Rewards of Getting Up Early

I am not a morning person. However, getting up early sometimes has its rewards. I took the above photo recently at about 7:45 a.m. on 16th Street in Mt. Pleasant as I was walking down to the bus stop from my building.

Floating

The other new poem mentioned in my previous post. It incorporates two recent "fragments" and may add more.

Cloud Suite

I.
One small cloud floats over
white smudge on otherwise
perfect sky I watch it
drift beyond sight
edges fraying.

II.
Lightning nibbles around
the edges of sky above
the buildings but farther
down the street the moon
glows faint behind
a shred of clouds.

I seem to have developed an obsession with clouds. Though perhaps not as great as these people:
The Cloud Appreciation Society.

Fragments

I recently re-read G.M. Hopkins' "The Wreck of the Deutschland"—really, I was reading it for the first time since my previous encounter was in graduate school and I rushed through it as one tends to do in such cases. it struck me with great force this time. It is not intended as a narrative and doesn't tell the "story" of the disaster; indeed, the tragedy is not even mentioned until stanza 12 in Part the Second. Rather, it came across to me as 35 tight, intensely composed poems linked by their theme of struggling to perceive God's grace and mercy in the midst of pain, suffering, and sorrow. The poem beautifully displays Hopkins' powerful gifts—his highly original rhythms and brilliant images—as well as his occasional lapses into obscurity and labored diction. I strongly commend this poem to your attention. It will remind you in some places of Whitman, in others early Robert Lowell (cf. especially "The Quaker Graveyard in Nantucket), yet remains utterly original.

The lines from the first stanza have inspired me toward a possible new poem (watch this space!):

"Thou hast bound bones in me, fastened me flesh,
And after it almost unmade, what with dread,
Thy doing: and dost thou touch me afresh?
Once again I feel thy finger and find thee."

As if carrying that around in my head and trying to bring to life what it evoked isn't enough, last night another image floated into my imagination; this morning on the bus I composed the following fragment—or maybe it's a full first draft? Comments welcome as always.

One small cloud floats over
white smudge on otherwise
perfect sky I watch it
drift beyond sight edges
fraying.

100!

This is my 100th post since the very first one on Sept 13, 2004. I had little idea then what I would be doing, but blogging looked like fun and it was certainly easy. Over these 2-1/2 years and many posts, I have acquired some skills, much knowledge, a vast library of music, and most important, a sense of community that includes a number of men & women I'm delighted to have as friends and acquaintances, even though we have not met. I was even named Time's Person of the Year—admittedly along with countless others.

To celebrate, I offer a revision of my latest poem, again with the invaluable suggestions for "surgery" from Naomi. Incidentally, my relationship with her began not long after this blog did, two things worthy of note and celebration.

Thanks to all my readers for helping to keep me going!

Cloud-Seer

Cirrus clouds drift
across the sky like
lines of verse,
pretty but a bit
vague and slack
in rhythm, though
the image is clear.
Or one could
assemble six into
a hexagram from
the I Ching, perhaps
Chun—Difficulty
at the Beginning.

January 31, 2007 / March 14, 2007

Note: I chose the hexagram from
a random page of the I Ching.