The Chronicle Time


If it’s greek to me—Khronos refers to quantitative, sequential time; Kairos refers to an opportune moment, having a qualitative nature.

 

The idea that a writer writes one long poem is tempting to apply to other endeavors. Imagine one long painting or one long symphony.

If this idea stirs up contemplating time as nonlinear in an energetic mind, that the Earth turns and rotates around the sun, almost as if in the same location once removed, then might a person be entering philosophical thresholds of thought? Imagining time as a physical gift of sun and shadow, after humans thought the sun rotated around the Earth, the sun dial is placed in an appropriate place. Perhaps cloudy days encouraged inventions like the hour glass, an excellent example of the movement of a substance to measure time.

From here one can go further with large or minute examples of time as movement, such as the human eye moving over the pages of a book or a series of images. Perhaps time has come down to the division of a moment, as dots make up a line, movement of the works of a clock divide minutes by seconds or to whatever digital devices divide, we accept that time is relatively accurate, given that so much depends on the setting of clocks and datelines (International Date Line), imagined lines (longitude) on the Earth that the light of the sun seems to cross as the Earth rotates.

How does time apply to memory? Any given stimulus can bring up a memory. That memory branches out into others. Memories are not often chronologic. What we remember relates to subjects and place rather than time. There may be an initial time a certain memory places us but then a character, subject, or a significant event, takes us off into another time. Especially with a season like spring or summer, when years of seasons can blend together so that years overlap and memories rise based on a hub, perhaps an object, like an old ice box, a beach, a shower, clouds in a sky, and memories branch out from there.

So it is with poetry. One poem’s lines can span decades, yet time is subordinate to the ideas of the poem. John Corbett says, “A poem can be oblique and still be absolutely precise.” He says, “I read poetry the way I listen to improvised music. It’s not so important to interpret an improvisation as it is to experience it.”

To some, poetry seems a perfectly natural form, invented while walking for example, to express any number of emotions one experiences triggered by a significant event or after a long reflection on circumstances leading to particular moment or place.

Poetry and improvised music share certain lyric attributes. Emotion, passion, rhapsody, intuition, and other subjective inferences.

Borges called poetry a mongrel. One can conjure his meaning. Perhaps he meant indefinable. Because poetry can support many subtle nuances through language in ways other than does prose, it can seem to be secondary for a reader that has not regarded language possessing another rhythm, without linear configuration, or more than one dimension. In truth poetry may predate prose but this is not important to debate as much as it is to accept poetry as existing prior to Classical Greek as classical in its significance for early cultures.

To draw one conclusion, without limitation, poetry and music share qualities. When perhaps the first poems were songs, as Vedic knowledge was originally spoken, voice being considered a form of spirit, then the character of a voice is fundamentally musical or lyrical. How curious that these essential expressions, music and poetry, can be both ancient and modern. By understanding them we enter the less predictive, less logical movement of time.

When we accept language and music as abstract primal expressions, that time can be theoretical relative to their creation, perhaps we enter a realm of creativity that needs no paraphrasing.

 

 

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The Family Muse by Sarah White


The Family Muse by Sarah White

          Pity the Muse
in our house: Mother’s
paintings hidden in the attic
like clandestine Jews.

a seldom-tuned piano,
refusing the arpeggios
of “Clair de Lune”

a teenage boy reciting
“Gunga Din” complete
with Cockney sounds—You ‘eathen,
where the mischief ‘ave you been?

. . . I ‘ope you liked your drink,
and he dies—
me laughing, lurching
from the room, vowing
to become a poet

and show my own book
to my brother,
who would never look:
“Poems make me feel
like a boob.”

But wait. Once, he and I
took a class and shared
a set of soft pastels.
He fashioned me an easel
I could balance on a table
and it all went well.

The Muse—that floozy
friendly with Debussy—
saw what we could do, us two,
and was so surprised
she swooned
and dropped her harp.

 

Nominated for a Pushcart Prize. This poem appears in to one who bends my time by Sarah White.

 

What I would Give Up


What I Would Give Up

I would give up all the words in the world
but not words that open doors
to unknown rooms.
I would give up all the rooms in the world
but not this room
where I heard music for the first time.
I would give up all the music in the world
but not this music that holds all the light
I have ever seen and all the light I have not.
I would give up all the light in the world
but not this light that makes me reach
for a pencil to write words.

 

by Joan I. Siegel from Archaeology, Deerbrook Editions 2017

New food coming off the presses


A passing by Joan I. Siegel

A Passing by Joan I. Siegel may be atonal and therefore a well seasoned feast.

News update: These authors will be reading  January 28.
Time is 7 pm.
Place is Morrison Hall, Orange County Community College, 115 South Street, Middletown, New York.

Deerbrook Editions announces

A Passing by Joan I. Siegel, coming soon in 2015.

“Siegel’s book is a meditation, a held breath, a chord lingered on and released, the silence eloquent as the music. In these poems, memory both preserves and fails, distorts and clarifies. She meets small deaths (a hummingbird, a cat) and large (her own loved ones, and victims of war and the Holocaust) with a steady gaze. But there is also the cherry blooming outside the window, Degas’ dancer, a child’s new language that sputters off your lips and drops / ripe as a juicy pear in my lap.”

                                           —Mary Makofske

“The poems in Joan I. Siegel’s A Passing offer startling bardic moments. In a poem’s anguished speaker, a sudden transcendence takes place. In the reader, a sudden awakening ensues from a window’s shocking brightness, or a subtle memory of a window, or the profound emptiness of molecules that never touch.”

                                             —Sandra Graff, author of This Big Dress

Siegel is recipient most recently of Poetry Quarterly’s Rebecca Lard Award, and previously New Letters Poetry Award and Anna Davidson Rosenberg Prize. A finalist for the Pablo Neruda Prize, she was an International Merit Award Winner in Atlanta’s 2014 International Poetry Competition.

Jaon is also the author of  Hyacinth for the Soul (Deerbrook Editions, 2009)

 And 

Beautiful Day by JR Solonche
Beautiful Day by JR Solonche has delight and sorrow insights and more.

 

Beautiful Day by JR Solonche, also coming soon. A new author to Deerbrook Editions, JR Solonche’s Beautiful Day is a delight as well as it may be conundrum, for JR’s skillful introspection plays with the commonplace while illusively serving up poetic truism.

Preview some poems  that appear in Beautiful Day on Mudlark

“The spirit of Horace, the melancholy of time slithering away and turning all to dust, tempered with art, wit and good grace: Solonche’s is the Horatian spirit for our time and place.”

                —Ricardo Nirenberg, editor of Offcourse

“When his daughter poses a most difficult question, the father in one of the poems in A Beautiful Day, responds, I’ll have to get it right. / I’ll have to clear my throat, sigh as wise people / sigh before I say . . . Solonche the poet, like Solonche the father, neither sidesteps the crucial questions of the day, nor pretends to have the perfect answers. He sighs and crafts his way with words of care, of wit, of artistry.”

                                   —James Penha, editor of New Verse News

“Solonche possesses a deadpan delivery that delights in unexpected twists and word play that can turn deadly serious. He’s equally expert at both narrative and lyric, and the ghazals alone are worth the price of admission.”

                                                     —Mary Makofske, author of Traction, winner of the Snyder Prize

» Seeing the Arabs through quack spectacles | Djelloul Marbrook


» Seeing the Arabs through quack spectacles | Djelloul Marbrook.