FACING AN EYE CUP Symposium Of Mug and Jug

OF CAVE FACES VINES GROW

GROTESQUE YOUR MUG
MY JUG TOO, COFFIN

©2014 IN CONSPECTU MORTIS stephanie pope mythopoetry.com
#ohjDailyWords, #7words #2lines #vss #mythopoetics

NOTES

1. SEE   http://emajartjournal.files.wordpress.com/2012/08/andrew.pdf ON EYE CUPS AND FOR  NOTIONS OF SYMPOSIUM, CONVIVIALITY AMONG MEN AND EMERGENCE OF "THE OTHER" IN  GREECE, LATE ARCHAIC PERIOD, ANDREW PRENTICE

2. The jug in the picture is by Mitchell Grafton, Demon Inside and is found on pinterest http://www.pinterest.com/pin/268316090271564266/

WAKING ECHOES

The whole earth is the tomb of heroic men and their story is not given only on stone over their clay but abides everywhere without visible symbol woven into the stuff of other mens lives. -Pericles

AN ODDLY HAIR-RAISING JOURNEY

in mausoleum, sole
one's bottom chatter


©2014 The Wonder of Mausolos stephaniepope mythopoetry.com
#ohj chatter, mausoleum #micropoetry, #mythopoetics, #vss
#sixwords, #twolines


notes

1.  Etmyology of mausoleum
mausoleum (n.)  “magnificent tomb” [1540’s] from Latin mausoleum, from Greek Mausoleion, name of the massive marble tomb built 353 B.C.E. at Halicarnassus (Greek city in Asia Minor) for Mausolos, Persian satrap [governors of  large, Persian provinces or satrapies are called satraps] who made himself king of Caria. It was built by his wife (and sister), Artemisia. Counted among the Seven Wonders of the ancient world, it was destroyed by an earthquake in the Middle Ages. General sense of "any stately burial-place" is from c.1600.  [See etmonline.com]

2. The Mausoleum was approximately 45 m (148 ft) in height, and the four sides were adorned with sculptural reliefs, each created by one of four Greek sculptors—Leochares, Bryaxis, Scopas of Paros and Timotheus. The finished structure of the mausoleum was considered to be such an aesthetic triumph that Antipater of Sidon identified it as one of his Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. It was destroyed by successive earthquakes from the 12th to the 15th century. [See wiki]


3. Pausanias adds that the Romans considered the Mausoleum one of the great wonders of the world and it was for that reason that they called all their magnificent tombs mausolea, after it.[see  Fergusson, James (1862) Mausoleum at Halicarnassus: Recently Discovered Remains London: John Murray p. 10.

4. List of “The Seven Wonders of the World” of which the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus is one.

LAMENTATIONS

At the place where Jesus was crucified there was a garden,
and in the garden, a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid
and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus. –John 19:41

There Was a Garden

A pun of purity, artistic matters and
the mastery of masters

You lie in bed
there, crucified

a matter of being mastered
(not exactly replicated)

a matter of a manner of
perspective

in conspectu
mortis

Look at the impact―the imp act!

a pun
of purity

Look at the reference
to soul's point of view

where no one has ever been
laid

here in the personal genius
the sweating Orpheus

more
blood, please

bring this
to life

chthon's sprites are undead
I-b®ow to the god in you rising

ON MYTHOPOESES & CREATIVITY PLAYING THE OTHER................. ~Lines For David Miller

Silence as negation…as a fantasized potential, a not-yet-articulated fullness of speech…one of the key distinguishing features…the acting out of paradox. –Elleke Boehmer, Stories of Women , p.131


Where you gathered the line
poetized with seem and think
forgetful of being,  thought that felt itself
seamed again a so-ing term just how.

And where, in gathered words, the poetized
whatness had nowhere-ness to it, the mythic
deep, sweet scent betrayed also the eddy
you never spoke to me to speak the way it did
a silence like the roar of the sea in the shell of the ear.

Negate the negation and where the line gathers
is left in wakened, drunken foam the wrecked poem
negation by negation, wine-darkened is its d-calmed
position (oh, the ghosting, dull, dead, dee composition!)
rendering where I gather the line into me and where
fluid gathering separates out in poetic remains
my psyche's "psyche" gathering lines for her.
                                ***

And where you gathered for her, entering the work, too
(enter the work from anywhere, you said)
you suspended belief in things to gather this around you
teach me, friend, the way you cannot bare it
I will tell you, too the way I cannot share it
how waxing red gathers my scar’s fading amethyst in blue
a wine-darkened post-colonial skin not unlike your smithee
“bloom-like” flesh still glowing of its own accord in how
(an artistic interface, a signature in the para-work for sure!)
or... how unbloom-like and dissed this seamless entry seems
(an O! —Phersephassa’s laughless stone.)

