Monday, March 30, 2015

NOTHINGNESS & GOD



















WHAT POETS KNOW



Between chaos and night, by turns
the nothingness




©2015 Fundamental Darkness stephaniepope mythopoetry.com
#micropoetry #mpy #poetheme : between #mythopoetics #vss #2lines #lines #amwriting #poetry





notes

Credits


1. The collage image "Chaos" is  from Ovid, "Metamorphoses".

2. The collage image, "Night" is a painting by August Raynaud.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

TERPSICHORE NYMPHS & STUFF

 For more glass sculpture by artist, Peter Mandl  see
http://www.petermandl.com/#!glass-scultures/c1aog

























I SAW A SECRET LIFE DOWN THERE



Half past sunset, a beach
a darkly fluid reach
Maggie dancing


©2015 Maggie’s Secret Life
bedtime #vss  #mpy #micropoetry #mythopoetics #lines #3lines #poetry #amwriting #lines #Terpsichore

Sunday, March 22, 2015

SPRING GREEN
























UNDER MY SKIN

         "Follow your schlange" -C.G. Jung


Ore lay between
either and
the likeness shed here.



©2015 Slinging Schlange stephaniepope mythopoetry.com
#lines #3lines #mpy #vss #micropoetry #mythopoetics #amwriting #poetry


Monday, March 16, 2015

CONNECTING WITH FEMININITY
























IN OUR VITALITY, A POOL

Our sexuality belongs at the very center of the spiritual life, for it is our vitality, desire, and sweet unconsciousness.
                                  ~Thomas Moore, Mar 14 twitter




In care, tend thy garden rose
rooting in its own ripe depths
consistent moisture
glistens there
golden air
the 8th
hour
ours
blooms
under care
bent posture
you and I on our knees
poured over it, each bathed
in sweet sweating, inspired

©2015 The Maiden Well stephaniepope mythopoetry.com


notes

1.  For more twitter quotes by Thomas Moore see https://twitter.com/thomasmooreSoul

2. For another image of Mary, the gardener and Mary's "rosarium" see "Mary Nazarene" by Dante Gabriel Rossetti




Saturday, March 14, 2015

SPRUNG RHYTHM
























WHEN YOU ARE SPRUNG FROM SPRING



Rain whets the appetite
fills the breast pocket
of a flowering life


©2015 High On Happiness stephaniepope mythopoetry.com
#mpy #micropoetry #mythopoetics #vss


notes

Spawning the birth in poetry of free/freed verse, see the writing of Gerald Manly Hopkins for notions of sprung rhythm(s)

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

ESOTERIC MUSICOLOGY: THE LOWEST LOW






















SONG IN D(e)METER



In this universe where symbols clash
& love burns is an orchestra, too

of cymbals that crash to harmonies in turns
& something besides us lives through



©2015 To The Deborahs stephaniepope mythopoetry.com





notes


1.  About Teruah Jewish Music and the two Phil blank images Jack Zaientz writes, “Underlying Lowest of the Low is a wonderful sense of the Klezmer as both marginal outsider (barely tolerated for living according to other rules) and critical insider (provides spiritual and secular functions not available otherwise). Jewish Deborah/Bee Goddesses picks up a similar theme, but is even more esoteric.” For the entire blog post see Jack’s 9-28-2008 blog post at http://teruah-jewishmusic.blogspot.com/2008/09/phil-blank-lowest-of-low-and-jewish.html. Accessed 3-10-2015

2. Phil blank provides the following narrative below his painting of the klezmer musikers:

Klezmer is a word for the lowest of the low”, said Jewish clarinetist Ray Musiker, We just called ourselves musicians.”  Klezmer, like the words, “jazz” and “funk” became a derogatory term associated with trashiness.  A distinction was made between klezmorim, poor musicians with limited repertoires and musikers, honored members of a profession who could play wider repertoires.  But, the same accusations of crudeness and cacophony were leveled against jazz and other “impolite” musical forms.  Is it possible that there was more to klexmer than primitiveness?  Could the klezmorim’s music contain the legacy of an anarchic art that has survived “underneath” respectable culture?

The klezmorim were marginal but respected figures in traditional Yiddish society.  They developed their own language and lived on the periphery socially and economically.  Their performances were apparently powerful enough to have been tightly controlled by both gentile authorities and local Jewish law, their marginal status, their focus on instrumental music and their ability to foster esoteric  states assemble the practices of shamans from around the world who claimed to be able to travel between heaven and earth on the sound of their drum. See http://philblank.com/  for more of Phil’s work.

