Image 1: John Donne Portrait – Unknown Artist – National Portrait Gallery, London
John Donne’s canon features two vastly different themes. One might argue that they are diametrically opposed; his earlier works focus on sensual debauchery. His later works take the theme of spirituality.
Early Life and Education
John Donne was born on June 19, 1572, into a wealthy Catholic family during the period of English history that saw the rise of anti-Catholicism. His father, John Donne, Sr., was a successful, prosperous iron worker. Donne’s mother was related to Sir Thomas More; her father was the noted playwright John Heywood. Donne’s father died in 1576, while the future poet was only four years of age. His mother struggled to raise John, Jr. and his two siblings.
When Donne was 11 years old, he and his younger brother Henry entered school at Hart Hall at Oxford University. John continued his studies at Hart Hall for three years, and then he enrolled in Cambridge University.
Donne rejected taking the mandatory supremacy oath that declared King Henry VIII the head of the church; this declaration remained an abomination in the eyes of truly devout Catholics. And because of this refusal to take that mandated oath, Donne was not permitted to graduate. Donne then studied law as a member of Thavies Inn and Lincoln’s Inn. The influence of the Jesuits remained with Donne throughout his student years [1].
Marriage to Anne More
In 1601, Donne secretly married Anne More, who was only 17 years old at the time. This marriage put an end to Donne’s career in government positions. Anne’s father arranged to have Donne arrested and imprisoned [2] along with Donne’s fellow compatriots who assisted Donne in keeping secret his courtship with Anne.
After losing his government position, Donne remained without gainful employment for nearly a decade. His growing family, including twelve children, struggled with poverty during this period.
Donne quipped about those lean years, “John Donne, Anne Donne, Undone.” The family depended greatly on family and friends for their sustenance. A cousin of Anne’s supplied them with a residence at Pyrford in Surrey. Friends, including Lady Magdalen Herbert, mother of George Herbert, and the Countess of Bedford assisted the family. Those individuals had also assisted Donne in his literary career.
Despite the largess of family and friends, the family struggled bitterly during those years. Donne’s pride was bruised; he was well aware that his intellectual capacity far exceeded those responsible for his poverty. In 1609, Donne’s father-in-law, Sir George More, finally relented and consented to a reconciliation with his son-in-law and his family, whereupon Sir More paid his daughter’s dowry.
Questioning Catholicism
John Donne began to question his Catholic faith after his brother Henry died in prison. The brother had been arrested and sentenced to prison for assisting a Catholic priest [3]. Donne’s first collection of poems titled Satires addresses the issue of the efficacy of faith.
At age forty, Donne composed and published two treatises that denounced the Catholic Church. These publications served as the final statement regarding of his severance from his earlier faith. His polemic titled Pseudo-Martyr asserted that Catholics in England should be permitted to pledge allegiance to the king, James I, without being accused of disavowing their loyalty to the Pope. This publication won Donne favor with King James.
During these same years, Donne was composing his love/lust poems, Songs and Sonnets, from which many of his most widely anthologized poems are taken; three example poems are “The Apparition,” “The Flea,” and “The Indifferent.” John Donne, going by the informal moniker of “Jack,” spent a significant portion of his youth and a sizable amount of an inherited fortune on travel and womanizing. He traveled with Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex on a naval expedition to Cádiz, Spain.
Donne later journeyed with another expedition to the Azores; from that trip, he was inspired to compose his piece, “The Calm.” After his return to England, he accepted a position as a private secretary to Thomas Egerton, whose status was Lord Keeper of the Great Seal.
Although Donne had renounced Catholicism, King James insisted that Donne could receive no government employment unless it was church related. Donne had continued to refuse to take Anglican orders. However, in 1615, Donne finally entered the ministry and accepted the post of Royal Chaplain.
After completing the doctorate in divinity, he was appointed to the post of Reader in Divinity at Lincoln’s Inn. Donne’s elaborate style of oratory filled with spiritual metaphors and other religious symbols earned for him the reputation as one of the greatest ministers of that period.
Although Donne had also practiced law for several years, his family had remained living at the substance level. Then after he accepted the position of Royal Chaplain, life for the Donnes seemed to be improving [4].
Anne’s Death
However, tragedy struck the family when Anne at age 33 died on August 15, 1617, after giving birth to their twelfth child, who was stillborn. Only seven of the couple’s children survived. The poet mourned his wife’s death in Holy Sonnet XVII: “Since she whom I lov’d hath paid her last debt.”
According to Donne’s most important biographer and friend Izaak Walton [5], after Anne’s death Donne became “crucified to the world.” Although Donne continued to compose his poems, he focused entirely upon the theme of spirituality and the search for meaning.
Poems and Faith
John Donne is often grouped with the Metaphysical poets. However, according to T. S. Eliot, Donne’s poems along with other Metaphysicals such as Henry Vaughan, George Herbert, and Andrew Marvell do not, in fact, possess the attributes of the metaphysical label any “more than other serious poets” [6].
The death of John Donn’e wife Anne exerted a strong influence on his poetic achievement. He started composing his poems of faith, collected in The Holy Sonnets, including “Hymn to God the Father,” “Batter my heart, three-person’d God,” and “Death, be not proud, though some have called thee”—three of the most widely anthologized holy sonnets.
Donne also composed a collection of private meditations, published in 1624 as Devotions upon Emergent Occasions. His collection of private meditations, a classic spiritual work, features “Meditation 17,” from which two of his most famous quotations have been taken: “No man is an island” and “Therefore, send not to know / For whom the bell tolls, / It tolls for thee.”
In 1621, Donne was appointed Dean of St. Paul’s, and in 1624, he took up the position as vicar of St Dunstan’s-in-the-West [7],where he continued to serve as a minister until his death on March 31, 1631. Interestingly, a mythology has grown up around the claim that he preached his own funeral sermon “Death’s Duel” only a few weeks before his death.
