of your compass

                                                    YOUR CORNERSTONE.

Once you've mastered the steps, new ones appear:

Faith:   You are not alone . . .
Hope:  And all shall be well . . .
Love:    The very air we breathe

                          WHERE WE ARE. . .

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The poem may be recited by a group of at least three participants -  the colors indicate individual voices and the text in black font and caps is said by the whole group. Try it!

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Virtues in Practice: Moral Actions

In order to be fully effective and surround the individual with a protective circle that will ensure selecting the best option from thousands of possible choices, the Cardinal Virtues should be associated with a mirror framework of four Moral Actions that both modify and express them.

• Compassion (Justice) – I am compassionate, I share pain
• Forgiveness (Courage) – I am forgiving, I let go of pain
• Generosity (Moderation) – I am generous, I share joy
• Gratitude (Wisdom) – I am grateful, I thank for joy

I selected these four Moral Actions from a multitude of possibilities as echoes or reflections of emotions with which they are bound; these are the opposite of such actions that would result from fully giving in to negative emotions.Compassion or co-suffering is an antidote for anger and grief; it helps break the isolation and alienation caused by the negativity of violence (anger) or withdrawal (grief). Forgiveness breaks apart the toxic shame and fear that again, prevent us from integrating ourselves into whole and healthy individuals and connecting to others in a healthy, well-adjusted way. It is, by far, the hardest of all Moral Actions, as it is based on overcoming the consequences of profound traumas, seared in the memory of pain. Generosity reaches out to the others, while Gratitude permeates the person and all the individual actions with a spirit of thankfulness that lights it all up with joy from within.

The Moral Actions, when taken and practiced together, unify a person’s core being around positive, healing attitude that extend from self to others, from an individual self-definition, to the self-in-the-world. Compassion and Generosity breaks the isolation and create communities. Forgiveness and Gratitude have the greatest healing impact internally, when applied to oneself. Practicing these Moral Actions, based within Cardinal Virtues is a transformative act that results in the healing of an individual person while simultaneously healing the world. Through the practice of Virtue, the present moment is permeated with positive Moral Actions.

Justice is truly “fair” when it is based on compassion, defined as shared suffering, “feeling for/with the other,” or “I know your pain.” Courage to forgive is far more powerful than courage to fight, it is far more liberating than courage to merely endure and survive. Forgiveness gives rise to courage, courage to forgiveness. The generosity of sharing joy may be the one difference between a true saint and an ordinary moral person. For the ordinary person, lacking the convictions or the endurance of a saint, generosity is to be tempered by Moderation, all actions made within reason. True Wisdom arises from gratitude: we are deeply thankful for every opportunity to feel, live and share, grateful for every day, every breath. Immanuel Kant (1724-1804) expressed the feeling of universal gratitude in a beautiful maxim: “Two things awe me the most: the starry sky above me and the moral law within me.”

Intertwined with the Cardinal Virtues, the four Moral Actions form yet another protective circle of goodness. Compassion and Generosity are primarily directed outside the circle, towards others whose suffering we understand and with whom we share our gifts. Forgiveness and Gratitude are primarily directed inwardly. We heal ourselves first; we learn to be thankful for our own gifts first. Then we can turn towards the others. The image of oxygen masks falling down on the plane is appropriate here: the adult passengers have to put on, adjust and fasten their own masks first, and only later, while already able to breathe, they should turn to take care of others. We heal ourselves by forgiving ourselves first and by learning to be thankful for the little things in life. Then, we can go on and find a place, mission, or purpose for our future Moral Actions concerning others.

___________________________________

SONG OF GRATITUDE

Love’s gift cannot be given, It waits to be accepted
~ Rabindranath Tagore, “Fireflies”

I’m filled with gratitude. It makes me sleepy.
I’m ready to purr with contentment
like a stray cat that found its pillow.

The warmth of satiation shines
a smile plays in the corner of my mouth,
full of your kisses - the softest kind.

My lungs expand with fresh afternoon breeze
bearing a hint of orange blossoms
Too early for jasmine. I close my eyes.