But where, in grace and ghost, already entered and left
in this word is a word eclipsed, one not quite “here” where
each psyche’s poetic presence might also have come to presence
(born a second time as it will have been, from the belly of the pater-matter)
having played the other in a space gotten round
(an in/can/dee-essence the now “embodied absence” signs.)


From here another world must come.


©2007-2013 PLAYING THE OTHER: Lines For David Miller; On Mythopoeses and Creativity  stephanie pope, White Stocking Tales Poetry Series mythopoetry.com

This poem is dedicated to Maggie Macary, Ph.D. (1954-2006)

____________________________notes


THOUGHT TO PONDER active imagining in syllables and in conspectu mortis
or the transcendant function in middle "dee"


First memories of loving come to me in a hush, and by each of them I am undone a little, while there in the each of them, the mine within me continues to hide. Undone, I grow dull like the letter "dee" hiding within the configuration of that word. And, because in this moment it is love that seems to die a little through the story inside me, I sometimes feel just like that dull "dee" hiding inside the voice of its own name. "I love you" I say to that felt silence. And then I die a little, too, just so the unone of my lovestory can live again--even if just for this little while.

(Stephanie Pope, April, 2002)

SATURDAY POETRY: Enjambed Body



"End of the Trail"  20th C American Sculpture artist, James Earle Fraser with his 1894 plaster sculpture / "In 1894, when James Earle Fraser completed his model of The End of the Trail, American civilization stretched from shore to shore. Most Euramericans believed the frontier period was over and that such progress was inevitable. Many viewed Native Americans as part of the past, a vanishing race with no place in twentieth century. Popular literature portrayed Indian people as "savages," noble or otherwise. Fraser's The End of the Trail reflects this legacy: a nineteenth century Indian warrior defeated and bound for oblivion -- frozen in time." -R. David Edmunds, Ph.D.

in that word
under lasting light
in that way

he said "mould"
but i heard "mold" and
instantly "decay"

and instantly the shadow
moved as instantly away



©2013 In Conspectu Mortis Enjambed, stephanie pope mythopoetry.com matter and beauty poetry series

 

_________________notes

CG Jung and "in conspectu mortis"  [quote] The vision of the world in conspectu mortis is in truth a curious experience: the sense of the present stretches out beyond today, looking back into centuries gone by, and forward into futures yet unborn. [unquote]  see CG Jung: Letters. Volume 2: 1951-1961 Selected and edited by Gerhard Adler in collaboration with Aniela Jaffé.  Translated from the German by RFC Hull. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1975 p.10, Letter 21, Mar. 1951.

CG Jung calls this a way of seeing the world. "One must look to the past so that life is not frozen in the past."  -stephanie pope, "The Individuation Process".

in conspectu mortis see also stephanie pope "When Truth Is A Dark Light Walking The Land"

R. David Edmunds, Ph.D., Cherokee,The End Of The Trail: A Native American View

Ad Mortuos

...and the dead came back to me when they'd heard I'd found it

sitting on the rock sunning itself, a coiling unpinned


thing, a wing, burning and glowing
chorus growing in the water there on the rock like me
a loaded knot like me
unknotting suddenly and green; ascendant
in amphibian sing
coiling unpinned plopping
down (like me)

betrayer, she (betrayed the rock)

my night of madness in a drop
forced back by death
and calling

surely some tremendum is at hand

a night of madness in a drop
teetered there and clung to stone
until what shook began to rock
in rocking splendor terribly the moan
through frogs and toads and tatter
garment torn; belittled and dismembered spot
smaller, weaker, harder to believe
raised itself still wet and shorn and dressed in
wing (and of its own accord began to sing)

here is where is still the growing tree

her bright spot glazed in christic night
and in betrayer too, the wing eternal
danced das ding

O Sing! O shadow word (but just this once)
of that to which the lord of frog and toad relies
of that to which the dead return with rage and cries

the unperfected stillness

in the speech
of man; O
shadow, slur this speech and stir

bright
love

her death
came back to me and when it did
athanatoi came too;

the whisper full in emptiness
and sign; a glowing
darkly burning yet divine

This poem first published ...©2008 En Kata Poetry Series Ad Mortuos stephanie pope mythopoetry.com