Showing posts with label inspirational poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspirational poetry. Show all posts

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Past, Present, and Future - Gifts for the Arrival of a New Baby


Is there anything better in life than holding a child in your arms? Your child, your grandchild?  I am blessed to have witness a miracle recently, a miracle that changed my existential status. From now on, I'm a Grandma, Babcia. 



These words seem rather abstract at the moment, as I think of my own Grandmas/Babcias and how ancient they seemed to me, when I was a child spending summer vacation in their village homes, eating strawberries and cherries in their gardens and orchards... No matter, age is not important. The new life of the new person just entering the world and opening his eyes to see the universe - this is what is important.



To welcome my Grandson, Adam Marcin (born in September), I spent the last month before travelling to Poland for this monumental occasion writing a long poem, entitled "I Give You the World" and illustrated with all sorts of photos - of family life and things I love to take pictures of, leaves, petals, clouds... There is a lot of personal material in that book, so I'm not going to make it publicly available. In fact, it has been printed in ten numbered copies and that's it. 





But some fragments of the poem can be pulled out to become independent pieces, and shared with readers. So here they are.

I Give You the World. A Poem for Adam

1.
I saw you 
with eyes closed
smiling

waves, shadows
changing direction—
where are you?

Adam, the first man
I give you the whole Earth
to name




2.
I give you my world with veins of gold
slicing through the drab clay of hours,
drops of amber hidden in sand,
bright turquoise among slabs of granite,
and pure diamonds in charcoal.

3.
I give you the strong scent of the Electron rose
with its hue of vermilion flames.
Here’s the gift of wings of the butterfly
shining yellow on a pink hibiscus
and the busy buzzing of bees
in the crape myrtle tree,
overshadowing my Sun-Land patio.

Can I also give you the ancient linden tree,
all awash with the bees gathering nectar
in my Grandma’s yard in Bielewicze—
the sweet noise of honey and July?

Careful, don’t catch any bees!
They die as they sting you.
Better save them from drowning
in the pool, bees are precious
they give us honey and fruit, lots of fruit.



4.
I give you rocks in the riverbed, 
white, grey, and veined with pink —
so you step on the solid foundation
and grow up with both feet on the ground
strong and stronger each day.

I give you water laughing in the stream,
so your laughter spills over 
the waves of air, lightly, in silvery droplets.

I give you the hummingbird’s feathers
ruby–red and emerald green —
their feisty owner suspended in mid-air
on invisible wings, drinking nectar
from a butterfly-shaped flower of bougainvillea
in the intense shade of magenta.

5.
I think you will love
my gifts of the pink grapefruit 
and juicy oranges fresh off the tree.
This one is funny! It wears sunglasses 
made of shadows. It is good to laugh at shadows…
And look! Is this a flower or a bird in paradise?



6.
I give you the patience of a lizard, sunning itself on my pathway, 
and catching flies — no, I do not give you the gift 
of catching flies,or maybe…  it could be useful!
Well, let’s stay with the hard-working habit 
of waiting for the right moment—Yes, do everything 
at the right time— do everything right.

You may like the intense hue of the California poppy
a wildflower of the hills. As orange as laughter,
with delicate green leaves of the spring, it comes back
year after year, without rain, after fires.  
Like this poppy, never give up!

7.
I am sure you will like the taste of red cherries 
right off the tree in Jelonki, in my childhood garden
later demolished  to build a street for those tall 
apartment blocks that are as ugly as machines 
to live in—but cherries, ah, cherries, with juice 
flowing down your fingers and your chin—

I give you all the riches of the clear, crisp air
in the fall, when gingko, maple, and poplar
leaves are yellow and crunchy under your feet,
when the last peaches are getting wrinkly
and too sweet on empty branches in the orchard.


8.
I give you the heady scent of needles
on the Christmas tree, a Douglas fir covered
in handmade ornaments, hidden behind
a mountain of gifts in crinkly wrapping paper
green, red, gold, and navy — next to a row
of stockings waiting for chocolate on the mantel.