I live in the moment when our togetherness
slipped from my fingers. I listen
to the monotone chant of the mourning dove.

I watch the ruckus of house sparrows
fighting for a crumb on a cement path
overgrown with weeds, sprouting through crevices.

Life is stronger than stone.

I’m grateful for each breath
filled with loving you. I rest
in this knowledge, this air...

The Good One, the All-Knowing Wisdom
will not deny my prayers. Shameless, insistent,
I’m the dove that refuses to be silent.

This is my song. This is my melody,
My thankfulness, my Amen.

Let it be, God, let him be. 


(c) 2009 by Maja Trochimczyk

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A Box of Peaches

You locked your Wisdom in a gilded box
Placed dainty flowers where metal bars
Cross to hold them

You made a window for Compassion
To look out from onto the world

Glowing with the unseen

Would the talisman of the Smiling One

In your pocket save you? Draw luck
To your game of cards?

Let it be, let the ancient words fall

On a carpet of bronze petals on your path
Dappled with tree shadows 

Walk slowly through the magic

Orchard filled with an avalanche of peaches
Ripening in the sunset

Stoop down to pick one, feel its warmth
In your hand, taste the mellow richness
beneath the fuzzy, wrinkled skin

Say to no one in particular
The sun maybe, or the tree, or this late hour – 
Thank you, yes, thank you very much


(c) 2011 by Maja Trochimczyk

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NOTE: Photos of pomegranates and Liquid Amber trees in Sunland, November 2012 by Maja Trochimczyk.  The peaches were too early. We ate them in July.

On the Golden Hands of Mercy

What is "mercy"? The Feast of Divine Mercy has recently been added to the Catholic calendar - scheduled a week after Easter, it comes from a series of revelations of Saint Faustyna Kowalska, who brought back the old message of love: Agape, Charitas, Loving-kindness. Many names, one core of welcoming, forgiving - up to seventy-seven times and counting. This too may become a quiant old-fashioned tradition, like crowning the figures of Mary with wreaths of flowers in the Polish countryside, or carrying copies of her venerated icon from home to home, or walking to her shrines in a pilgrimages. Non-Catholics bristle and balk at such excessive displays of popular piety. Some Catholics do, too, with the exception of the immensely popular pulp-fiction writer Father Andrew Greeley, who often wrote in defense of "folk religiosity."

While it is hard to relate to symptoms of "folk religiosity" in one's own spiritual tradition (I never got over the shock of seeing the dried-up tongue of St. Anthony on display in a crystal case in his Basilica in Padua, Italy), it might be even harder to relate to a tradition decidedly not one's own. For me, Buddhism and its various Asian embodiments are as foreign as the tongue of St. Anthony.

I understand, intellectually, that people need sacred imagery to have a tangible connection to the spiritual world. Yet, I feel completely estranged from these visual manifestations of what is destined to be "sacred" and portray the hidden and mysterious aspects of life, yet appears to be crass and vulgar, if not downright bizarre. Of course, the core of Buddhism is as "merciful" and "enlightened" as any major spiritual tradition aiming at individual self-improvement and evolution towards goodness.

Here's a poem I wrote about a sculpture of Quan-yin, a Buddist Boddisathva or "enlightened being" associated with mercy, kindness and forgiveness. The golden sculpture with multiple hands handing various symbolic artefacts is found in the permanent collection of the Pacific Asia Museum in Pasadena. I was trying to reach beyond the surface and get to the meaning of these symbolic objects and the core of the message that the sculpture represents - meditation, prayer, mercy... The poem was written for and first read at the presentation of the "Poetry Audio Tour" of the museum's collection in 2009. It was published in the anthology associated with this event by Poets on Site (edited by Kathabela Wilson). Actually, another poem of mine is a part of the Audio Tour itself - "Illuminata" - inspired by a Buddhist crown from Nepal. That poem may be found on the website of the Museum and in other places.


