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Pilgrim Clay

XI

One becomes aware of the stilliness
In the evening because the wind-driven
Day contained no silences. The red glow

Sun sinks into the wood like a next door
Neighbor disappearing through the back door
To put its children to bed. The ironing

Board creaks and squeaks as a blouse is being pressed;
All is domestic and revolves around
What is routine and ordinary. Yet

Within the clay is an eternal pulse
Pumped through the stilliness, the evening woods,
And whenever blood courses to mystery.


XII

Although it is night the garden will bloom
The dogwood will whiten on the greening bush
Pink lilacs will perfume into the night

Although it is night yet all flesh is grass
Withering with the dogwood and lilac
While flesh upon bone returns to clay

Although it is night I pilgrim within
The aroma in burnt clay after rain
Ever the remembrance of what I am

Although it is night in the darkness there
What is whispered are sensings beyond words
We are freed from the mystery of clay

Hi Jimmy ~

I'll spend more time with all of these later... I haven't spent time with them, yet, as I intend to. For the moment, this caught my eye...

Pink lilacs will perfume into the night

Beautiful and unique expression of exactly what happens. Perfect for what happens with night-blooming jasmine, as well.

At this point, I'm wondering how many of these will continue to appear... and I truly don't care... they can go on forever and still please me. Thanks for sharing them as you do; in sections that can be enjoyed and appreciated without feeling overwhelmed; as well as for continuing with them, as you are.


~ Lizzy

Jimmy O'Connell wrote:Pilgrim Clay

XI

One becomes aware of the stilliness
In the evening because the wind-driven
Day contained no silences. The red glow

Sun sinks into the wood like a next door
Neighbor disappearing through the back door
To put its children to bed. The ironing

Board creaks and squeaks as a blouse is being pressed;
All is domestic and revolves around
What is routine and ordinary. Yet

Within the clay is an eternal pulse
Pumped through the stilliness, the evening woods,
And whenever blood courses to mystery.


XII

Although it is night the garden will bloom
The dogwood will whiten on the greening bush
Pink lilacs will perfume into the night

Although it is night yet all flesh is grass
Withering with the dogwood and lilac
While flesh upon bone returns to clay

Although it is night I pilgrim within
The aroma in burnt clay after rain
Ever the remembrance of what I am

Although it is night in the darkness there
What is whispered are sensings beyond words
We are freed from the mystery of clay

Hello Jimmy

Nice work on these two pieces. In the opening line of the first poem, shouldn't it be "stillness" not "stilliness"?

In regard to the ironing board, how about just saying "creaks" instead of "creaks and squeaks"?

In the second poem, I am not sure about the repeated "Although it is night" and might suggest that after the first appearance of the refrain you don't use it in the rest as it tends, IMHO, to get a bit repetitive. This is also an odd idea: "Although it is night in the darkness..."

"Pink lilacs will perfume into the night" -- how about just "Pink lilacs will perfume the night" -- not sure of the "into" which is awkward and sets up an awkward idea as well.

Good close to both poems.

Chris

"Pink lilacs will perfume into the night" -- how about just "Pink lilacs will perfume the night" -- not sure of the "into" which is awkward and sets up an awkward idea as well.

The wording on this I liked particularly well because it was so descriptive of the wafting quality that scents on the night air actually have. It's a more gradual, subtle process.

For me, "perfume the night" is more of a 'single' action... the night is perfumeless and then the night is perfumed. It also feels like the more typical way to express this [general] idea.

However, there was actually 'movement' in the original wording and, in that, is more evocative. When I read it, I thought of the first time in the Keys, as I walked in the dark through the plants and other foliage, from the road up to a friend's house. I suddenly stopped stark still and asked, "What is that!?!" Whoever was with me asked, "What is what!?!" "That smell! That incredible smell!! It's like an aphrodisiac."

However, as I said that, I was walking back toward where I had actually 'caught it' in the night air... I had to get back to where it was because it wasn't everywhere... you had to move around until you found it. I finally did and said, "Come here... it's right here!!" "Ohhhh... ," that person said, "That's Night Blooming Jasmine... " and it had perfumed into the night... and I had to locate where it still lingered in the air. As the night went on, it became stronger and more widespread... and I guess, one could come closer to saying, it 'perfumed the night.' However, when I came upon it, it was still 'perfuming into the night."

The process of it really struck me when I read that line and it stood out for me.


~ Lizzy

Thanks Lizzy and Christopher.
I couldn't have put it better myself Liz... the into the night, as you say locates the perfume...
It's decasyllabic verse so I am constrained by creaking and squeaking... but what I am trying to evoke is a double movement.. across and backwards... when one listens to someone ironing on a board there is that double movement... squeaking and creaking.

About the repetition of "Although it is night". Its from John of the Cross. Seamus Heaney uses a similar technique in one of his sequences... so I have good precedence here... Again... I am being deliberate. I think the repetition works as a kind of "mantra" which, again, is central to mystical poetry especially John of the Cross.

Again thanks for your observations

Jimmy

Christopher... about "stillness" and "stilliness"...!!

Thomas Moore... Irish melodist... wrote a song called "Oft in the Stilly Night". Great tune!!! I am deliberately echoing Moore here. The Irish reader will "get it". Moore's song is very evocative regarding Night and the drifting away of the cares of the day...

Jimmy