Monet Refuses the Operation by Lisel Mueller

Houses of Parliament, London, 1904 by Claude Monet

 

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Monet Refuses the Operation
BY LISEL MUELLER

Doctor, you say there are no haloes
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don’t see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don’t know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight
so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and changes our bones, skin, clothes
to gases. Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end.

Lisel Mueller, “Monet Refuses the Operation” from 'Second Language'. Louisiana State University Press, 1996.

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I could post this poem every other day, over and over and over again. I've memorized it and still can't get enough of the amazing imagery and sheer beauty of it. It's a pure, perfect marriage of art and words...just magnificent!

Update:  (Thanks to those of you who told me the painting I had up with this post was not the Houses of Parliament by Monet.  I've corrected it and added the proper painting from Wiki.  Thanks, again!)

I highly recommend Ms. Mueller's book, "Alive Together: New & Selected Poems" which won the Pulitzer Prize for poetry in 1996.

Love & Blessings,
~Marion

The Almanac of Last Things
By Linda Pastan

From the almanac of last things
I choose the spider lily
for the grace of its brief
blossom, though I myself
fear brevity,

but I choose The Song of Songs
because the flesh
of those pomegranates
has survived
all the frost of dogma.

I choose January with its chill
lessons of patience and despair- and
August, too sun-struck for lessons.
I choose a thimbleful of red wine
to make my heart race,

then another to help me
sleep. From the almanac
of last things I choose you,
as I have done before.
And I choose evening

because the light clinging
to the window
is at its most reflective
just as it is ready
to go out.

"Carnival Evening: New and Selected Poems 1968-1998"

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Pain by Linda Pastan

PAIN
By Linda Pastan, from "Waiting For My Life"

More faithful
than lover or husband
it cleaves to you,
calling itself by your name
as if there had been a ceremony.

At night, you turn and turn
searching for the one
bearable position,
but though you may finally sleep
it wakens ahead of you.

How heavy it is,
displacing with its volume
your very breath.
Before, you seemed to weigh nothing,
your arms might have been wings.

Now each finger adds its measure;
you are pulled down by the weight
of your own hair.
And if your life should disappear ahead of you
you would not run after it.

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Leaves Compared With Flowers by Robert Frost

I took these two leaf photos this morning inspired by one of my favorite poet/bloggers/people of all time, Erin at The Tiny Leaf

Leaves Compared With Flowers
By Robert Frost

A tree's leaves may be ever so good,
So may its bark, so may its wood;
But unless you put the right thing to its root
It never will show much flower or fruit.

But I may be one who does not care
Ever to have tree bloom or bear.
Leaves for smooth and bark for rough,
Leaves and bark may be tree enough.

Some giant trees have bloom so small
They might as well have none at all.
Late in life I have come on fern.
Now lichens are due to have their turn.

I bade men tell me which in brief,
Which is fairer, flower or leaf.
They did not have the wit to say,
Leaves by night and flowers by day.

Leaves and bark, leaves and bark,
To lean against and hear in the dark.
Petals I may have once pursued.
Leaves are all my darker mood.

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And who doesn't love Robert Frost? The sun is shining magnificently & brilliantly here today. I hope it's sunny where you are, too.

Love & Blessings,
~Marion

"If you would know strength and patience, welcome the company of trees." ~Hal Borland

Birds of America by Lorrie Moore

I never was much of a short story person until I came across "Birds of America" by Lorrie Moore several years back and now I love short stories. I re-read "Birds of America" annually and got it down today and decided to share a few of my favorite quotes. This passage from the story "Terrific Mother" cracks me up every time I read it:

"You're not a poetess, I hope," said the English geologist next to her. "We had a poetess here last month, and things got a bit dodgy here for the rest of us."

"Really." After the soup, there was risotto with squid ink.

"Yes. She kept referring to insects as 'God's typos' and then she kept us all after dinner one evening so she could read from her poems, which seemed to consist primarily of the repeating line, 'the hairy kiwi of his balls.'

Ms. Moore converted me lock, stock and barrel with the story, "Four Calling Birds, Three French Hens" in which Aileen's cat, Bert, dies and she can't seem to get over it and seeks psychiatric help. The story begins,

"When the cat died on Veteran's Day, his ashes then packed into a cheesy pink-posied tin and placed high upon the mantel, the house seemed lonely and Aileen began to drink..."

She muses: "She had already---carefully, obediently---stepped through all the stages of bereavement: anger, denial, bargaining, Haagen-Dazs, rage. Anger to rage---who said she wasn't making progress? She made a fist but hid it."...