The "Gates of Mercy," or "Arms of Mercy" or "Hands of Mercy" - as the poem below has been called in its various reincarnations - describes the sculpture, yet seeks a hidden meaning in its multitude of gestures. Above is a reading from 2009 posted on YouTube.

The poem was recently reprinted in the San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly vol. 53 (Spring 2012), along with poems by 40 other poets. The reading from this Quarterly was held on March 4, 2012 at the Pasadena Public Library, Catalina Branch. I also included the poem in the anthology Meditations on Divine Names. What can I say? I wrote it and I like it...


The Hands of Mercy

The golden hands of Quan-yin
embrace the world, point to the subtle
meaning of wisdom, give us tools
for enlightenment – a jewel
to grant all wishes, a rope
to tie us to the rule of the law
– immutable, gentle, persistent –
a globe to remind us that
the Wheel of Fortune is spherical
– so many ways of falling off –
and a horn to call for help in distress
– wait, you are not alone –

Quan-yin smiles with approval.
There is still time for a shy gesture
of affection, reaching out to caress
the cheeks of the loved one
– you are real, you are here –

Light fills me to my fingertips,
circulates through my veins
dhyana mudra – anjali mudra
My palms open and close.
I smile like the Goddess
of Mercy with veiled eyes,
hands clasped in twin gestures
of meditation and prayer
open – closed – open –

NOTE: Quan-yin is a Buddhist deity (bodhisattva) of compassion, sometimes portrayed with multiple arms to represent her various attributes. Dhyana mudra is an open-palmed gesture of meditation, Anjali mudra is a gesture of touching hands in salutation, or benediction.

The Golden Rule of Compassion

Compassion - co-suffering, shared feeling. This concept of Latin roots in two words, meaning "with" and "suffer" is the key to major religious traditions of the modern world. It may be found in Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism and Buddhism.

The Buddha said: "Compassion is that which makes the heart of the good move at the pain of others. It crushes and destroys the pain of others; thus, it is called compassion. It is called compassion because it shelters and embraces the distressed." Dalai Lama explained: "If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion."

Compassion is more active and engaged than mere empathy; it implies action based on altruistic, charitable motives. It means living connected to others: to their emotions, their distress, their pain. There is no human society that is truly and fully human without compassion.

In the Western ethical tradition, the beginnings of compassion are summarized in the Golden Rule: "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you..." Ancient Chinese knew it as: ""Never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself." (Confucius). Buddhist teachings phrase it as: "Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful." (Udanavarga 5:18). In 1993, the Parliament of the World's Religions, representing 143 faith organizations, passed a "Declaration Toward the Global Ethics" including the Golden Rule as the shared principle of all religions: ""We must treat others as we wish others to treat us."

How do we express it in contemporary world? How do we hear its voice in the incessant noise of the overwhelming barrage of information, mostly useless, and mostly ignored through the phenomenon of "partial attention." In order to feel connected and share the suffering of others, we need to focus on them, pay attention to other people in an intimate, personal way. Great spiritual traditions used "focal points" of stories or deities to make sure that the faithful paid attention.

A Buddhist monk lived a life "moved by mercy and, living compassionately, is kind to all creatures that have life." During the recent lecture of the Dalai Lama to students at USC, he talked about the difficulty he had with taking the life of a mosquito, he would not kill the first one that bit him, nor the second, third or fourth. Instead he would gently blow at them, trying to make them fly away. But by the fifth bite, his patience would being to run thin... Apparently, mosquitoes are the Dalai Lama's pet peeve and compassion for these pesky insects is extremely hard to practice.

Let us leave mosquitoes to their vices, then, and turn to noble swans. The range of "swan" stories is quite fascinating. In the West, we are all familiar with the "Ugly duckling" story of a swan raised not to know his true, regal nature, expected to be a mere duck and live among the common fowl. The magnificent self-discovery is the tale's timeless attraction: don't we all want to be enchanting swans, rather than quacking and waddling ducks? Another "swan" story is that of the Swan Lake and the myths surrounding this dark story with evil sorcerers and tragic loss, all the way up to the cinematographic and haunting in its spiritual darkness, the Black Swan.