Please, accept the fragrance of resin melting in the hot sun, flowing 
in large drops down the branches of my juniper and cypress —
and down the trunks of pines that lined the sandy road to 
your Great Grandpa’s family house in Bielewicze,
where storks welcomed sunrise, ferns unfolded 
and stretched  in forest shadows, and silence rang 
like crystal bells at noon.

This is the time for trees to dream of sleep 
and for birds to map out long flights 
along mountain ranges, above green waves 
of forests, white-crested waves of the ocean,
soaring on waves of air.

9.
I give you the chirping of the cricket 
behind my chimney — their summer song,
the kind my Grandma heard in the freezing,
snowy winter in Trzebieszów—
I wish you always have a cricket 
behind your chimney— let it sing,
if it wants to sing!

10.
I give you the majesty of sequoias, tall and ancient
with heads in the sky, roots stretching down 
inter-connected. Solid, immobile, above and beyond 
it all. Theirs is the gift of nobility, strength and resilience.
They do not die in forest fires — just get singed and grow
new branches — that’s what I give you today.


11.
When you grow a bit bigger I’ll give you wings 
to fly in planes, across oceans to distant cities —
London, Paris, Rome, Barcelona and the City of Angels, 

and to the white coral sand under coconut palms 
on Pacific islands, and to the waterfalls 
and volcanoes of Hawaii—Come on! Grow! Let’s go!

We’ll enter magnificent cathedrals 
and listen to angelic voices and heavenly 
sawing machines of Johann Sebastian Bach.

We’ll climb the world’s most famous tower
To look down at the rooftops and streets,
Eating ice-cream, and almonds, and crepes.

We’ll admire crystal mirrors of rococo palaces
with the thrills and trills of coloratura sopranos 
and the Magic Flute by Mozart.

We’ll waltz in the rain with Chopin 
and rest under weeping willows
of his Mazovian plains. We’ll visit the willows

reflected in Claude Monet’s ponds, 
full of clouds and water lilies. We’ll spend
the dawn and the dusk in his garden.




At noon we’ll stand in the rainbow 
of stained glass windows on stone menagerie 
carved into the floor of Sainte Chapelle.

We’ll travel through the primary colors 
and black lines of Mondrian to the upside down 
world of Magritte, where dawn and dusk 

are the same.  I wonder if you’d share 
my admiration for the smiles of Gothic Madonnas 
with blue-winged angels in gold-relief heavens,

nodding to the swinging rhythms of Brazilian samba 
and classical jazz, the luxury of mellow voices.
Ella and Frank forever.




12.
I give you the rush of understanding,
the “aha” moment when you get it 
and things fall into place where  they 
should have been from the start.

Stuffed into this junk heap of ideas
is a gift of making cosmos from chaos
in the pristine, strong light of your mind.
And don’t forget the white kernel 

of fresh walnut after you peel off its yellow 
wrinkly skin. All the bitter flavor is gone, 
only sweetness remains —
just like in life, when lived right.

So yes, I do give you the true gift 
of living right, capturing each moment
and dissecting it into what to keep
and what to discard.



13.
My gift is unique and hidden.
You’ll find it inside you, when your bare feet 
touch the new grass and your eyes follow 
shifting clouds in the blue-grey Polish sky.

This is the gift of seeing and knowing 
what is true, how grass grows, how clouds 
become scarves for the hills, sneezing in winter.

How to be present to changing sunlight 
on the mountain slopes with patches 
of shadow moving through distant canyons
and meadows.This is my gift.



14.
Of things I have not touched 
with my feet or the palms of my hands
I share with you Norwegian fjords 
and Alaskan glaciers, the glistening
black-and-white skin of my totem orcas, 
the whale-song and dolphins.

Play a tune on the teeth of a plastic comb,
immersed in water and a dolphin will come 
to investigate this new language 
of clicks — and will spit water on you 
if he does not like what you have to say—
maybe a dolphin’s insult?

