Where Does Poetry Come From? Freeways, Riverbed, Roku, Online Shopping...

Once upon a time, in Poland, there lived a humorist of great wit.  He wrote a lot and was quite popular so once a silly female fan asked him: "Master, where do your ideas come from? Like, from your head, or something?" The joker answered, "No, my dear lady, straight from my leg..."  I may have misremembered the joke, but the point is to think about the source of poetic inspiration. Where does it all come from? Why do I find it so hard to write on a prompt, assigned topic or a quote?  Yes, I can write these things, but then they feel dense, boring and lame. 

Sometimes, poems come to me (only in English) when I dream: I wake up with an almost ready poem. It is all good, if I write it down right away, but not so good, if I forget -  as was the case with "I am in love with Luo Jim" - that was complete upon waking up and then forgotten. It caused me a lot of trouble to reproduce it afterwards.  Poems also come when I'm relaxed and otherwise occupied with straightforward tasks like driving on a freeway, or on a near empty street. Swimming, gardening, going for walks, or meditating are also good places to find poems. Meditation is strange: So often, instead of clearing my mind of random thoughts, I get a poem while I train my breath to deepen, slow down and become more regular. The breath of life... prana. So, let's read some quotidian poems that came into being in such silly ways. 

Let's start from the melting moon, that I saw disappearing behind the ridge of hills while driving south on the 210 around six p.m., close to sunset. The hills were orange and purple, the moon, not quite full yet, unfinished. When I looked back in the mirror I saw the sun at the same level, getting redder as it was setting.  What does the melting moon remind one of, while driving when anything can happen any time? The passing of life, of course. So, here it is:

A Wish Upon a Moon

The snowball of a moon
Melts into brow summer hills
 at sunset.

It looks unfinished
as if a painter abandoned
the imperfect draft
before completion.

And so our lives
melt into timelessness,
leaving behind disheveled words
a stack of dreams
and scattered wishes.

“All shall be well” –
the poet confirmed.
His words bring us comfort
while we exhaust ourselves
with doubt, worry and regret.

All shall be well”
And all is well –

You know,
the melting moon
will come back. 

(c) 2022 by Maja Trochimczyk

Another "driving" poem came from a red-light stop on a Friday afternoon in downtown Los Angeles. Our dear friend, ballet master and choreographer Stefan Wenta died, and I was looking for a suitable red-and-white wreath in the colors of Polish national flag to present at his funeral.  The best place to find these is, of course, the flower district.  I stopped and looked ahead. The cross-street was named "Arcadia" for garden paradise of peace, yet right down I could see the ominous towers of the county jail. The contrast was just too stark. I used to work at the Midnight Mission on Skid Row and drove down there daily in the past, but it's been years since I saw the human misery concentrated in this strange corner of the City of Angels, full of warehouses, garbage, vacant lot and new loft developments for yuppies. The poem is a straightforward description of what I did and saw that day.

DTLA

Downtown Los Angeles.
At the corner of Alameda and  Arcadia Street
Two dying palms with shredded leaves
struggle to ornament a bleak landscape
of cement and asphalt.
Narrow vertical slits of windows
in thick walls of gray towers look like gaps
for archers in a medieval fortress
of granite and slate.

Here they keep inmates of Men’s Central Jail
from suicide or murder. Nobody can break
this glass. Nobody can jump. Thousands
pass through each year.
Bedraggled men on the next corner
dig through a heap of cardboard
looking for the best pieces to make
shelter on the sidewalk for the night.

All stores close at six pm. Gaudy rolls
of sparkling fabrics in a dance store
brighten the scene with artificial cheer.
Few tents are up. Night residents
are not back yet from the day of panhandling
and food kitchen lines. In a vacant lot,
a white balloon, smudged with dirt,
rolls along the skeletal remains of weeds.

I find the last florist open by an emptyspot.
I buy the first red and white wreath I see.
Perfect! I order a ribbon with inscription
and delivery to the funeral mass.
I leave with a bouquet of my own.
Driving home, immersed in the dense
Sweetness of stargazer lilies, I sigh
heading back to my world of gardens,
birdsong, mountains, feisty hummingbirds
and two mourning doves caressing each other
long after making love in the driveway.

The heady scent o five-petalled stars
reminds me of the broken promises
of yesteryear and the brightness
of tomorrow.

Stargazer lily from Wikimedia Commons. I cannot find my own, so there...

The next poem is a reflection on my unwillingness to turn back time. Once, a co-worker asked me, in earnest: "How much would you pay to become 20 again?"  His answer was $200,000, but I said "Nothing - I'm so happy I'm not twenty, ignorant and out of control emotionally. I'd never want to go back to being that." Not even a perfectly beautiful, young and fit body would compensate for the deficiencies of experience, the vacuous ignorance of mind and heart. It took me lots of lessons to come to the place of wisdom and I'm still learning, so I cherish every wrinkle... 