But who has heard of Buddha's swans? The story is as follows: When the Swan King was caught in a hunter's trap and his leg started bleeding, all the other swans flew away. All, but one, his closest friend who refused to abandoned the injured King. When the hunter came back for his prey, the faithful swan begged him to free the Swan King so they could both fly away. Moved by the altruistic behavior of the second bird, risking his own life for that of his friend, the hunter let both birds free. The King of Swans was Buddha himself, teaching a lesson of self-sacrifice and friendship. The core virtue of this story is compassion.

In my poem, describing a sculpture found in the permanent collection of the Pacific Asia Museum, "Usha" is a Vedic/Hindu goddess of dawn and "Ushnisha" means a three dimensional topknot or crown on Buddha's head - a sign of enlightenment. Both words are used more for the sound effect than meaning, though ascent and illumination at dawn is an old spiritual theme. "Numinous" refers to the power or presence of divinity - I look at the Buddha through my Christian eyes, seeking divine signs and lessons everywhere.

Buddha with Swans

Swans embrace
on Buddha’s breastplate,
below his heavy-lidded
eyes and a half-smile
overshadowed
by the massive crown.

Usha towers above
Ushnisha. Dawn rises
over spiky bronze prongs,
wings on the shoulders.

He is covered in glory,
his mind ascends already
into the lucid distance of yes.

The left hand gathers love
from the world as a gift
to the other universe,
where all is always well.
The right hand sternly points
down to the earth.

Straight fingers, simple laws –
stand upright, patiently wait
for the rain of blessings
to fall upon you with the weight
of Buddha's crown.

On his chest, the swans
embrace, faintly shining
in the numinous wreath
of the present.



In the second poem, called "Illuminata" (the enlightened one), I refer to another core Buddhist principle: the renunciation of all desire, as the foundation for wisdom and compassion. Except, in my Western zeal for self-betterment, I really, really, really "want that crown" - thus, paradoxically, giving in to the desire that makes it impossible to attain enlightenment. "Avalokiteshvara" - a strange, eight-armed figure that is portrayed either seated or dancing, is an embodiment of infinite compassion. This Buddhist saint (Bodhisattva) was an enlightened one who refused to enter the blissful state of Nirvana in order to stay among people and help them ascend spiritually.

Illuminata

I want that crown.

That one. In the middle,
right above the eight-armedjavascript:void(0)
Avalokiteshvara of gilded
bronze with blue paint.

I want that crown.

I want the divine light
to paint my thoughts
with the blue of wisdom,
with the gold of compassion.

I want my eyes to sparkle
with the jewel hues
of enlightenment.

I want to soar in the song
of the mountain peaks,
breathe their rarefied air.

I want that crown.


(C) 2009 by Maja Trochimczyk

________________________________________

NOTES:

Written in 2009 for the tour of the permanent collection of the Pacific Asia Museum, the first poem is a description of a Seated Buddha sculpture from Myanmar (Burma), wearing a high crown and body armor. The second poem refers to a crown worn in Buddhist processions in Nepal.

Both poems were first published in a chapbook edited by Kathabela Wilson for Poets on Site, Pasadena, 2009.

"Usha" is a Vedic/Hindu goddess of dawn and "Ushnisha" means a three dimensional topknot or crown on Buddha's head - a sign of enlightenment. Both words are used more for the sound effect than meaning, though ascent and illumination at dawn is an old spiritual trope.

The digital collages (c) 2009 by Maja Trochimczyk use the images of the crown and of the sculpture accompanied by an enlarged detail from the armor with the two swans embracing.

"All is always well" - paraphrased quote from T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets.

Happy Mother's Day, Everyone!

Yes, you can find love in the streets of Los Angeles. I did - here it is! In time for the controversial exhibition at MOCA, making graffiti into art. I must say I will not attend this exhibition, yet another at MOCA I found a reason to miss. To put it simply: I do not like graffiti Tagging, to me, is what it is: the equivalent of dogs urinating to mark their territory, stinking ugly. Still... that heart on the utility box was painted over in a boring grey shade and I really missed it while driving to work. The heart reappeared recently, but without any text, nor tags, just in red.