A true “Renaissance man,” James Weldon Johnson wrote some the best spiritual poems and songs in the American literary canon. He also held positions as attorney, diplomat, professor, and activist in a political party, fighting for the civil rights of black Americans.
Note on Term Usage: Before the late 1980s in the United States, the terms “Negro,” “colored,” and “black” were accepted widely in American English parlance. While the term “Negro” had started to lose it popularity in the 1960s, it wasn’t until 1988 that the Reverend Jesse Jackson began insisting that Americans adopt the phrase “African American.” The earlier more accurate terms were the custom at the time that James Weldon Johnson was writing.
Early Life and Schooling
James Weldon Johnson was born on June 17, 1871, in Jacksonville, Florida, [1] to James Johnson, of Virginia, who had held a position as headwaiter at a resort hotel, and Helen Louise Dillet, of the Bahamas, who had served as a teacher in Florida.
His parents raised James to be a strong, independent man. The future poet became a free-thinker as his parents encouraged him to understand that he was capable of achieving all the success in life for which he sought to strive.
In 1894, after completing the bachelor’s degree at Atlanta University, he accepted a position as principal at the Edwin M. Stanton School. His mother had taught at that school. In his position as principal of Stanton, he made great improvements in the curriculum, adding grades 9 and 10.
While serving at the Stanton school as principal, Johnson founded the newspaper, The Daily American. The paper remained in publication for only a year, but it served as a lever for Johnson’s role as an activist, bringing him to the attention of Booker T. Washington and W.E.B. DuBois, two of the most influential activists of the civil rights movement.
Johnson began the study of law in Thomas Ledwith’s law office in Jacksonville, Florida, in 1896 [2]. He passed the bar exam in 1898 and was admitted to the Florida bar. He practiced law for several years and then decided to pursue other lines of work.
From New York City to the Diplomatic Corp
To engage a career in songwriting, in 1901 James and his brother Rosamond moved to New York City. They became partners with Bob Cole and accepted a publishing contract which paid a $1200 monthly stipend. That income amounted to a fortune in the early 20th century.
During the next half decade, the Johnson brothers wrote and produced a whopping 200 songs for both Broadway and for other formats. Their substantial list of hits include titles such as “Didn’t He Ramble,” “Under the Bamboo Tree,” and “The Old Flag Never Touched the Ground.”
Along with Bob Cole, the Johnsons earned a outstanding reputation as a musical trio. They became known affectionately as “Those Ebony Offenbachs.” While they eschewed the artistry of the minstrel show stereotypes, they did agree to create simplified versions of black life of rustics for white audiences that seemed to relish such fare.
But their most important contribution includes a suite of six songs titled The Evolution of Ragtime, a documentary which has remained important for recording the black experience in contributing to music. Residing in New York also allowed Johnson the opportunity to attend Columbia University, where he engaged formally in the study literature and creative writing.
Johnson also began his civil rights activism in Republican Party politics. While serving as the treasurer of New York’s Colored Republican Club, he wrote two songs for Theodore Roosevelt’s 1904 presidential campaign. Roosevelt won that campaign, becoming the 26h president of the United States.
The black national civil rights leadership divided into two factions: one remained traditional and was led by Booker T. Washington. The other faction turned radical and was headed up by W.E.B. Du Bois. Johnson chose to follow Washington and the traditionalists.
Washington’s leadership had offered the appropriate influence and had helped Roosevelt win the presidency. Thus, Washington exerted his influence again to have Johnson appointed as the U.S. consulate to Venezuela.
Johnson’s stint in Venezuela afforded him time to create poetry. There he composed his magnificent, nearly perfect sonnet, “Mother Night,” during this time. Also, during this three year period of service as consul on Venezuela, he was able to finish his novel, The Autobiography of an Ex-Coloured Man.
After Johnson’s service in Venezuela, he received a promotion that relocated him to Nicaragua. His job in Nicaragua became more demanding, allowing him less time for literary efforts.
Back to New York and the Harlem Renaissance
In 1900, Johnson composed the hymn “Lift Ev’ry Voice and Sing” for a school celebration of Abraham Lincoln’s birthday [3]. His brother Rosamond later added the melody to the lyric. In 1919, the National Association for Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) designated the song the “Negro National Hymn (Anthem).”
In 1913, because of the inauguration of Woodrow Wilson, a Democrat, Johnson resigned his foreign service position and returned to the U.S.A. In New York, Johnson began writing for New York’s prestigious black newspaper, the New York Age. He wrote essays explaining and promoting the importance of the hard-work ethic and education.
Johnson’s traditionalism kept his position more in line with Booker T. Washington than with the radical militant W.E.B. Du Bois. Despite those differences in ideologies, Johnson remained on good terms with both activists.
In 1916, after Du Bois suggested the position to Johnson, he accepted the role as secretary in the NAACP. In 1920, Johnson led the organization as president. Despite his many activist duties with the NAACP, Johnson dedicated himself to writing full time. In 1917, he published his first collection of poems, Fifty Years and Other Poems. That collection received great critical acclaim and established him as an important voice in the Harem Renaissance Movement.
Johnson continued writing and publishing; he also served as editor for numerous volumes of poetry, such as The Book of American Negro Poetry (1922), The Book of American Negro Spirituals (1925), and The Second Book of Negro Spirituals(1926).
In 1927, Johnson published his second book of poems God’s Trombones: Seven Negro Sermons in Verse [4]. Again, his collection received much praise from critics.Dorothy Canfield Fisher, a best-selling author and activist for education reform, stated in a letter about Johnson’s style:
. . . heart-shakingly beautiful and original, with the peculiar piercing tenderness and intimacy which seems to me special gifts of the Negro. It is a profound satisfaction to find those special qualities so exquisitely expressed.
