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My Year of the Horse

17th Century Mongolian Bronze, photo courtesy of the curator of The Buddha Gallery
17th Century Mongolian Bronze, photo courtesy of the curator of The Buddha Gallery

2014 IS THE YEAR OF THE HORSE IN CHINESE ASTROLOGY, which promises adventure. (Okay, I made that last bit up, but where is it written we can’t hope?)

I’ve adopted Horse as my guiding spirit. In the ethos of the Chinese people, the spirit of Horse is marked by unrelenting effort. It is characterized by intelligence and ability. The ancient Chinese thought of an able person as Qian Li Ma, a horse that travels a thousand li a day, about 360 miles or 500 meters.

A thousand li according to Lao Tzu writing in the Tao Te Ching is the journey that “starts beneath our feet.”  We would say the journey begins with a single step. My first step is this: my first post of the year and my current re-reading of Isaac Asimov‘s autobiographies, In Memory Yet Green (1920-1954) and In Joy Still Felt (1954-1978). They present the opportunity to re-experience a time and place I have in common with Mr. Asimov (the ’50s onward) and also to immerse myself in  Pulp Era of Science Fiction (magazines, 1920s/30s) and the Golden  Age (“Hard SF”- linear, 1950s) and New Wave Age (“Soft” – artistic, literary, experimental, 1960s/70s). One cannot live by poetry alone.These books also provide the chance to observe the skill and absorb the wisdom of one of the finest, most versatile and most prolific of American writers. Some say his life was dull. I don’t agree. Isaac Asimov had many adventures in life but his adventures were of the mind.

“We have two ears and one mouth so that we can listen twice as much as we speak”. Epictitus

Another way to express my plan is that this will be a year of listening (reading) more and talking (writing) less. My father – not unlike Epictetus – used to say, “You have two ears and one mouth. That’s God’s way of telling human beings how important listening is.”  So this year – my sixth blogging – there will be fewer of my own poems posted here, far fewer posts, and significantly more reviews of books and collections.  As Stephen King said:

“If you don’t have time to read, you don’t have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.”

I’ve posted a small poetry collection on the Home page (My Poetry Sampler).

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… and thus the journey continues …

May this be your best year yet for intellectual and artistic adventures.

♥

© 2014, Jamie Dedes, essay and the rose photograph, All rights reserved

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I found my way to Niamh’s blog and books via poet Reena Prisad (Butterflies of Time) when Reena reblogged a post from Niamh’s On the Plum Tree. Subsequently, Niamh visited me here and asked me to write something for her Wednesday poetry corner. I was happy to do it, especially since I have been anxious to write about Ruth Stone, an earthy poet whose work I have long admired. If you haven’t encourntered Ruth Stone yet, I hope you will enjoy meeting her today.

I’ve just finished reading Niamh’s The Coming of the Feminine Christ, which I enjoyed, and I’ve also recently asked Niamh to join us on Into the Bardo where she will share with us her wonderful sense of the numinous.

Dr Niamh's avatarNiamh Clune

Introducing to the Plum Tree, Jamie Dedes. Jamie is a very intelligent writer and runs a poetry blogazine: Into The Bardo. I have been struck by Jamie’s clarity and thoughtfulness in all she writes and produces. I am sure she will become a hot favourite ontheplumtree as she shares her thoughts and fascinating  insights with us. Thank you Jamie for being this week’s guest.

By Jamie Dedes41QCPusU8DL._SY344_PJlook-inside-v2,TopRight,1,0_SH20_BO1,204,203,200_

“We go on to poetry; we go on to life. And life is, I am sure, made of poetry. Poetry is not alien – poetry is . . . lurking round the corner. It may spring on us at any moment.”Jorge Luis Borges, This Craft of Verse

Poems clutter the landscape of my mind with bite-sized portions easily committed to memory, ready to be pulled out in a moment of need or want. I like to think of poetry as literary dim…

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No Time for Sleep

The future grows ever shorter while the book stacks grow high and disorderly alongside bed and chair. No time for sleep. The mind must use the hours to trawl the tomes and its faculties, feeding its hunger for the clarity and intimacy of fiction, the stark raving sanity of poetry. There are volumes of philosophy that flow like rivers as one book eases its way into the next. They reframe life and its perspectives. Occasionally I stop to listen to the music of my unread and untutored progenitors. They play their chalice-drums to ward off devils and tempt genii, but I face the ravages of the night by rustling pages. My survival is written in chapters, not notes. My sensibility is spun out of words.

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© 2013, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved, licensing for online publications is nonnegotiable and requires permission, attribution, link to this site, my copyright, no modification, noncommercial only and does not imply permission to include the work in the site’s printed collections or anthologies.
Photo courtesy of morgueFile

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an empty house in my heartland

1367278288p2is3the wheat has ripened, the lavender is fading
white jasmine breaths into grey signs of rain
in your lively days, you were light and laughter
now i know you as a shadow across the face
of the moon, an empty house in my heartland

©2013, poem, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved, licensing for online publications is nonnegotiable and requires permission, attribution, link to this site, my copyright, no modification, noncommercial only and does not imply permission to include the work in the site’s printed collections or anthologies.
Photo courtesy of morgueFile