Making "art in the streets" inspired painter Susan Dobay to create a beautiful collage from a photograph she took in Budapest. A young violinist, in a drab navy sweater and skirt, plays music in the street, while her baby looks on from his baby carriage. The open violin case waits for donations, which are not coming in the drizzle. I found something magical in this moment, looking at the scene transformed by Susan's art. I wrote a poem, one of a series inspired by her art. It was published in our community paper last May. Another poem on a painting by Susan Dobay, the Awakenings appeared here not long ago. I have to re-post the melancholy Shelled Sunset. Here's a tribute to Susan Dobay's "Violinist in the Street."


Mama’s Music

(After a collage by Susan Dobay)

The milk bottle is in the bag
but little Leo is smiling.
He likes watching the street.
He likes the music Mama makes
with those strange things she holds.
He gurgles happily at the sound
of the coins dropped into the box.

He stretches his arms to catch a sun ray
shining on them from an overcast sky
above the cobblestones and a magic tree
that grew from the sweet melodies
flowering with star dust. Maybe it will drop
bright blossoms on her dark skirt,
make her pretty like the ladies that listen?
They will go home when it starts to rain.
She is happy just to have the music
flowing from under her bow –
andante, tranquillo, legato.

________________________________________________

Another artistic friendship and a shared artwork connect me to another Susan, a wonderful poet and all-together-inspirational-and-inspired person made of light, Susan Rogers. We wrote poems based on the same painting. Mine was called "Always" and found the sweetness of old country music in that sugary landscape. Susan thought about her Mom. She posted her poem on this blog once already, as a comment to my poem about Patsy Cline and her landscape of love. Here it is again, in celebration of Mother's Day.

With You Always

~ for Jane

(by Susan Rogers)

It was supposed to be
just this way-
a watercolor world
lit by the clear, clear light
that happens only after rain.
You are lit here too
and so am I.
You who gave me
all the words I know
to describe the world
have become that world—
the colors bursting into
names: “Look, the sky
is peacock blue,
the grass is apple green.
See the peaches
in the clouds, persimmon
in the nearby hill, olive
where the branches lean.”
I couldn’t yet walk,
but you wheeled me
everywhere.
The stroller was my chariot
and you— my charioteer
pointing out the poetry
in every object,
every phrase
until my world filled
with the sound of your voice
and my eyes knew,
my ear knew, my mind knew
the wonder that lives inside
all spoken words.
When I was almost grown
you told me the story
of how you described the universe
giving me my gift of words.
I laughed, but never properly replied.
I wanted to bring you colors

of rain washed air,
to walk beside you when you
couldn’t see the lavender
anymore in mountains,
or the mustard in fields
where dandelions bloom—
and describe for you how beautiful
the colors are in the after light of rain,
how everything seems deeper—
even the water soaked grain
on the bark of trees.
In the picture that I paint
we are walking up a path
in the late afternoon—
we are bathed in the clear gold light
that fills a sky with promise.
I am pointing out a tree
with avocado leaves
streaked with teal.
It has just rained.


In gratitude for my mother
who gave me the gift of words
and for Kotofumi Tsukuri who created them.

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Photo of grafitti in Lake View Terrace (c) 2010 by Maja Trochimczyk.
Poem by Susan Rogers used by permission.
"Violinist on the Street" by Susan Dobay used by permission.
"With You Always" by Minoru Ikeda - from the collection of Maja Trochimczyk.

 

Easter Wishes and Awakenings

Who said that Easter is about pastel flowers, cute rabbits that lay eggs and are made of chocolate, and fluffy dresses with matching hats? Medieval sculptors, carving the emaciated body of Christ, covered with realistic wounds and blood droplets, had an entirely different vision. Mary of Magdalen had a vision, too: the gardener, she thought, but it was He, and she realized her mistake only when He said, "Noli me tangere..." - "Do not touch me..."

