Arctic Summer

July 11, 2016 By

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I wrote the following poem after spending ten glorious days adrift
north of the Arctic Circle on a cruise in August of 2002.
I won’t be going that far north this time
but am taking a  break in Canada for the next five days.

 

Arctic Summer

No stars fill the night  only clouds gray on gray
soaking in yellow light that fills the sky

From the deck I ponder arctic terns black guillemots
the sea of ice we breach   the ship’s groan and lurch

Evidence of our push through time   the tumble
of white gray and blue we scatter in our wake

Off the bow a polar bear feeds on ring seal
his blood tinged face glows like the moon

As he shuffles and paws the broken body
ivory gulls flutter   wait for scraps of skin and blubber

I go below to my cabin   fall asleep like a bear
cradled in the rhythmic rise and fall of sea and ice

The cold sunlit night slowly slipping
toward dark frozen days

jzr

I’ll be back here on my blog on July 19th with a post about my worst addiction and two book reviews.
If you missed my July 1st newsletter with my Latest, Hottest, Book News, go here to catch up on what’s happening.
I hope you’re enjoying the summer as much as I am.

Filed Under: Poetry, Travels Tagged With:

Painting With Words

April 18, 2016 By

 

A close up shot of a Western Ribbon Snake

Green like the grass
A ribbon of snake slithers
Through thickets of  meadow
Hunting for field mice
jzr

This month is National Poetry Month. When I moved here to Charlottesville, back in 1985, I had no idea what was in store for me. If you had told me I’d be writing and submitting my poetry to various journals in the near future I’d have said that you are the looniest person on earth.

As a young person, my history with poetry reading and therefore writing, was nonexistent. In high school when it came to reading poetry I was always told how to interpret a poet’s words. I was shy and even though I continually wanted to raise my hand and say, “No. I think what Mr. Frost means … ,” I kept it to myself. There was no discussion. It was simply, “This is what Mr. Frost said, this is what it means, and you’d better get it right on your midterm exam.” As a result I was bored with and hated anything in verse with a passion. For me it was, “Eek! Poetry? Run for the hills!” I felt stupid and lost all interest in it for the time being.

So, what made me sign-up for an evening poetry writing class in the University of Virginia’s Continuing Education Program? I was much older of course, in my early 40’s, married to a theatre man, and a fabulous teacher. I came to know that life experience beyond high school and college for that matter, is worth more than any graduate degree. Besides life’s usual day to day adventures, we often talked about writing and spent a goodly amount of time in New York going to shows. I came away loving it all, including Shakespeare, another one of my early aversions. My first encounter with a poet was way back in my late twenties when I met Pulitzer Prize winner, Galway Kinnell, at a small dinner party in rural Vermont. I’d obviously moved up in the world, leaving my ignorant early adulthood behind, able to talk about poetry, plays, novels, and works of non-fiction.

And I have always loved to read. I love words and how writers use them, gifting their readers with images and understandings of worlds beyond what they actually see in front of them. For me writing is very much akin to painting. Instead of using pigments, writers use words to build scenes in which all of senses react, as they might to peaceful landscapes or cityscapes, captured on canvas.

Already immersed in photography and painting I wanted to expand the way I express myself and what I believe to be important. Instead of using abstraction as I was in my visual work, words were more concrete. They brought me closer than ever to creating a mood or a scene that spoke to all parts of the brain, bringing the reader closer to what I am trying to get across.

I wrote the following in 1991, describing the difficulty I sometimes feel when I have the need to write.

Words

Push
Through
Spreading
Fissures
I force
Them back
Repress
Meaning
Sounds
Dismiss them
As inadequate
Already said
Yet they must
Begin somewhere
As if there is
A place to start
Here on this line
Reaching those
Who would hear
What I have to says

jzr

Filed Under: Poetry

The Silence Of Snow

February 9, 2015 By

DSC01864I just returned from a writing retreat with four wonderful women. It was a week of hard writing, sharing, nurturing, and laughter. I’ll write more about it next week. But for now, with a good portion of our country sleeping beneath a heavy blanket of snow, I leave you with the following poem.

The Silence of Snow

I shift beneath blankets
warm from nightly wandering
the only sound my thoughts
percolating through misty dreams
unspoken words muffled by snow
pillowed on pines  plump sculptures
thick as feather beds conceal
the garden that yesterday lay
barren and scarred

No birds call  leaden geese in silhouette
glide the river thickening with winter chill
I slip back into dreams  a mummy wrapped
in sheets of white  the slow dance
of cranes in a sea of frozen fog
drift in and out numbing my bones
awake once more I wonder if death
is as still and pure as
the silent snow

JZR
12/2005

What questions do snow and silence raise for you?