Back to Teaching
After his retirement from the NAACP, Johnson continued writing. He also served as professor at New York University. Johnson’s stellar reputation again preceded him; as he joined the NYU faculty, Deborah Shapiro testified:
Dr. James Weldon Johnson was already a world-renowned poet, novelist, and educator when he arrived at the School of Education in 1934. His faculty appointment was in the Department of Educational Sociology, yet Johnson’s influence did not end there. As the first black professor at NYU, Johnson broke a crucial color barrier, inspiring further efforts toward racial equality both within and outside the boundaries of Washington Square.
Death
In 1938 at age 67, Johnson was killed in an automobile accident in Wiscasset, Maine, after a train crashed into the vehicle in which the poet was a passenger. His funeral, held in Harlem, New York, was attended by over 2000 individuals.
Johnson’s creative power and activism rendered him a true “Renaissance man,” who lived a full life. He penned some of the finest poetry and songs ever to appear on the American literary and music scenes. Johnson’s life creed bestows on the world an uplifting inspiration after which any individual might choose to chisel his life:
I will not allow one prejudiced person or one million or one hundred million to blight my life. I will not let prejudice or any of its attendant humiliations and injustices bear me down to spiritual defeat. My inner life is mine, and I shall defend and maintain its integrity against all the powers of hell. [5]
The poet’s body is interred in Green-Wood Cemetery in Brooklyn, New York [6]. In an unconventional final expression, his body has been arrayed in his favorite lounging cape, with his hands clutching a copy of his collection God’s Trombones.
Sources
[1] Editors. “James Weldon Johnson.” Famous African Americans. Accessed January 27, 2023.
In 1913, Rabindranath Tagore, Indian Nobel Laureate, won the literature prize for his prose translations of Gitanjali, Bengali for “song offerings.” A true Renaissance man, he served as a poet, social reformer, and founder of a school.
Early Life and Education
Rabindranath Tagore, (in Bengali, Rabīndranāth Ṭhākur), was born May 7, 1861, Calcutta, India, to the religious reformer Debendranath Tagore (1817–1905) and Sarada Devi (1830–1875). Sarada gave birth to fifteen children with Debendranath Tagore [1].
Rabindranath was the youngest of the children and was raised primarily by his oldest sister and servants. His mother fell ill after giving birth to her last child, and she died when Rabindranath was only fourteen years of age.
Tagore came to disdain formal education. He was first enrolled in public education at the Oriental Seminary School in Calcutta. At only seven years of age, he dropped out of school after attending for one month. Students at the school were punished by being beaten with sticks.
After enrolling in the school of Saint Xavier in 1876, he managed to attend for six months but then again left the institution. However, he did retain some pleasant memories of his attendance at Saint Xavier and in 1927, he gifted the school with a statue of Jesus Christ from his personal collection.
Saint Xavier values its relationship with Tagore, despite its brevity, and commemorates his birthday anniversary, even holding their ceremony during the pandemic in 2021:
The principal of the college, Father Dominic Savio, said: “We have decided to remember him on his birthday not only for paying tribute to a true Xaverian, who preached universal humanism but also to get inspiration from his writings, preaching and philosophy, particularly at this trying time”.[2]
Tagore was richly homeschooled by his many accomplished siblings; his brother Hemendranath trained his younger brother in physical culture, having “Rabi” swim in the Ganges and hike through the surrounding hills.
Rabindranath also practiced gymnastics, wresting, and judo, under the watchful eye of his older brother. With other siblings, Tagore studied history, geography, drawing, anatomy, mathematics. Most importantly for his future writing career, he studied Sanskrit and English literature.
Tagore’s contempt for formal schooling was on display when he enrolled in Presidency College but then spent only one day at the school. His philosophy of teaching held that appropriate teaching included fueling curiosity not merely explaining situations.
Founding His Own School
Ironically, Tagore’s later interest in education led him to the founding of his own school in 1901 at Santiniketan (“Peaceful Abode”) in the bucolic countryside in West Bengal. His school was established as an experimental educational institution, which would blend the best features of Eastern and Western traditions in education.
Tagore relocated from Calcutta to reside permanently at his school. In 1921, it became officially known as Visva-Bharati University, an important learning institution still flourishing today. The following is from the school’s mission statement:
The principal of the college, Father Dominic Savio, said: “We have decided to remember him on his birthday not only for paying tribute to a true Xaverian, who preached universal humanism but also to get inspiration from his writings, preaching and philosophy, particularly at this trying time”.[2]
To bring into more intimate relation with one another, through patient study and research, the different cultures of the East on the basis of their underlying unity.
To approach the West from the standpoint of such a unity of the life and thought of Asia.
To seek to realize in a common fellowship of study the meeting of the East and the West, and thus ultimately to strengthen the fundamental conditions of world peace through the establishment of free communication of ideas between the two hemispheres. [3]
Tagore’s keen perception and deep understanding of the areas in which public education had become hopelessly corrupt prompted him to create a learning environment in which his vision of holistic learning could become a reality while continuing to grow and flourish.
The English painter and art critic William Rothenstein [4] became deeply interested in the philosophy and writings of Rabindranath Tagore. The painter especially was attracted to Tagore’s prose poems from Gitanjali, Bengali for “song offerings.” The beauty and charm of these poems compelled Rothenstein to suggest to Tagore that he translate them into English so people in the West could appreciate them.
Tagore, following Rothenstein’s advice, translated his song offerings in Gitanjali into English prose renderings. In 1913, Rabindranath Tagore was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature primarily for this volume of poems. Also in 1913, the publishing house Macmillan brought out the hardcover copy of Tagore’s prose translations of Gitanjali.
William Butler Yeats, the greatest Irish poet, also a Nobel Laureate (1923), penned the introduction to Gitanjali. Yeats reports that this volume of poems “stirred [his] blood as nothing has for years.” About Indian culture in general, Yeats opines, “The work of a supreme culture, they yet appear as much the growth of the common soil as the grass and the rushes.”