Here's what I learned from buying a sofa online. My first such experiment, justified by two points. One - to spare myself from hours wading through stores full of sofas. Two - because it looked just like my old one, so it could be put in the same place.  It turned out to be faux leather, not leather - even better, for I do not want to decorate my home with trophies from killing sentient beings. Though I still wear leather shoes and carry purses. Vanity is hard to discard... But  it is a humorous poem. The word "Sofa" is funny in itself, try saying it several times in order: sofa, sofa, sofa... 

The Sofa Dilemma

I bought a sofa
To replace an old sofa
Placing toe online order
From the old sofa full of holes
To bring a new sofa
And take the old away in a few days.

I bought a sofa
To replace another sofa
For they look the same.
It will be as if time reversed and went back
To 2005 when this shredded sofa
Was still my sparkling new sofa
In camel or cognac leather –
These names are so strange.

So did I buy this new sofa
To reverse the time flow
And find myself when I was still
Deluded with illusory hope
For life that was not meant to be?

Was it a hiccup of memory,
a sudden echo from the past?
No I just bought a new sofa
To precisely replace a zombie sofa.

That's all. I'm pleased.

Finally, my dream poem of a dream hero of manufactured dreams from a Chinese costume drama TV series. Watching Chinese and Korean fantasy dramas became my favorite past-time. They are not as vicious, cruel, mindlessly unfunny, or sentimental as American productions. They are mostly "upright" and teach obvious lessons of the love of the country, compassion for the poor, value of service and integrity, respect for parents, faithfulness to loved ones and friends, loyalty and love till death us part... 

The costumes are fantastic, the hair and robes long and flowing... Wide sleeves and black tresses float on the breeze when the heroes and heroines fly around. Who wouldn't want to fly? What's not to love? Plus, in a streaming mode, it is fairly easy to fast-forward through the scenes of war or torture, or scheming conversations of wicked villains. Alas, the English translation of subtitles is often abysmal, though it may add to fun, by becoming a puzzle to be solved. Dubbing is completely out of question. 

Luo Jin is one of the stars of the "Princess of Wei Young," a well-written series where he falls in life with the title character, played by his real wife, and their warmth is obvious on the screen. There is only one flaw - the blooms in the fields are all silk flowers, perhaps there was nothing blooming in the winter when the episodes were filmed.  So....

The whole poem will be published elsewhere, here's just a teaser, first two stanzas.... 

I Fell in Love with Luo Jin

On the screen,
his eyes are always smiling,
even when just a corner of his mouth
lifts up in a rakish smirk.
I love his bravado when saving maidens
from ancient demons.
He flies through air while shooting arrows,
suspended from steel cables
in a deceptive, engineering feat.

I am in love with Luo Jin,
tenderly plucking guzheng strings,
wistfully gazing at the stars,
or into the eyes of his on-screen lover,
his real wife. Betrayal? Never!
He gives me of what I can only dream.
Like me, billions of others love Luo Jin,
seduced by the grand illusion of the film.
His sword ballet is an aerial dance –
killing without the stench of rotting corpses.
Pure flight, joy, even – Oh, Luo Jin!

That's just one difference between oral and written poetry. It is good if there is rhythm and rhyme. I think all students should memorize the Greek patterns of rhythm, called feet: iamb (ta DA),  trochee (DA ta), anapest (ta ta DA), dactyl (DA ta ta), and spondee (DA DA). Poems, even free verse, sound more "poetic" when patterns of these rhythm are repeated and woven into a flow.  

English language and Polish langue "love" different rhythmic patterns: most words are accented on penultimate syllable in Polish, so lines tend to be longer and more flowing. I do not even dream poems in Polish, and I really do not know why. Maybe the rhythm of English fits me better. Also, as a second language, it is somewhat "artificial" - it has some characteristics of an imperfect mask - I keep my Polish accent, so the mask is flawed, so is the quotidian poetry, good for this blog.  

A POSTCRIPT ABOUT THE RIVER

In February 2023, after months of incessant rain, pouring in thick layers, as if in a cloud-burst, the Bigh Tujunga wash became a river. I filmed some muddy water flows and the links are copied below. 

https://youtu.be/RJYexVu4r5s - turbulent waves of muddy stream  in the valley

https://youtu.be/FpcaAMHF9kM - waves of muddy stream break over rocks

https://youtu.be/Hxl7XWcQaG4 - there is no road, just a river and a mini waterfall (30 sec)

https://youtu.be/lJhlNWEdmKE - waves turn back, the patterns are fascinating

Look at that massive force of flowing water. Poor trees bent out of shape, with a weight of dead branches pushing them to fall down and float away. So do our daily trouble push and push in the relentless flow of time. . . Big Tujunga flows, if it has water in it, from Los Angeles National Forest mountains down to Los Angeles river. Sometimes, there are only rocks, sometimes, just a tiny stream, but this spring it changed into a raging, muddy river, that even took away part of our usual path and moved from where we used to play in pools created by rock dams, filling that area with sand instead. In 1998, it took away two holes and surrounding land from our golf course; they built a concrete wall to protect the rest after that... We can learn so much from rivers. So alive: always changing, always breathing, moving, dancing the endless dance of flow and change.