They are smarter than humans, you know.
So, instead of playing, set them free. 
Yes, please, do.

15.
So, my dear first-born grand-son
son of my first-born son, I give you 
the colors, scents, and flavors
of fall, winter, spring and summer.

Know that what becomes old dies out,
letting flowers blossom and turn
into the delicious golden fruit 
of experience and memory.

Well, I never thought of memory as a jar
of pickled pears with cinnamon sticks 
and cloves ready for a winter feast.
Apparently, that’s what it is.

Thus, I give you some pickled pears 
of your Grandma,great-Grandma 
and other, greater grand-Grandmas,
with family recipes and stories to keep.




16.
I give you the bells of sailboat tack 
ringing against the mast on your boat
in the harbor, waiting for another adventure 
on gently undulating grey waves of a lake.
That’s for a summer day.

For winter nights, I give you 
ten billion suns in each of ten
billion galaxies as your playground.
You will find your way from sun to sun.

17.
I give you the shape of hand-written letters,
the spirals of sunflower seeds, and a snail shell,
the cycle of seasons, the living breath of our planet,
the fractal veins on a rose petal and on 
tributaries to a river you will see from the orbit
through electronic eyes of machines.

I give you the multitude of seeds 
in a pomegranate, each seated 
in its own ruby-red juicy pod, 
squished into the tightest space.

This is how tight knowledge 
will be packed into the neurons and cells 
of your brain,so you can squeeze 
its sweetness into words 
of supreme wisdom.




18.
I give you the gift of my language, many languages, really —
Two for certain, maybe three, four, five, or six 
I could have spoken if I tried harder, made more time.
So now you can do it —learn more skills, get more knowledge,
expertise, beauty. Let’s not forget beauty, the true meaning 
of life—see the snowflake star crystals melting on your glove? 
That’s what it means being like the lilies of the field that are clothed in glory 
and stretch their heads to the sun, breathing in the morning dew,
absorbing the golden essence  of life with each leaf, root, and petal.
So, there.



19.
I wish you the murmur of waterfalls
and the silver resonance of Tibetan chimes,
slowly swirling through the evening air
with the smoke of frankiscense.

I wish you the halo of light-filled sound 
and the brightest fragrance to keep you 
enveloped in a shield of light,
your armor against the dark.

I wish, I wish, I wish for you 
the most precious gift
of them all —the great 
river of light and 
the luminescence
of golden white love.

20.
I give you all the beautiful and good things I can find.
What you do with my gifts is yours only—
store them in the treasure chest
of your allotted time to do this and that,
and this much, and just enough.

May every step lead you to greater 
understanding and compassion 
for all living beings,to greater 
wisdom, higher awareness,
and more intense connection with all
others— plants, animals, people.

May your song echo widely
across the Universe.
May you learn to sail and swim,
and climb mountains,
and write sonnets, or paint, or plant.

May each day be full of hours
flowing by, like the feathers 
of a peacock—in delight and bliss.



21.
I give you the invisible secret of the universe —
cords of light tying it all together,
sand, stars and waves, tree roots and clouds.

The warm softness of the nose of a puppy 
or a baby kitten—would you like dogs or cats? 

And a myriad of happy eyes, looking at you
with the warmth of affection —
all one, all one, all one.

22.
I give you the gift of compassion,
the hazel light shining inside.

Close your eyes —you will see it 
in silence —you will hear it

in your heart’s gentle whisper
of love, nothing else, only love.




23.
So, I wish you the gift of un-feathered flight, 
the treasures of night sky, diamonds scattered on the water 
by sunlight as you swim in the lake.

The pearls of what, exactly? You go figure out 
your pearls, get together your plan for your life 
and own it.

Don’t forget where you came from
and why — to link, connect, span the globe 
and shine, yes, just to shine.