Yeats’ interest and perusal of Eastern philosophy intensified, and he was particularly moved by Tagore’s spiritual writing. Yeats avers that Tagore’s tradition was one wherein
poetry and religion are the same thing and that it has passed through the centuries, gathering from learned and unlearned metaphor and emotion, and carried back again to the multitude the thought of the scholar and of the noble. [5]
Yeats later composed many poems based on Eastern concepts, although their subtleties at times evaded him [6]. Nevertheless, Yeats deserves credit for advancing the West’s attention and interest in the spiritual essence of those concepts. Yeats further asserts in his introductory piece to Gitanjali,
If our life was not a continual warfare, we would not have taste, we would not know what is good, we would not find hearers and readers. Four-fifths of our energy is spent in this quarrel with bad taste, whether in our own minds or in the minds of others.
Yeats’ decidedly severe appraisal of Western culture quite accurately reflects the mood of his era: the Irish poet’s birth and death dates (1861-1939) sandwiches his life between two bloody Western wars, the American Civil War (1861–1965) and World War II (1939–1945).
Yeats also accurately speaks to Tagore’s achievement as he reports that Tagore’s songs “are not only respected and admired by scholars, but also they are sung in the fields by peasants.” The Irish poet would have been astonished and delighted if his own poetic efforts had been accepted by such a wide spectrum of the populace.
In Yeats’ poem, “The Fisherman,” he creates a speaker who is asserting the need for such an organic, pastoral style of poetry. He is calling for a poetry that will be meaningful for the common folk.
Yeats reveals his contempt for charlatans, while encouraging an ideal that he feels must guide culture and art. Yeats encouraged a style of art that he felt most closely appealed to the culture of the Irish. Thus, the Irish poet comprehended the beauty and simplicity native to the concept of a poetry for the common folk.
The following prose-poem rendering #7 is representative of the Gitanjali’s form and content:
My song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and decoration. Ornaments would mar our union. They would come between thee and me. Their jingling would drown thy whispers.
My poet’s vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O Master Poet, I have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and straight like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.
This poem unveils a charm that remains humble: it is, in fact, a prayer to soften the poet’s heart to his Belovèd Master Poet (God), without unnecessary words and gestures. A poet steeped in vanity produces only ego-centered poetry, but this guileless poet/devotee seeks only to be open to the simple humbleness of truth that only the Heavenly Father-Creator can bestow upon his soul.
As the Irish poet William Butler Yeats has averred, these songs emerge from a culture in which art and religion have become synonymous. Thus, it comes as no surprise that the offerer of these humble songs is speaking directly to the Divine Belovèd (God) in song after song, and song rendering #7 remains a perfect example.
In the last line of song #7 is a subtle allusion [7] to Bhagavan Krishna. The great yogi/poet Paramahansa Yogananda elucidates the meaning:
Krishna is shown in Hindu art with a flute; on it he plays the enrapturing song that recalls to their true home the human souls wandering in delusion.
Tagore’s employment of religious themes remains a subtle yet integral part of his works. He seldom engages in overtly polemical exposition, only a natural, organic art that inspires even as it educates and entertains.
Renaissance Man
Rabindranath Tagore became an accomplished writer of poetry, essays, plays, and novels. And despite his early disagreeable relationship with schooling, he is also noted for becoming an educator and founder of Visva-Bharati University in Santiniketan, West Bengal, India.
Tagore’ many accomplishments renders him a perfect example of a Renaissance man, who is skilled in many fields of endeavor, including spiritual poetry. Despite being a world traveler, Rabindranath Tagore lived most of his life in the same house in which he was born. On August 7, 1941, he died in that same house, three months after his 80thbirthday.
Rabindranath Tagore’s Gitanjali #48: “The morning sea of silence…” Rabindranath Tagore’s poem elucidating a metaphorical and metaphysical journey is number 48 in his most noted collection titledGitanjali. The poet received the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1913, specifically for that collection.
Rabindranath Tagore’s “Light the Lamp of Thy Love” Rabindranath Tagore’s poem “Light the Lamp of Thy Love” is a devotional lyric that expresses the speaker’s longing for self-realization. Through colorful imagery, the poem explores themes of transformation, redemption, and the transcendence of human limitation through spiritual awakening.
Rabindranath Tagore’s “The Last Bargain” Rabindranath Tagore’s “The Last Bargain” focuses on what seems to be an quandary: how is it that a child’s offering of “nothing” to a seeker becomes the “last bargain” as well as the best bargain?
Original Song: “I Wonder if You Ever Think of Me” and Commentary
I wrote this song about 40 years ago, made a homemade studio recording of it about 20 years ago. Recently, my husband Ron created a video using his own photos and videos selections featuring the song.
Introduction, the Lyric, and the Video
The lyric of “I Wonder if You Ever Think of Me” displays in four cinquains and one single line, which concludes the lyric by repeating the chorus-like line, transforming the title from wondering to knowing. The time frame runs from winter to the beginning of spring, with the singer signaling “snow” in the opening line and concluding with winter having turned to spring.
The song follows a lost-love theme, which therefore relies on melancholic images such as “gray sky” in the opening cinquain, “bare branch” in the second, “wind is blowing cold” in the third, “empty house” in the final stanza. Despite the theme of melancholy and the lost-love subject, the rendition maintains a rather fast paced rhythm, which allows room for interpretation regarding the depth of the sorrow that appears to be elucidated.
I Wonder if You Ever Think of Me
Now the snow is on the ground. I walk through the yard. Your footsteps I can’t find. Gray sky is pressing me down, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
Light through my window comes late. I stand and I watch Bare branch against the sky. I take a walk down by the bridge, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
Outside the wind is blowing cold. My heart beats fast To think you may be near. I walk back to my bed, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
Night turns to day, winter to spring. I walk down the road, My dog my only friend. I walk back to the empty house, And I guess I know you never think of me.