Her husband suggests that she see someone, so she searches the phone book for a psychiatrist:

"She got recommendations, made lists and appointments, conducted interviews...."I have a death of a pet situation," she said. "How long does it take for you to do those?"

"I beg your pardon."

"How long will it take you to get me over the death of my cat, and how much do you charge for it?"

Each of the psychiatrists, in turn, with their slightly different outfits, and slightly different potted plants, looked shocked.

"Look," Aileen said. "Forget Prozac. Forget Freud's abandonment of the seduction theory. Forget Jeffrey Masson---or is it Jackie Mason? The only thing that's going to revolutionize this profession is Bidding the Job!"

She does manage to find a psychotherapist who guarantees to have her 'cured' by Christmas or the last visit is free. What a story! My own cat of 20 years had just died when I read this and still I laughed my ass off at her sharp wit. I can't even recall how many times I've read this book. Ms. Moore's imagination and lyrical prose is amazing.

My Beloved Ramone, my very own 'Bert', may he rest in peace in Cat Heaven.

And a Happy New Year's Day! I'm cooking my black-eyed peas and cabbage, an annual tradition here in the deep South. The peas are for luck and the cabbage for financial success in the coming year.

Blessings,

Marion

Louise Erdrich Reruns: Advice to Myself & Grief

Young Marion, 24 years young, on Lake Bistineau

I love these poems so much, I'm going to repost them. I posted them early this year, in January. I was just reading the comments from Renee and reminiscing about how terribly fragile life is. Blessings---

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Advice to Myself
By Louise Erdrich

Leave the dishes.
Let the celery rot in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator
and an earthen scum harden on the kitchen floor.
Leave the black crumbs in the bottom of the toaster.
Throw the cracked bowl out and don't patch the cup.
Don't patch anything. Don't mend. Buy safety pins.
Don't even sew on a button.
Let the wind have its way, then the earth
that invades as dust and then the dead
foaming up in gray rolls underneath the couch.
Talk to them. Tell them they are welcome.
Don't keep all the pieces of the puzzles
or the doll's tiny shoes in pairs, don't worry
who uses whose toothbrush or if anything
matches, at all.
Except one word to another. Or a thought.
Pursue the authentic-decide first
what is authentic,
then go after it with all your heart.
Your heart, that place
you don't even think of cleaning out.
That closet stuffed with savage mementos.
Don't sort the paper clips from screws from saved baby teeth
or worry if we're all eating cereal for dinner
again. Don't answer the telephone, ever,
or weep over anything at all that breaks.
Pink molds will grow within those sealed cartons
in the refrigerator. Accept new forms of life
and talk to the dead
who drift in though the screened windows, who collect
patiently on the tops of food jars and books.
Recycle the mail, don't read it, don't read anything
except what destroys
the insulation between yourself and your experience
or what pulls down or what strikes at or what shatters
this ruse you call necessity.

~From: "Original Fire: New and Selected Poems", page 149

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Grief
By Louise Erdrich

Sometimes you have to take your own hand
as though you were a lost child
and bring yourself stumbling
home over twisted ice.

Whiteness drifts over your house.
A page of warm light
falls steady from the open door.

Here is your bed, folded open.
Lie down, lie down, let the blue snow cover you.

"But words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think." ~Lord Byron


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The Three Oddest Words by Wislawa Szymborska

I miss the dragonflies.  One of my blue summer pals on my foot.

The Three Oddest Words
By Wislawa Szymborska

When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.

When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.

When I pronounce the word Nothing,
I make something no non-being can hold.

~Translated by S. Baranczak & C. Cavanagh

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We had a wonderful Christmas.  It was cold and damp, but our daughter, April, had a big fire going in her fireplace.  It got so warm inside we had to open the windows to cool off.  She cooked an amazing meal of beef brisket, chicken & dressing, giblet gravy, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, dirt cake and pecan pie.  I made my sweet potato souffle.  (The dirt cake is topped with crushed Oreos....hence the name).  Everything was delicious and delightful.  Both of my girls are fabulous cooks.  April painted me a magnificent, huge oil painting of a woman with a dragonfly hovering in front of her face.  I'll post pics of it later this week.  My other daughter, Sarah, called from Chattanooga wild with excitement early on Christmas morning.  "Mama, it's SNOWING!"  Having been raised here in Louisiana where we seldom get snow, she still gets excited at every snowfall.  But the fact that they got their first snowfall on Christmas was especially sweet and special. 