May the beautiful luster of your un-excelled essence 
be known to all. See, I just read the story 
of Buddha and I’m writing like one, already – 

with millions of suns, dazzling star crowns,
constant bliss, serenity, supreme joy, and the lotus 
of wisdom dissolving into clear light.



24.
If you are an artist at heart,
make a living, be grateful
for your gifts,and give back in kind.

If you are an engineer, invent things 
to help people,or animals, or plants,
or to heal the water and air.

Make them happy, hear their song —
that’s what we want most of all,
to be happy, to love, to be loved.

When you choose,  choose wisely
and follow your heart,
always follow your heart.




Since boys love machines, I thought I'd add to this tribute to the newborn a humorous short story that's a life lesson in old computer language. 

I find it amusing and accurate - this is what we all have to do:  




Install LOVE on the HUMAN Computer

by Author Unknown


Customer: I really need some help. After much consideration, I've decided to install LOVE. Can you guide me through the process?

Tech Support: Yes, I can help you. Are you ready to proceed?

Customer: Well, I'm not very technical, but I think I'm ready to install it now. What do I do?

Tech Support: The first step is to open your HEART. Have you located your HEART?

Customer: Yes, I have, but there are several other programs running right now. Is it okay to install while they are running?

Tech Support: What programs are running?

Customer: Let's see... I have PAST-HURT.EXE, LOW-ESTEEM.EXE, GRUDGE.EXE, and RESENTMENT.EXE running now.

Tech Support: No problem. LOVE will gradually erase PAST-HURT.EXE from your current operating system. It may remain in your permanent memory, but it will no longer disrupt other programs. LOVE will eventually overwrite LOW-ESTEEM.EXE with a module of its own called HIGH-ESTEEM.EXE. However, you have to completely turn off GRUDGE.EXE and RESENTMENT.EXE. Those programs prevent LOVE from being properly installed. Can you turn those off?

Customer: I don't know how to turn them off. Can you tell me how?

Tech Support: My pleasure. Go to your Start menu and invoke FORGIVENESS.EXE. Do this as many times as necessary until it's erased the programs you don't want.

Customer: Okay, now LOVE has started installing itself automatically. Is that normal?

Tech Support: Yes. You should receive a message that says it will stay installed for the life of your HEART. Do you see that message?

Customer: Yes, I do. Is it completely installed?

Tech Support: Yes, but remember that you have only the base program. You need to begin connecting to other HEARTs in order to get the upgrades.

Customer: Oops. I have an error message already. What should I do?

Tech Support: What does the message say?

Customer: It says, "ERROR 412-PROGRAM NOT RUN ON INTERNAL COMPONENTS." What does that mean?

Tech Support: Don't worry, that's a common problem. It means that the LOVE program is set up to run on external HEARTs but has not yet been run on your HEART. It is one of those complicated programming things, but in non-technical terms it means you have to "LOVE" your own machine before it can "LOVE" others.

Customer: So what should I do?

Tech Support: Can you pull down the directory called "SELF-ACCEPTANCE"?

Customer: Yes, I have it.

Tech Support: Excellent. You're getting good at this. Now, click on the following files and then copy them to the "MYHEART" directory: FORGIVE-SELF.DOC, REALIZE-WORTH.TXT, and ACKNOWLEDGE-LIMITATIONS.DOC. The system will overwrite any conflicting files and begin patching any faulty programming. Also, you need to delete SELF-CRITICISM.EXE from all directories, and then empty your recycle bin afterwards to make sure it is completely gone and never comes back.

Customer: Got it. Hey! My HEART is filling up with new files. SMILE.MP3 is playing on my monitor right now and it shows that PEACE.EXE, and CONTENTMENT.EXE are copying themselves all over my HEART. Is this normal?

Tech Support: Sometimes. For others it takes a while, but eventually everything gets downloaded at the proper time. So, LOVE is installed and running. You should be able to handle it from here. Ah, one more thing.

Customer: Yes?

Tech Support: LOVE is freeware. Be sure to give it and its various modules to everybody you meet. They will in turn share it with other people and they will return some similarly cool modules back to you.