I guess I know you never think of me.
Commentary on “I Wonder if You Ever Think of Me”
What may at first blush seem to be a “lost-love” theme filled with sorrow and foreboding can be understood in actuality as quite the opposite—an affirmation of the efficacy of musing, ruminating, and clear-eyed observation.
First Cinquain: Beginning a Winter Tale
Now the snow is on the ground. I walk through the yard. Your footsteps I can’t find. Gray sky is pressing me down, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
The singer begins to set the stage by revealing the season of the year in which she is making her musing. “Snow” likely says, it is winter time. A cold beginning foreshadows the mood of the piece as the singer wonders if the addressee ever thinks of her. Before revealing what she is wondering, she adds two details that set her glum mood.
The sky is gray and causing her mood to be low and likely sad, but more likely the detail responsible for her mood is that she cannot see the footprints of the addressee in the snow. That a natural phenomenon of the gray sky accompanying the lack of footprints of a likely lost loved one is wholly understandable. Human emotion often tinges the nature of things surrounding it.
Second Cinquain: Bare Branch and Gray Sky Compound the Melancholy
Light through my window comes late. I stand and I watch Bare branch against the sky. I take a walk down by the bridge, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
The singer then reveals that she is looking out a window and the sun seems to have delayed its arrival that morning, as it is coming late. She continues to stand at the window looking out at the winter branches on the trees; they are, of course, bare, having experienced the autumn season that preceded the current time frame. The “bare branch” is set “against the sky,” revealing another detail of the melancholy which the singer is experiencing. Bare branches are not considered to be as beautiful as branches full of leaves as in spring and summer.
It has already been revealed that the sky is “gray,” and thus the coupling a gray sky and bare branch work together the compound the melancholy mood of the singer. The singer is then on the move; she walks down to the bridge. She then repeats the chant-like refrain of wondering if the addressee thinks of her. Likely the walk was intended to mitigate the melancholy of her wondering, but it has not helped thus she repeats her refrain.
Third Cinquain: A Fantastic Interlude
Outside the wind is blowing cold. My heart beats fast To think you may be near. I walk back to my bed, And I wonder if you ever think of me.
Instead of supplying any detail of the walk back to her house, the singer just suddenly places herself there as she notices that a cold wind is rustling “outside.” The singer’s continued attempt to mitigate her painful wondering causes her mind to become jerked about, leaving out details that her listeners might want to have as they try to follow her narrative.
Again, the speaker adds an important detail that remains otherworldly; her heart begins to beat fast because the thought has arisen that, in fact, the addressee may actually “be near”—not just in her thought but in physical reality. But instead of rushing to window to look to see if that nearness is likely, she simply “walk[s] back to [her] bed.” Again, her refrain becomes dominant as she “wonder[s] if [the addressee] ever thinks of [her].”
Fourth Cinquain: Winter Bleeds into Spring
Night turns to day, winter to spring. I walk down the road, My dog my only friend. I walk back to the empty house, And I guess I know you never think of me.
Quite a bit of time has passed from the time frame of the first three cinquains; it is now spring. But the singer conflates the changing of the season with nighttime turning to daytime. Her mind is on the passage of time. Time is supposed to possess a healing power. Observing the changing of temporal phenomena may become part of the healing process.
But now the singer reveals that she is on the move again; this time she is simply taking a walk “down the road” and she is accompanied by her dog. She confides that her dog is her “only friend.” Thus her listener can be assured that she is still alone, still missing the addressee, even before she reveals that her house is still empty. Again, the refrain of wondering if the addressee thinks of her becomes a final or near final expression. She has continued to wonder as she wandered from winter to spring, as night becomes day, as she strolls about with or without her dog friend, and as she has continued to observe the things around her.
Final Single Line: The Return of Harmony and Balance
I guess I know you never think of me.
The final single line reveals that the singer has reached a conclusion. She now knows that the addressee does not ever think of her. She does not reveal explicitly how she knows that, but she has made it clear the she has cogitated on the issue for at least a whole season. She began in winter time observing the absence of the addresses by the absence of footprints in the snow. She strolled through the yard, she strolled down the bridge, and she stood at her window watching as night turned to day and one season bled into another.
The listener can then easily assume that as the singer did all of these things, she was musing, turning over in her mind details about the relationship with the addressee. Thus with all of this musing and cogitation, she has reached the conclusive answer to the question, and it is no, the addressee never thinks of her.
The fast pace of the song reveals a certain mood of affirmation despite the melancholy that many of the images impart. The singer has therefore not composed a dirge but a hymn to the importance of musing, cogitation, and observation. The human heart may be persuaded to lighten if the mind of the observer remains focused on achieving balance and harmony.
My original song “River of Time” is a hymn to my Divine Belovèd, featuring a chorus that functions as a chant.
Introduction with Text of Lyric “River of Time”
Because music was my first love that I remember from the earliest age, I have always been attracted by the sounds from inspiring music.
I began writing songs seriously around age 32, and I especially enjoy and appreciate my songs that turn into hymns to the Divine Belovèd. “River of Time” is such a hymn.
I am strongly influenced by the Cosmic Chants of my guru (spiritual leader) Paramahansa Yogananda. Many of my original hymns have a chant-like element—a repetition that takes the minds within or bespeaks some spiritual truth for mental awareness.
River of Time
A hymn to my Divine Belovèd
Verse Waiting by the river of time— My beloved keeps His rime In the sunlight that sings in stars The moon will wax in tune
Verse Flowing with the river of time— Do you feel the rhythm that glides As you sing each lingering verse? Your soul will chant in bliss
Verse Once beyond the river of time— Where you seek your ultimate rime, Where you need to battle no more You’ve reached that heavenly shore
Chorus Every moment is light infused Behind the darkness of closed eyes Seek no more for all is here Nothing more to do or fear
Video by Carlene Craig
Commentary on “River of Time”
The singer/seeker/devotee in this hymn does not directly address her Heavenly Father-God. She suggests the target of her report in subtle ways by essentially addresses her own self or soul. She sings to remind herself of her goal of soul- or self-realization, unity with the Divine Belovèd.