Our love wants to be physical, fluffy, tangible, warm, sensuous. It is very hard to imagine a different kind of love, something greater, unique and universal, human and divine, always the same and always new. The true colors of Easter are the intense reds of the blood spilled on the Cross; the intense purples of coagulated droplets and the sorrow of Good Friday, a day of absence; the dazzling gold shine of flames of a new fire during Easter Vigil; and the brilliance of Easter bells ringing, ringing up to Heaven on that astounding, joyous morning, when all, finally, is well, once for all.

Instead of Easter wishes this year, I wrote a poem about the end of the world. It is really Harry Mulisch's fault. He should not have written that novel about the Discovery of Heaven, which is, actually, about the Discovery of Hell - unseen and distant God takes His Commandments back from the unfaithful, sinful humanity, leaving the traitors to their chosen fate in the Kingdom of Satan. That's what Mulisch's imagined and convincingly described. In the novel, the astronomer who finally discovered Heaven is killed by angels with a meteorite, so he fails to share the secret.

His son becomes the new Messiah, finds the stone tablets, as blue as the lapis-lazuli of his eyes, and takes them up to Heaven, floating in the air, surrounded by a whirlwind of Hebrew letters detached from the holy precepts that were ignored and disobeyed for far too long.



Here's my "Easter Apocalypsis" illustrated, appropriately, with a fading, dying rose.

Easter Apocalypsis

~ After "The Discovery of Heaven" by Harry Mulisch

It is coming. The angels know.
They dwell in their Piranesi castles,
twisted spaces where outside
is inside. They are not indifferent.
Not too smart for their own good.
Not cruel. They don’t tell us.

The end is coming, it is near.
Not death, mind you, not that
Ugly spinster without its twin.
No. The end of the end. Finis.
The satin fabric of a wedding dress
Trails behind the steps of a beauty
Gliding towards her beloved.

The river’s end tastes of salt
In its own mouth, opened widely
Into the waves of the ocean. Nothing
we can do will stop it. Just stretch
Your tired fingers, let the water
Cool your skin.

Why resist? Heraclitus
Dipped his toes in this river.
Shape-note singers praised it.
Saints dove in and swam around,
Luxuriating in incandescent glories
That passed us by.

The end is coming,
Flowing down the slopes.
Let’s sit on the porch, doze off
In honeyed sunlight, before it
Disappears, transfigured.

Let us believe there will be
Light, enough light inside us
- That kindling of kindness,
A half-forgotten smile -
To keep us afloat in the final flood
Coming, coming to erase the world
And remake it, anew, bejeweled.


Now, it would not be fair to all the chocolate lovers out there, if my Easter wishes were limited to this brief vision of the end of the end, a cosmic catastrophe that we will survive only if we allow ourselves to focus on the unbearable lightness of being, the heart of the heart. That happens when we awaken from non-being to an awareness that only what's within truly lasts, that the least tangible of our possessions - a fleeting moment of kindness, a gesture of compassion and comfort - is an eternal treasure, a sapphire hidden in ashes and dust.

I found a treasure this year, I found a friend. I also found a poem in a painting by another friend - a painting I like so much I would love to find myself inside it. Susan Dobay, a Hungarian artist is both spiritual and earthly, a hostess who laughs with her guests and feeds them regional specialties, but scolds them for being too loud when a poet reads something she'd like everyone to pay attention to (even if she is sometimes too busy making sure they listen, to do it herself).


Awakenings

~ after a painting “City Whispers” by Susan Dobay

First to wake: the maple tree.
Up and up, sprouting from a seedling.
With a crown of burnished gold, white
diamond crystals for winter –
It slept through blizzards to flourish
dressed in pinks and celadons.

Second awake: the girl.
Watching the trees from her bed
Or her wheelchair. She cannot go far
Into the streets, filled with noise.
Protected by smooth glass panes
She sees the buds on each twig
Fill out until they burst
Into carmine, wrinkled bows
Small and shiny, maturing
As they change into the green.