The grand-ones, Mary Mace and Warner, grabbed the phone and told me what Santa brought them and I could feel their joy through the phone.  Warner, who's 4 years old, got his first 'big boy' bicycle.  Mary Mace turned 7 on Christmas Eve and I sent her 4 books about fairies, one a magnificent pop-up with flowers and fairies hidden in the blooms.  When we visited at Thanksgiving, I told her about a fairy circle of mushrooms I found in my backyard years ago.  She was enthralled and said, "Grammy, do you really, really believe in fairies?"  I assured her that I did and she gave me a sparkling grin and said, "I didn't even know grownups believed stuff like that!"  Oh, the joys of childhood!!  I must've been a really good girl this year because Santa brought me my dream gift, a Canon Rebel camera which I've wanted for years.  It's my version of a diamond ring.  Tee-Hee.  I'd rather have photos than diamonds any old day.

I hope each and every one of you had a wonderful holiday, filled with love and family.

Wishing you all love, joy and peace,

~Marion

"Every man [and woman] should be born again on the first day of January. Start with a fresh page. Take up one hole more in the buckle if necessary, or let down one, according to circumstances; but on the first of January let every man gird himself once more, with his face to the front, and take no interest in the things that were and are past." ~Henry Ward Beecher

A Christmas Carol by G. K. Chesterton & Entrance by Rainer Maria Rilke

Christmas Eve Sunrise in Louisiana

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A Christmas Carol
by G. K. Chesterton

The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap,
His hair was like a light.
(O weary, weary were the world,
But here is all alright.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast
His hair was like a star.
(O stern and cunning are the kings,
But here the true hearts are.)

The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart,
His hair was like a fire.
(O weary, weary is the world,
But here the world's desire.)

The Christ-child stood on Mary's knee,
His hair was like a crown,
And all the flowers looked up at Him,
And all the stars looked down.


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Entrance
By Rainer Maria Rilke

Whoever you are: step out of doors tonight,
out of the room that lets you feel secure.
Infinity is open to your sight.
Whoever you are.
With eyes that have forgotten how to see
from viewing things already too well-known,
lift up into the dark a huge, black tree
and  put it in the heavens:  tall, alone.
And you have made the world and all you see.
It ripens like the words still in your mouth.
And when at last you comprehend its truth,
then close your eyes and gently set it free.

Translated by Dana Gioia

Can you see the Cardinal hiding among my ornaments?

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas.  I love and appreciate you!

Blessings,

~Marion

"Our hearts grow tender with childhood memories and love of kindred, and we are better throughout the year for having, in spirit, become a child again at Christmas-time." ~Laura Ingalls Wilder

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O Taste and See by Denise Levertov & Let Evening Come by Jane Kenyon

"Taste and see that the LORD is good; blessed is the man who takes refuge in him." ~Psalm 34:8

In loving memory of Jacquie, our Renee's beloved sister who died today.

O Taste and See
By Denise Levertov

The world is
not with us enough
O taste and see

the subway Bible poster said,
meaning The Lord, meaning
if anything all that lives
to the imagination’s tongue,

grief, mercy, language,
tangerine, weather, to
breathe them, bite,
savor, chew, swallow, transform

into our flesh our
deaths, crossing the street, plum, quince,
living in the orchard and being

hungry, and plucking
the fruit.

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Let Evening Come
By Jane Kenyon

Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.

Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.

Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.

Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.

To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.

Let it come, as it will, and don't
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.

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May you all have a blessed Christmas, filled with love, family and friends.

~Marion

"Remember, this December, that love weighs more than gold."

Waiting for Christmas

My cats have taken all the candy out of our candy dishes to bat around the house, tried to topple the tree (which I anchored to the wall with fishing line) and undecorated our Cypress in the front yard by climbing it and knocking off the balls, one by one.  Sigh.  But they're oh, so entertaining.  Happy Holidays!  ~Marion

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If What You're Waiting for is Christmas
By David Devine

If what you're waiting for is Christmas
You don't need me to tell you so
If you've been looking for somebody
You might not have that far to go

See how the candle dances
With all the shadows on the wall
If what you're waiting for is Christmas
It might be coming after all

Sometimes I feel so tired
Sometimes I feel so blue
I'm just going thru the motions
Of almost anything I do

But guess I'm getting better
Even I'm a bit surprised
When I see my own reflection
In a dark haired angel's eyes

Maybe all that really matters
Try to feel the mystery
Found in people left abandoned
Burning, blooming poetry

If for miracles you hunger
You might see a few come true
If what you're waiting for is Christmas
It might be waiting there for you.

From: "The Light of the Morning: Light Rhymes for Hard Times"

Candle light by Marion