First Verse: Existence on the Physical Plane
Waiting by the river of time— My beloved keeps His rime In the sunlight that sings in stars The moon will wax in tune
The singer/devotee exists along a continuum that the human mind and heart often liken metaphorically to a river—a “river of time.” Time seems to flow, meander, going somewhere.
Intuition tells the human mind and heart that the soul is moving as on a flowing body of water to somewhere that must be wonderful.
The beloved who is causing this river to flow displays his wares in light—sunlight and moonlight. Science tells humanity that sunlight is reflected in the stars, and the moon also reflects that important, life-sustaining orb.
The singer/devotee implies that her beloved is a poetic artist because he keeps “His rime” visible in the light of the sun and the moon.
Second Verse: The Rhythm of Soul Bliss
Flowing with the river of time— Do you feel the rhythm that glides As you sing each lingering verse? Your soul will chant in bliss
The singer then states that her soul is, in fact, moving down this metaphorical river. She poses a rhetorical question of her self to ascertain if she is really sensing the rhythmic sway of the music of her verses.
As she sings, she has become aware of her soul flowing into its natural state of “bliss.” The verses that linger in the heart and mind bestow on her a marvelous state of awareness and joy.
Third Verse: Transcending Physical Existence
Once beyond the river of time— Where you seek your ultimate rime, Where you need to battle no more You’ve reached that heavenly shore
The singer then begins to speculate about the existence to be experienced after transcending the physical level of existence, metaphorically named the “river of time.”
Beyond that locus is where the ultimate poetry and music hold sway, where humanity no longer is required to struggle with life’s vicissitudes, trails, and tribulations. Once the soul has become self-realized, it knows only divine joy and love.
Chorus: Moving into the Joy of the Light
Every moment is light infused Behind the darkness of closed eyes Seek no more for all is here Nothing more to do or fear
The singer’s repeated, chant-like chorus is an affirmative statement about what goes on after she closes her eyes to the physical level of existence.
She need not continue searching for she has arrived at the Goal of life. United with the Divine Belovèd, there is nothing that she will ever have to fear.
Video: Whitewater River-Tim Bowman-East Fork of the Whitewater River-near Brownsville IN
Commentaries on Paramahansa Yogananda’s Songs of the Soul
Each time my father, mother, friends Do loudly claim they did me tend, I wake from sleep to sweetly hear That Thou alone didst help me here. —from Paramahansa Yogananda’s “One Friend”
for Ron Grimes, my soul mate with whom I travel the spiritual path
This collection of personal commentaries is a companion to the book of spiritual poems, Songs of the Soul, written by Paramahansa Yogananda, the “Father of Yoga in the West.” While these commentaries offer elucidation of each poem, they cannot offer the beauty and majesty experienced by reading the poems themselves.
I have included only an excerpt from each poem preceding each commentary. I, therefore, humbly suggest that you acquire a copy of the great guru’s poems to experience them for yourself, along with my commentaries.
Paramahansa Yogananda’s Songs of the Soul is available at the Self-Realization Fellowship bookstore, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other online outlets, as well as in bookstores everywhere.
These commentaries are my personal responses to the poems in Paramahansa Yogananda’s Songs of the Soul. If they assist any reader in understanding the poetic language on a deeper level, then that is a bonus, for my only purpose is to offer my own personal, humble reading.
Brief Publishing History of Songs of the Soul
The first version of Paramahansa Yogananda’s Songs of the Soul appeared in 1923. He continued to revise the poems during the 1920s and 1930s, and the definitive revision that was authorized by the great guru was published in 1983, featuring many restored lines that had been excised from the first publication of the text.
The 1923 version of the collection of poems appears online at Internet Archive. For my commentaries, I rely on the printed text of the 1983 version; the current printing year for that version is 2014.The 1983 printing offers the final approved versions of these poems.
Special Purpose of the Poems in Songs of the Soul
The poems in Songs of the Soul come to the world not as mere literary pieces that elucidate and share common human experiences as most ordinary successful poems do, but these mystical poems also serve as inspirational guidance to enhance the study of the yoga techniques disseminated by the great guru, Paramahansa Yogananda.
He came to the West, specifically to Boston, Massachusetts, in the United States of America, to share his deep knowledge of yoga through techniques that lead the mind to conscious awareness of God, a phenomenon that he called “self-realization.”
The great guru published a series of lessons that contain the essence of his teaching as well as practical techniques of Kriya Yoga. His organization, Self-Realization Fellowship, has continued to publish collections of his talks in both print and audio format that he gave nationwide during the 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s.
In addition to Songs of the Soul, the great guru/poet offers mystical poetic expressions in two other publications, Whispers from Eternity and Metaphysical Meditations, both of which serve in the same capacity that Songs of the Soul does, to assist the spiritual aspirant on the journey along the spiritual path.
This section features the commentaries, one for each of the 101 poems in Songs of the Soul. Each commentary is preceded by a brief introduction and excerpt from the poem. Here I am offering the first commentaries, each with an excerpt from the poem.
1. “Consecration”
In the opening poem, titled “Consecration,” the speaker humbly offers his works to his Creator. He offers the love from his soul to the One Who gives him his life and his creative ability, as he dedicates his poems to the Divine Reality or God.