The third: a robin calling out
To his friends, dispelling darkness
With his shrill fluted motives.
The spring is woven from his calls,
Warmed up in red feathers on his chest.
He came late to scratch the ground
For a worm to peck, a beetle.
The looping birdsong measures
The coming of days. It floats up and up,
Above the rooftops.

The girl touches her curly blond hair
Growing longer, straighter
As the nurse braids it each morning.
The life, the light, she wishes
For this power to come in.
Make her walk, yes, make her walk.
She stretches up and up.
Outside, city whispers.

It was a distinct pleasure to read this poem while being accompanied on a flute by Rick Wilson: his music rose up and up in the middle two stanzas, appearing after a silence and allowing the tranquility of the sick girl's room to speak for itself at the end. In some way, it was my best reading with music. Rick was truly inspired. Susan Dobay and Mira Mataric said they identified with that handicapped girl, whose longing for wholeness and health is our longing, at other times expressed in the search for perfectly decorated chocolate eggs, tulips and the new spring dress for Easter.

In Poland, we used to say "Wesolego Jajka!" as if an Egg could actually be Joyous. Maybe we have to return "ab ovo" - to the beginning and start anew, with a rediscovered capacity to experience real joy? Before God takes his Commandments back and leaves us all to the dreadful fate of non-existence, without the source of all being? You know, that one: Beauty, Goodness, Truth.

Let the Easter bells ring, ring, and ring.

Alleluia! Pangue lingua gloriosi...


Pangue lingua sung by Coro de Cámara Abadía

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Illustrations:

Photographs of flowers (C) 2010 by Maja Trochimczyk

Susan Dobay's Painting "City Whispers" - the poem "Awakenings" is a part of Kath Abela Wilson's poetry book project dedicated to the art of Susan Dobay.

Two recordings of bells from Il Duomo (Cathedral Santa Maria del Fiore) in Florence, Italy. From YouTube.com.

“Healing from the Ashes” - Poetry & Art

When Ariyana Gibbon invited us, the Village Poets, to a special poetry reading at the Healing from the Ashes exhibition she organized in Sunland to benefit the victims of Station Fire on October 17, 2010, I did not have much to show for it. I had written one haiku about wildfires in general and one poem about my experience of watching the danger approach, anxiously waiting for the wildfire to leave the slopes of my mountains, where it just sat for days on end:

FIRE TREASURES

The flames are closer and closer,
the air thick with smoke, dense
with the noise of helicopter engines.

I have never faced such danger.
Pacing around the house, I start
collecting papers, packing suitcases

of photo albums that nobody looks at,
so old, they show us two lifetimes earlier
in an antique glow of happiness.

Neighbors sit on their front porches
with binoculars, watching the spectacle
unfolding, a reality show without a screen.

They laugh and drink, eat barbecued
hamburgers and sausages saturated with
the smoky flavor of California fire season.

I can’t stand the wait. I examine the contents
of my house, gather things I cannot lose,
say farewell to those that may burn.

I give up my claim over shelves of books,
roses in gilded frames, fine china, music boxes –
my treasures become worthless bulk.

The flames shoot higher, the fire refuses
to budge under the aerial assault, stubbornly
dwells on the slopes illuminated in red at one a.m.

Next morning, my car sinks low in the driveway
under the weight of papers I packed to save.
Someone else will burn them after I’m gone.

A neighbor’s little daughter walks by,
looks at the heavy suitcases and asks,
“Mommy, is Barbie going on vacation?”

There was also a small haiku and a tanka based on mosaics from the fire that I found on the project's website:



FIRE HAIKU

wine-red sun
sinks into the ashes -
winter's fire

FIRE TANKA

red flames lick the sky
smoke thickens into darkness
a butterfly soars
ascending into turquoise
my future brightens

Not much to it, nothing tragic. It is not a surprise, then, that the Poet Laureate of our community was not the featured poet at the “Healing from the Ashes.” That title went to Jane Fontana who lived much closer to the fires and eloquently described the experience of loss and recovery. She did not lose her own home, but her neighbors did: only two houses survived on her street. Her poems were compassionate and inspired.