Filed Under: Dreams, Poetry, wonderings Tagged With: ,

October Adventure

October 1, 2013 By

IMG_0497October

Gusts hurry clouds
Large as icebergs across unlimited blue
Unclothed limbs thrash beneath shadows
Afraid the sky will burst

The gray squirrel
The one that limps  fusses at the cat
Seems thin like the light slipping
Over the edge

I fill the feeders
To overflowing  rake the path
Blanketed with summer’s remnants
Moldering through expectant afternoons

JZR
10/3/91

Though temperatures will be rising today to eighty  plus, and the humidity will soon make the air heavier, fall is here. At bedtime, I open a window in my room, leave the blanket in place and sleep more soundly than I do in summer. It is hibernation time.

Although I’m a morning person, it is difficult to get out of bed when it is so dark outside.  At this time of year I want a rise with the sun and go to sleep when it falls off in the west.  But that doesn’t leave enough time during the daylight hours to get enough done.  In another month the time will change and I’ll find it easier to get out of bed earlier. But night will encroach sooner than before and the evening chores in the garden will be done in strong afternoon light or wait until the days start lengthening again.

Though I haven’t finished the first draft of my book, it’s time for a change of scene.  Next week, I’m off on an adventure. I’m off to London, where a bridge has been falling down for centuries and a new born prince resides not too far away.  I’m very excited but at the same time having difficulty getting myself ready to go.  Packing has always been a chore for me.  I either pack too much or too little and then complain that my bags are either too heavy or I don’t have enough clothing to keep me from looking like an old, wrinkled wanderer.

After I leave the the house, the dogs and cat behind, I’ll become my traveling self, eager for something new and ready for change.  I’ll see some sights I haven’t checked out before, visit with old friends, see a few plays and listen to beautiful music at St. Martin’s in the Field.  I’ll check out Harrod’s and other stores that catch my interest and wander through the many outdoor markets looking for some small object that doesn’t cost much but  would be perfect for one of my works of art.

At this time of year, we usually go to the beach, just five hours away, where the tourists are mostly gone for the season. There I take in the sound of the ocean, walk barefoot in the sand, and simply rest.  But this year I decided on something different. I haven’t been to the other side of the pond in a number of years and decided it was time to return. And England is one my favorite places.  The years pass too quickly and though there are other places still on my bucket list, returning to special places is particularly comforting.  And having Frequent Flyer Miles to get me there certainly helps.

I may or may not show up here during the next couple of  weeks, depending on what I’m doing and how I’m feeling. Sometimes a body just needs a break from old routines. Other times life is so exciting I just may have to break my silence and fill you in on what’s happening.  In any case, I’ll be back in three weeks. Enjoy this wonderful season and the changes that lie before all of us.

Filed Under: Poetry, The Journey, The Seasons, Theatre, Travels Tagged With: ,

Meditation On Fall

September 10, 2013 By

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goldenrod
turns the field bright yellow
the moon is full

We’ve had a very tolerable summer here in Virginia. There’ve been a few short heat waves that have been replaced by glorious cool spells, lower humidity. Weekly rains of half an inch or more have kept me from having to water the garden. Temperatures in the eighties have been manageable. The garden is looking a lovely green. I’m not a “Summer in Virginia” fan but this one was certainly delightful compared to so many others I’ve lived through.

cool night air
trace of frost on grass
toad sleeps deeply

My favorite season is upon us. Nights are cool enough to open windows, turn the A/C off, use a  blanket. The yellow school bus is back, picking up and dropping off neighborhood kids wearing light sweaters in chilly morning air. The dogwood leaves are deep red. I can see the green of other trees and shrubs fading as I travel up and down neighboring hills. Walking in the early morning is a perfect way to honor each new day.

leaves drop
scratching the window pane
wind from the north

I’m interested in cooking again.  My favorite things to make during cold months are soups, stews and braises.  I’m tired of salads, though late winter will find me longing for spring greens and juicy, red tomatoes. Local peaches are about gone and if you can find them, are mealy, unappealing. At the farmer’s market bins overflow with apples, winter squash, potatoes, onions, aromatic garlic, beets. As the days cool further, cold weather crops like broccoli will return with brussel sprouts, cabbage, spinach, and kale.

feather quilt
pulled over my head
bear hibernates

 Soon we’ll be raking leaves, stacking firewood close to the house. Hot steamy cups of tea replace the iced variety I brew every day in summer. I switch to PJs with sleeves, keep a quilt nearby should nights grow colder than expected. Max and Sam cuddle closer. Through the open widow I smell wood burning in my neighbor’s fireplace.

from the chimney
smells of oak and poplar
fox hunts nesting mice

 Early morning walks with Sam and Max in the dark. It’s harder to get out of bed before the sun rises. I’ll take more naps. Evenings will find me heading for bed earlier as the light dies.  My eyes want to close as I read.
Every night the same paragraph over and over again without moving forward.

tea grows cold
book open on the bed
afternoon nap

     Energy surges with brisk walks. It’s time to shut down the garden. Cut back dead flower heads, prune this and that. I make notes of what to replace in spring. Plan on ferns and woodland flowers as tree canopies spread.

autumn rain
my feet cold and damp choose
soft woolen socks

       HAPPY FALL EVERYONE!
HOPE YOU ENJOY IT AS MUCH AS I DO.

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: Poetry, The Garden, The Seasons Tagged With: ,
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