I could write a poem about lessons learned from such mighty, transient rivers - here today, gone tomorrow - but Zbigniew Herbert already did that, and I do not want to be a plagiarist. Yes, we can learn a lot from rivers... even those ones that do not last year round.

My Declaration, Purpose and Intention - Found on the Road, With Pears and Whales

I walk down

 a sandy road, straight

into childhood

The question is, as usual, what is the best thing to do. Do I write this or that, go here or there, dig and plant in the garden, or write on my laptop all day, go swimming alone, or to lunch with poets, take that collect call or not... The question is, how am I to be sure that what I do is the best for me, and the best for everyone, and the best for the whole planet?

so many stars

in squares and clusters -

arriving home

I read recently and heard from my enlightened poet friend Susan Rogers that the best things are those that you feel joy inside when doing. So if I feel like getting that spade and shears, and go fight with that old root and trunk of the apricot tree that gave me two apricots in its entire career, before giving up on living - yes, that's what I should do.  And if it is time to go swimming, and looking at sunlight that scatters diamonds on the blue surface of water of the pool, while listening to children's laughter scattering in the air, yes, it is time to do that, too. And, if it is time to write in the evening or on my day off, that's the best use of my time. Actually, writing is the best use of my time, period. But to do it and sit sill on my patio chair, with a teacup nearby, I have to exercise my spine and muscles, i.e., have working spine and muscles. Hence the planting and digging and swimming and walking... 

overabundance

is the name of the game

for pear trees

But to write, you have to read, so I read sometimes things on the internet, some very strange things, sometimes order books over from used books on Amazon (at one cent plus $3.99 for delivery the price cannot be beat, unless you go to the bookstore at the local library, but then would they even have these strange kinds of books?). And some of the things are find are inspirational, some silly, some annoying, so I pick and chose between ideas, like picking the best pear from those that fell off the tree in an orchard. It will taste as if it were baked by sunlight, absolutely the best fruit you can have. But watch for those with rotting spots, you'll be sorry the next day. As always, the virtue of prudence is essential. And moderation. And the wisdom to choose what's best to do. Eat or not eat, this is the question. 

I pick a pear

from a happy orchard

of sun-baked fruit

So then, once full of pears, you can write what's on your mind. Actually I wrote my declaration while driving down to San Diego. It is "My" because I made it up, a "Declaration" because it is a formal statement of belief and purpose, and it has only 12 lines because that's the maximum I can remember, without writing down until I come down to a spot where I can stop and write down what's been formulating in my mind. On the way back, I read and recite to myself, line after line, and write down the final version upon arrival. So much fun! I call this genre the "Freeway Poetry" - you should try it, sometime. Beats road rage any time! 

happy hills

sing a happy song

in a happy valley

My Declaration 

I am a sovereign citizen​ of the galaxy

My heart goes out​ to the mountains​.​

My feet grow roots​ in the light​.​

My eyes touch​ the heaven of stars​.​

I breathe the gold air​ of goodness​.​

I drink the clear​ water of joy​.​

​Nourished by divine affection, 
I thrive, ​l​inked ​to all living beings​ -​

​snow crystals, seeds, ​trees and sunlight​.​

​In ​harmony,​ we sing the chorale​ of dawn​.​

I choose to love all,​ live in love​.​

I thank light for its warm brightness.
I thank trees for their oxygen-rich leaves 
graceful dance in the wind, and the flavors
of a fruit rainbow. I thank water for its lucid 
beauty, strength and patience —filling
streams, rivers, lakes, and oceans—
sparkling and sustaining  me, a parched 
droplet of stardust. I thank air 
flowing in my lungs and whispering 
in the treetops. I thank the Universe 
and stars that exploded eons ago 
into the miraculous gift of my body. 
I am grateful to you all.

I am a sovereign citizen​ of the galaxy​.​

My life is a song of gratitude.


I sing, I love, I sing.

A selfie in Julian, CA

Before getting to that point, I had to do some spiritual exercise and think through what I have been doing on this planet and what's my job to do for the rest of my time on this planet.  This was an interesting exercise and got me into a corner for a while, because I absolutely did not know where to start? Then, I had a revelation while swimming as I often does, the rhythmic motion is excellent for letting the mind wander and find things and ideas that are simply wonderful.  Why don't I start from what I do each day, each week, each month? Maybe I'm already fulfilling my purpose and doing what I intend to do? 