Introduction and Excerpt from “Consecration”
Paramahansa Yogananda, the great guru/poet and founder of Self-Realization Fellowship, known as the “Father of Yoga in the West,” dedicates his book of mystical poems, Songs of the Soul, to his earthly father and consecrates it by offering it to his Heavenly Father (God—the Divine Creator). In dedicating his collection to his earthly father, the great guru writes,
Dedicated to my earthly father, who has helped me in all my spiritual work in India and America
The first poem appearing in the great yogi-poet’s book of spiritual poems is an American (innovative) sonnet, featuring two sestets and a couplet with the rime scheme AABBCC DDEFGGHH.
The first sestet is composed of three rimed couplets; the second sestet features two rimed couplets and one unrimed couplet that occupies the middle of the sestet.
This innovative form of the sonnet is perfectly fitted to the subject matter and purpose of the Indian yogi, who has come to America to minister to the waiting souls, yearning for the benefits of the ancient yogic techniques in which the great guru will instruct them.
The ancient Hindu yogic concepts offer assistance to Westerners in understanding their own spiritual traditions, including the dominant Christianity of which many are already devotees.
Excerpt from “Consecration”
At Thy feet I come to shower All my full heart’s rhyming* flower: Of Thy breath born, By Thy love grown, Through my lonely seeking found, By hands Thou gavest plucked and bound . . .
*The spelling, “rhyme,” was introduced into English by Dr. Samuel Johnson through an etymological error. As most editors require the Johnson-altered spelling of this poetic device, the text of Songs of the Soul also adheres to that requirement featuring the spelling, “rhyming.” However, when I employ that term in my commentaries, I use the original spelling, “rime.”
Commentary
These spiritual poems begin with their consecration, a special dedication that offers them not only to the world but to God, the Ultimate Reality and Cosmic Father, Mother, Friend, Creator of all that is created.
First Sestet: Dedication of Poetic Effort
The speaker proclaims that he has come to allow his power of poetry to fall at the feet of his Divine Belovèd Creator. He then avers that the poems as well as the poet himself are from God Himself.
The Divine Belovèd has breathed life into the poems that have grown out of the speaker’s love for the Divine. The speaker has suffered great loneliness in his life before uniting with his Divine Belovèd.
The spiritually striving speaker, however, has earnestly searched for and worked to strengthen his ability to unite with the Divine Creator, and he has been successful in attaining that great blessing.
The speaker/devotee is now offering that success to his Divine Friend because he knows that God is the ultimate reason for his capabilities to accomplish all of his worthwhile goals. As he feels, works, and creates as a devotee, he gives all to God, without Whom nothing that is would ever be.
Second Sestet: Poems for the Divine
In the second sestet, the speaker asserts that he has composed these poems for the Belovèd Creator. The collection of inspirational poetic works placed in these pages contains the essence of the guru-poet’s life and accomplishments made possible by the Supreme Spirit.
The writer asserts that from his life he has chosen the most pertinent events and experiences which will illuminate and inform the purpose of these poems.
The speaker is metaphorically spreading wide the petals of his soul-flowers to allow “their humble perfume” to waft generously.
He is offering these works not merely as personal effusions of shared experience for the purpose of entertainment or self-expression but for the upliftment and soul guidance of others, especially for his own devoted followers.
His intended audience remains the followers of his teachings, for he knows they will continue to require his guidance as they advance on their spiritual paths.
The Couplet: Humbly Returning a Gift
The speaker then with prayer-folded hands addresses the Divine directly, averring that he is in reality only returning to his Divine Belovèd that which already belongs to that Belovèd. He knows that as a writer he is only the instrument that the Great Poet has used to create these poems.
As the humble writer, he takes no credit for his works but gives it all to the Prime Creator. This humble poet/speaker then gives a stern command to his Heavenly Father, “Receive!”
As a spark of the Divine Father himself, this mystically advanced speaker/poet discerns that he has the familial right to command his Great Father Poet to accept the gift that the devotee has created through the assistance of the Divine Poet.
2. “The Garden of the New Year”
In “The Garden of the New Year,” the speaker celebrates the prospect of looking forward with enthusiastic preparation to live “life ideally!”
Introduction and Excerpt from “The Garden of the New Year”
The ancient tradition of creating New Year’s resolutions has situated itself in much of Western culture, as well as Eastern culture. As a matter of fact, world culture participates in this subtle ritual either directly or indirectly. This tradition demonstrates that hope is ever present in the human heart.
Humanity is always searching for a better way, a better life that offers prosperity, peace, and solace. Although every human heart craves those comforts, each culture has fashioned its own way of achieving them. And by extension, each individual mind and heart follows its own way through life’s vicissitudes.
The second poem is titled “The Garden of the New Year.” This poem dramatizes the theme of welcoming the New Year, using the metaphor of the garden where the devotee is instructed to pull out “weeds of old worries” and plant “only seeds of joys and achievements.”
The pulling out of weeds from the garden of life is a perfect metaphor for the concept of a New Year’s resolution. We make those resolutions for improvement and to improve we often find that we must eliminate certain behaviors in order to instill better ones.
The poem features five unrimed versagraphs*, of which the final two are excerpted.
Excerpt from “The Garden of the New Year”
. . . The New Year whispers: “Awaken your habit-dulled spirit To zestful new effort. Rest not till th’ eternal freedom is won And ever-pursuing karma outwitted!”
With joy-enlivened, unendingly united mind Let us all dance forward, hand in hand, To reach the Halcyon Home Whence we shall wander no more . . .
*The term, “versagraph,” is a conflation of “verse paragraph,” the traditional unit of lines for free verse poetry. I coined the term for use in my poem commentaries.
Commentary
This poem is celebrating living life “ideally,” through changing behavior that has limited that ability in the past.
First Versagraph: Out with the Old and in with the New
The speaker is addressing his listeners/readers as he asserts that the old year has left us, while the New Year is arriving. The old year did spread its “sorrow and laughter,” yet the New Year holds promises of brighter encouragement and hope.
The New Year’s “song-voice” offers grace to the senses, while commanding, “Refashion life ideally!”