Customer: I will! Thanks for your help!




Friday, February 28, 2014

Women's Poems of Struggle and Hope in the Black History Month

On  Thursday, February 27, 2014, clients and staff at the adult residential and outpatient treatment programs  of Phoenix House Venice celebrated the Black History Month in style. They gathered with their guests to commemorate the achievements and history of African Americans with soul food, poetry jam and music. This Second Annual African-American History Celebration and Poetry Jam was coordinated by Phoenix House's Counselor La Tonya Smith, who ensured the participation of both clients and staff in an inspired and inspirational meeting of minds and hearts. 
Katerina Canyon

As the "guest poet" for the evening, I read three poems.  First, I presented my favorite work by another former Poet-Laureate of Sunland-Tujunga, Katerina Canyon, entitled "Feet" and dedicated to the poet's mother. It is one of the most popular poems by Katerina, who was the first and only African American Poet Laureate in our foothill community before moving to Atlanta, Georgia. She enriched the poetry scene in California with many readings and community projects.  


Feet

I cleaned my daughter’s feet.
I swept the warm cloth along
her soft, Earth toned skin — she grinned
and said, “Mom, that feels Heavenly.”

Yes, I remember.

Lying on the bed like a doll filled with sand
too fatigued to move — I played hard that day.
Slightly waking to feel the warm cloth on my feet.
Mother washing the day’s dirt away.

Yes, that felt Heavenly.

My friends told me their mothers would say
we should always take care
to wear clean underwear
in case we came upon disaster.
“Clean feet are most important”, my mother said.

She explained that a woman’s feet
told the story of her life.
That on her soles you could see
the roads she traveled.

She would say, “You can measure her resilience in a woman’s ankles”

I was told that if I were to get into an accident,
dressed like a bum,
and the doctors saw I had clean feet,
they would take good care of me.

“I know that may sound silly to you”, she’d say
She explained they would know that I tried
my best to take care of myself
and that my dress was more
a matter of circumstance than of desire.

When I was too tired for an evening bath, she washed my feet.
When I was sick in bed, she washed my feet.
When we were homeless, she washed my feet.
When she felt there was nothing else to do, she washed my feet.

Yes, it felt Heavenly.

I tried out for the high school track team.
I went in for a physical.
The doctor examined my feet
and said, “Nice feet,” and approved me as healthy.

He never asked me if I had on clean underwear.
I wondered how many kids
would miss out on running track
because their feet weren’t as clean as mine?
And I thought she was being silly.
She was right.

I finally saw her.
And there she was.
Too tired to move.
Dying.

I filled the bowl with warm water.
I found a soft cloth.
Picked up the soap. Ivory pure.
The only type she would use.

I looked at her feet — so long and thin.
Dark as Louisiana clay.
Her veins stuck up like river lines.
A road map to the Bayou.

I washed her feet.
Her feet carried heavy burdens.
She walked many miles for many years.
She said, “That feels Heavenly.”

I replied, “Yes, I remember.”

— Katerina Canyon


I then read two of my own poems, "Memory Mirrors" (a reflection on survival skills of oppressed people) and "The Veil, the Weave" (a spiritual call to action). Both poems involved audience participation - the listeners recited a refrain in the first poem, and were engaged in a dialogue of two groups answering back and forth in the second poem.  One of the participant later commented: "I did not know that poetry could be done like that. It was very exciting!" In the poem below, the audience recited the refrains.


Digital Integration by Susan Dobay, 2013


Memory Mirrors
            ~ after Reminiscence by Susan Dobay

by Maja Trochimczyk

The ancestors’ weight heavy on their shoulders
The ages’ wisdom embroidered on their skin

Bend down, bend down
You will not be broken

Tall stems of rice bow low before the wind
Slide through the onslaught, a sudden surge of war

Young mothers whisper silence to their daughters
Girls watch, repeat the gestures of their kin

Bend down, bend down
You will not be broken

You have to learn the art of disappearing
Invisible, you will outlive the strangest times

Be still, be patient, breathe the longest hours
You have to do it all and remain unseen

Bend down, bend down
You will not be broken

They came and took our men who were the strongest
They came and killed our boys who were so brave

Women alone remained in our village
Into the river our silver tears have flown

Bend down, bend down
You will not be broken

Bend down, bend down
You will not…

Grass by Maja Trochimczyk, (c) 2013.