After walking into the exhibit on Foothill Blvd. and touring the wonderful exhibition, I was inspired, too. I was struck by the beauty and expressiveness of artwork made lovingly from remnants found in the fire – mosaics from shards of china, reliefs including burnt clocks and lamps, curio cabinets of little figurines, paintings… Our neighbors experienced real loss, and it was transformed, in that impromptu gallery, into poignant art.

On one wall was a large metal clock, burnt, with markers for the hours, but no hands. “Time stopped for this clock,” I thought as I read the title – Sun Dial by Ruth Dutoit. It spoke to me and in 10 minutes I wrote a new poem. I like the idea of a clock with no hands to show time. A French experimental filmmaker Agnes Varda made a documentary about The Gleaners, talking to those who gather and recycle things, and showcasing her own collection of her own recycled, handless, timeless clocks.

There’s a point to this. I have one clock like that at home, dark rectangular frame with mother-of-pearl inlay in the style found in India or the Middle East, it sits on my shelf to remind me of timelessness, eternity, so I would not rush around too fast, try to do too many things at once. “There’s time, there’s still time” – it tells me… Ruth Dutoit called hers The Sun Dial and there’s a small marker, or dial, on her disc, where time is measured by metal wings:

ENDLESS

The sundial glows
in a sunset of memory.

Time stops.

Dragonfly wings
freeze in a nanosecond

of fiery beauty
before evaporating.

Time stops.

We measure loss
in dragonfly wings,

in crystal shadows,
scattered wine-glasses

filled to the brim
with flames

before breaking,
before our time stops,

it too stops.



Another image that started "speaking" to me was a mosaic of a fames-spewing dragon by Robin M. Cohen. Unfortunately for the auction, it fell off its mounting on the wall and was damaged at the time of the exhibition. Cohen's mosaic was quite ornamental, almost too pretty for its materials of such tragic provenance. It resulted in a decoratively expressive, yet uncomplicated poem:

FIRE DRAGON

burn, burn, burn,
the horizon disappears
in scarlet light
burn, burn, burn
the air shimmers,
incandescent

the dragon’s here
watch the dragon
the creature of change
the beast of renewal
transforms our lives
by pain, by loss, in fear

the dragon sings out
burn, burn, burn
flames lick the rooftops
with fierce kindness
to destroy and renew
burn, burn, burn

Finally, I came across a larger artwork by the exhibition's organizer, Ariyana Gibbon. She made several mosaics on canvas for this project and one of her pieces reminded me of something I knew, both pleasurable and painful. I went home before I was able to write the following poem, stringing a necklace of tearful memories from 1975 and 1999...


FROM THE ASHES

~ to Ariyana Gibbon

The mosaic tears glow
and flow In indigo sky
crystallizing in memory
into soft petals of ash
blanketing my driveway
after the mountains
were bright with fire
for weeks, hot-spots shining
in charcoal darkness
like an ocean-liner’s lights
on the Bosphorus,
on the way to the Black Sea.

The mosaic patterns
measure space in echoes
of arabesques on the ceiling –
the Blue Mosque
in Istanbul made me
dizzy with delight.

Wait, I saw such tears elsewhere –
Oh, it was that lapis-lazuli
silver necklace I admired
in a Grand Canyon shop
He bought too late
to save what was beyond repair.

The mosaic teardrops fall,
ashen, each one shattered already,
made of old pain that does not go away,
or cry itself out. It just sits there,
a boulder on the highway
damaged by rockslide,
a burnt-out shell of a house,
lost to flames.

Shards of broken china
glow against dark velvet –
a treasure found in ashes,
held together by a thin ribbon
of gold paint, a promise of sunrise,
at the edge of indigo sky.



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More photos from the poetry reading at the exhibition may be found on Picasa Web Albums: http://picasaweb.google.com/Maja.Trochimczyk/SunlandHealingFromTheAshes#.

All photos and poetry reproduced here are copyrighted:(c) 2010 by Maja Trochimczyk