3. Listen to some of Phil's music. https://soundcloud.com/phil-from-nc


Wednesday, March 4, 2015

THE WHITE BEAUTY: MYTH OF THE VAGINAL SOUL

























BEAUTIFULLY WHITE THE VAGINAL SOUL


winged anima spread
finds her animus seated
drug by its own hair


©2015 The Last Winter Moon stephaniepope mthopoetry.com
#poetheme #prompt #mpy #vss




notes

1. For an interesting missive on animus mythos see Gregory Smith, The Myth of the Vaginal Soul at https://web.duke.edu/classics/grbs/FTexts/44/Smith.pdf

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

REGARDING "FIND", "FIEND" & "FRIEND"












IN THE MADNESS OF MARCH



first stories, Edenic & Promethean
unite find, fiend & friend
living before the fall.



©2015 Good Friday stephaniepope mythopoetry.com
#poetheme #poetry #prompt #vss #mpy #3lines #mythopoetics

notes

1. For one turning on hubris and humility in science see Carl Pope’s blog, http://incharacter.org/observation/the-promethean-and-copernican-traditions-in-science/
2. For the longer form of the phrase and to examine in detail the poetic image in the phrase, “Pride goeth before the fall” see Proverbs 16:18 which reads as follows: “Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”
3. For a turning of Ananke, necessary mythic inversions of the edenic see David J. Thomas, D.H. Lawrence’s “Snake: The Edenic Myth Inverted
4. For the poem, “Snake” by D. H. Lawrence provided below see http://unix.cc.wmich.edu/~cooneys/poems/dhl.snake.html

Snake
D.H. Lawrence

A snake came to my water-trough
On a hot, hot day, and I in pyjamas for the heat,
To drink there.
In the deep, strange-scented shade of the great dark carob tree
I came down the steps with my pitcher
And must wait, must stand and wait, for there he was at the trough before me.
7
He reached down from a fissure in the earth-wall in the gloom
And trailed his yellow-brown slackness soft-bellied down, over the edge of the stone trough*
And rested his throat upon the stone bottom,
And where the water had dripped from the tap, in a small clearness,
He sipped with his straight mouth,
Softly drank through his straight gums, into his slack long body,
Silently.
Someone was before me at my water-trough,
And I, like a second-comer, waiting.
16
He lifted his head from his drinking, as cattle do,
And looked at me vaguely, as drinking cattle do,
And flickered his two-forked tongue from his lips, and mused a moment,
And stooped and drank a little more,
Being earth-brown, earth-golden from the burning bowels of the earth
On the day of Sicilian July, with Etna smoking.
22
The voice of my education said to me
He must be killed,
For in Sicily the black, black snakes are innocent, the gold are venomous.
And voices in me said, If you were a man
You would take a stick and break him now, and finish him off.
But must I confess how I liked him,
How glad I was he had come like a guest in quiet, to drink at my water-trough
And depart peaceful, pacified, and thankless,
Into the burning bowels of this earth?
32
Was it cowardice, that I dared not kill him?
Was it perversity, that I longed to talk to him?
Was it humility, to feel so honoured?
I felt so honoured.
And yet those voices:
If you were not afraid, you would kill him!
And truly I was afraid, I was most afraid,
But even so, honoured still more
That he should seek my hospitality
From out the dark door of the secret earth.
41
He drank enough
And lifted his head, dreamily, as one who has drunken,
And flickered his tongue like a forked night on the air, so black,
Seeming to lick his lips,
And looked around like a god, unseeing, into the air,
And slowly turned his head,
And slowly, very slowly, as if thrice adream,
Proceeded to draw his slow length curving round
And climb again the broken bank of my wall-face.
50
And as he put his head into that dreadful hole,
And as he slowly drew up, snake-easing his shoulders, and entered farther,
A sort of horror, a sort of protest against his withdrawing into that horrid black hole,
Deliberately going into the blackness, and slowly drawing himself after,
Overcame me now his back was turned.
I looked round, I put down my pitcher,
I picked up a clumsy log
And threw it at the water-trough with a clatter.
58
I think it did not hit him,
But suddenly that part of him that was left behind convulsed in undignified haste,
Writhed like lightning, and was gone
Into the black hole, the earth-lipped fissure in the wall-front,
At which, in the intense still noon, I stared with fascination.
And immediately I regretted it.
I thought how paltry, how vulgar, what a mean act!
I despised myself and the voices of my accursed human education.
66
And I thought of the albatross,
And I wished he would come back, my snake.
For he seemed to me again like a king,
Like a king in exile, uncrowned in the underworld,
Now due to be crowned again.
71
And so, I missed my chance with one of the lords
Of life.
And I have something to expiate:
A pettiness.

Taormina, 1923