I was asked once by a friend: "What would you give to be twenty years younger?" He said, "I'd pay at least $100,000" - that's $5,000 per year, I thought, pretty cheap. But I answered: "Nothing, I already live a perfect life and I'd never want to re-live again those difficult years that I barely survived and now I'm thriving!" So, since I'm already doing what I'm supposed to be doing, here it is: 

My Purpose and Intentions

My purpose is to love and share, with joy and gratitude, the infinite, luminous beauty of the natural and human-enhanced world, as seen, heard, felt, sensed, and comprehended.

My first intention is to be always grateful and happy for being alive, on Earth, in sunlight: breathing, walking and swimming; feeling connected to all living beings, visible and invisible – from air and water to distant galaxies, all sharing in the infinite love and presence of the Divine.

My second intention is to grow in love and knowledge of the Divine Love and Light, through contemplation of sublime beauty of revealed wisdom and the communion with the Divine Presence in my heart.

My third intention is to be always loving and caring for “my people” in ever increasing circles of Love, from my children and family, to strangers – in kindness, compassion, and generosity of the gentle, loving heart.

My fourth intention is to observe and capture in words (poems) and images (photography) the richness of natural beauty, from rock formations through cloud patterns, and everything in-between: plants, trees and flowers; leaves and petals; the noises of bees or breeze in the trees; melodious patterns of birdsong; the calming rhythm of ocean waves; the sweet scent of orange blossom in the spring;and many surprising delights yet to be discovered.

My fifth intention is to care for my garden and environment: plant, trim, water, and admire all the plants that surround me and create a healing shelter for me and for all the living beings that make it their home, from bees and crickets, to songbirds. I intend to fill my environment at home and work with harmonious, uplifting beauty.

My sixth intention is to observe, capture and contribute to the inspired beauty of the arts and to document the details of what I see, hear, and admire in words (essays and poems); I intend to understand creative individuals, composers and artists, to study their biographies and ideas, and to convey this understanding to others.

My seventh intention is to bring harmony and balance to the Earth through being aware, witnessing, enjoying, caring for, and sharing its natural and human-enhanced beauty, from the mountain ridges on the horizon, to the balanced beauty of gardens, filled with refreshing scents and sights, and to the inspiring harmonies of music.

My eighth intention is to teach others to see, hear, feel and record the positive, harmonious, joyous, and serene aspects of their lives, so they enjoy the path of compassion and gratitude that is full of new blessings every day.

My ninth intention is to leave a legacy of my unique life on two continents, in three countries, two languages and cultures, so that my pathway leading to the discovery of the Divine Love and Presence everywhere, in everyone and everything, helps others in their search for the One Love, the One Source of All.

My tenth intention is the Victory of Light! This means the transformation of Earth into the true Garden of Eden, peaceful, harmonious, blossoming with an abundance of gifts for all living beings and creatures, a Paradise that it has been designed to be, and is meant to become!

~Maja Trochimczyk

The amazing philosopher-artist Scott Froschauer made some road=signs that express similar ideas in fewer words:

Artwork by Scott Froschauer

Artwork by Scott Froschauer

I added "My Declaration" to the "Into Light" book of inspirational poetry, that also gained a poem about whales and their song. Did you know that whales and dolphins are that amazing set of extra-terrestrial species that were placed on our planet to constantly patrol its waters, measure the level of love in our world, and increase it by their song, resonating from the deep, coast to coast? No? 

That would explain why Californians and bi-coastal peoples are so inspired, when compared with the rest of the country, I thought when I read this story. They are simply so much closer to the whales. Just kidding, what about the landlocked Tibetans? 

Then, it made me think of my "totem stone" I got once, years ago, while traveling through a Native American reservation in Canada. I kept it, though I did not like it one bit, initially. Why should I be as large and clumsy as a whale? We use this word as an insult for women... And, why a killer whale? 

Now, though, I'm far more positive about my animalistic "patron saint." I love water, swimming, freedom, singing, and the graceful, smart, and beautiful orcas that teach me to love it all, their way. So here's my poem about whales:

A Whale of a Song

They sing, as they ride the waves,

laughing.  They sing to the depths

of the ocean, reaching sand on the bottom,

submerged peaks and valleys. Their song

echoes through the crystalline expanse

of the sky, bounces off the translucent

rays of starlight.

They dance on the waves, weaving

the web of love from their song.

In the invisible rhythm of seven billion

heartbeats, they encircle the globe,

traversing all the oceans.

Did you know

that whales and dolphins

are our cosmic guardians?

Did you know

that Orca the Whale

is my patron saint?

I have a totem stone to prove it, a gift

from a seer who once told me:

Do not forget to listen

to life-giving music.

Do not ever forget

the song of the whales.