The second poem, "The Veil, the Weave", is inspired by a line from Isaiah, about the great evil of lies and death that will be destroyed at the end. The poem's four color voices are to be read by different people, if there are not enough people, the regular and italic fonts indicate two different voices to be woven. in the tapestry of the poem, the lines written in capital font are to be read by everyone all at once.

The Veil, the Weave

“On this mountain, God will destroy the veil that veils all peoples,
the web that is woven over all nations: he will destroy Death forever.”               
                                                  Isaiah, Chapter 25, Verses 7-8

the veil  that veils    the weave  that is woven
                  
break them          tear them       shred them       set us free

the veil that obscures  
                     distorts true meaning  
                                                  disorients 
                                                                 and stifles
            
obfuscation     dilapidation     obliteration     abomination

the weave of sticky thread
is a trap to capture the unwary
                  the weave of shiny thread
                  is a snare to entangle the greedy
                                 the weave of sweet-scented thread
                                 is a seduction of beauty into nothing
                                                                 the weave is woven
                                                                where is the weaver?
 where is he hiding?
                  this maker of imitations
                                   the master of mimicry
                                                       the creator of absence
 the weave holds us tight
              in the habit of hours
                                    in the rut of the known
                                                   in the suffocating thickness 

of lies             
                      that are woven           
                                                       that are told!

break the veil   undo the knots   free the mind

to see the blessings of infinity
                              to hear the music
                                        of sing-song lullabies
                                                         calming us for the night
for the first gleam 
                             of stardust
                                               for awakening                                
                                                                          in grace

   when the veil     AND the weave      are gone
__________________________________________________
© 2008 by Maja Trochimczyk 


Poet Katerina Canyon
Phoenix House's Counselor, La Tonya Smith, set the tone for further presentations by reading the famous poem by Maya Angelou, "Still I Rise." With is powerful refrain, it is a hymn to the perserverence in the face of adversity:
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.  (....)
Out of the huts of history's shame  
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain 

I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear 

I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear 

I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise  

I rise
I rise. 
The most moving and touching segment of the celebration was created by the participants themselves. Men enrolled in residential treatment programs volunteered to prepare speeches, or essays about various historical figures, from well known like Nelson Mandela and Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., to those who should be known better, like Ralph Bunche.  The story about Bunche was particularly memorable and humorous, with its refrain: "Do you know who was Ralph J. Bunche?"  For those who do not know, he was an American diplomat and negotiator of a peace accord in Palestine that won him the Nobel Peace Prize of 1950. Many listeners went  home repeating this refrain..."Do you know who was Ralph J. Bunche?"
The audience had scoring cards and evaluated the quality of each presentation, that included, in addition to speeches, also an artwork - a portrait of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. The five best presenters won prized - gift cards and books, including sample issues of the Rattle Poetry Magazine coupled with a book by two local poets, Marlene Hitt and Dorothy Skiles, entitled Riddles in the Rain (donated by the authors). 
_______________________________

"Memory Mirrors" by Maja Trochimczyk, first published in Kathabela Wilson, ed., Susan Dobay's Impressions of China, Poets on Site Chapbook inspired by artwork of Susan Dobay, Pasadena, 2013.  

"The Veil, the Wave," by Maja Trochimczyk, first published in The Voice of the Village, vol. 3 no. 3, April 2012.

"Feet" by Katerina Canyon, reprinted from www.villagepoets.com/katerina.html, also published www.poetickat.com/kcanyonfeet.html‎.