This notion is universally played out as many people fashion New Year’s resolutions, hoping to improve their lives in the coming year. Because most people are always seeking to improve their situations, they determine how to do so and resolve that they will follow a new path that will lead to a better place.
Second Versagraph: Abandoning the Weed to Plant New Seeds
In the second versagraph, the speaker employs the garden metaphor to liken the old problematic ways to weeds that must be plucked out so that the new ways can be planted and grow.
The speaker instructs the metaphoric gardener to pull out the weeds of “old worries” and in their place plant “seeds of joys and achievements.” Instead of allowing the weeds of doubt and wrong actions to continue growing, the spiritual gardener must plant seeds of “good actions and thoughts, all noble desires.”
Third Versagraph: The Garden Metaphor
Continuing the garden metaphor, the speaker advises the spiritual aspirant to “sow in the fresh soil of each new day / Those valiant seeds.” After having sown those worthy seeds, the spiritual gardener must “water and tend them.”
The perfect metaphor for one’s life is the garden with its life-giving entities as well as its weeds. As one tends a garden, one must tend one’s life as well to make them both the best environment for life to thrive. By careful attention to the worthy, good seeds of attitudes and habits, the devotee’s life will become “fragrant / With rare flowering qualities.”
Fourth Versagraph: New Year as Spiritual Guide
The speaker then personifies the New Year as a spiritual guide who gives sage advice through whispers, admonishing the devotees to employ real effort to wake up their sleeping spirit that has become “habit-dulled.” This new spiritual guide advises the spiritual aspirant to continue struggling until their “eternal freedom” is gained.
The spiritual searchers must work, revise their lives, and continue their study until they have “outwitted” karma, the result of cause and effect that has kept them earth-bound and restless for aeons.
The beckoning New Year always promises a new chance to change old ways. But the seekers must do their part. They must cling to their spiritual path, and as soon as they veer off, they must return again and again until they have reached their goal.
Fifth Versagraph: A Benediction of Encouragement
The speaker then offers a benediction of encouragement, giving the uplifting nudge to all those spiritual aspirants who wish to improve their lives, especially their ability to follow their spiritual paths. The speaker invites all devotees to “dance forward” together “With joy-enlivened, unendingly united mind.”
The speaker reminds his listeners that their goal is to unite their souls with their Divine Beloved Who awaits them in their “Halcyon Home.” And once they achieve that Union, they will need no long venture out into the uncertainty and dangers as they exist on the physical plane.
The New Year always holds the promise, but the spiritual aspirant must do the heavy lifting to achieve the lofty goal of self-realization.
3. “My Soul Is Marching On”
This amazing poem, “My Soul Is Marching On,” offers a refrain which devotees can chant and feel uplifted in times of lagging interest and seeming spiritual dryness.
Introduction and Excerpt from “My Soul Is Marching On”
The poem, “My Soul Is Marching On,” offers five stanzas, each with the refrain, “But still my soul is marching on!” The poem demonstrates the soul’s power in contrast with the weaker powers of entities from nature. For example, as strong as the light of the sun may be, it vanishes at night, and will eventually be extinguished altogether in the long, long run of aeons of time.
Unlike those seemingly forceful, yet ultimately, much weaker physical, natural creatures, the soul of each individual human being remains a strong, vital, eternal, immortal force that will keep marching on throughout all time—throughout all of Eternity.
Devotees who have chosen the path toward self-realization may sometimes feel discouraged as they tread the path, feeling that they do not seem to be making any progress. But Paramahansa Yogananda’s poetic power comes to rescue them, giving in his poem a marvelous repeated line that the devotee can keep in mind and repeat when those pesky times of discouragement float across the mind.
Included here are the epigram and first two stanza of the poem, “My Soul Is Marching On.”
Excerpt from “My Soul Is Marching On”
Never be discouraged by this motion picture of life. Salvation is for all. Just remember that no matter what happens to you, still your soul is marching on. No matter where you go, your wandering footsteps will lead you back to God. There is no other way to go.
The shining stars are sunk in darkness deep, The weary sun is dead at night, The moon’s soft smile doth fade anon; But still my soul is marching on!
The grinding wheel of time hath crushed Full many a life of moon and star, And many a brightly smiling morn; But still my soul is marching on! . . .
Commentary
Before beginning his encouraging drama of renewal, Paramahansa Yogananda offers an epigram that prefaces the poem by stating forthrightly its intended purpose. In case the reader may fail to grasp the drama of the poetic performance, the epigram will leave no one in doubt.
The Epigram: A Balm to the Marching Soul
The great guru avers that there is no other reality but the soul’s forward march. Despite all circumstance to the contrary, the soul will, in fact, continue its march.
The devotee simply has to come to realize that fact that all “wandering footsteps” return to their home in the Divine. The guru then states unequivocally, “There is no other way to go.”
This amazing, inspiring statement culminates in the refrain that allows the devotee to take into mind a chant for upliftment anytime, anywhere it is needed.
First Stanza: The Soul Marches on in Darkness
The speaker begins by asserting that the bright bodies of the stars, sun, and moon are often hidden. The stars seem to sink into the black backdrop of the sky, or even remain hidden by day, as if never to be seen again, yet other times, they are completely invisible.
The largest dominant star of all—the sun—also seems to completely vanish from the sight of world-weary inhabitants of planet Earth. The sun seems to be “weary” as it has crossed the diurnal sky and then sinks out of sight.
The moon whose glow remains less bright compared to the sun, nevertheless, also fades out of sight. All of these bright orbs of such tremendous magnitude glow and fade, for they are mere physical beings.
The speaker then adds his marvelous, encouraging claim that becomes his refrain—”But still my soul is marching on!” The speaker will continue repeating this vital assertion as he dramatizes his poem to encourage and uplift devotees whose spirits may from time-to-time lag.
This refrain will then ring in their souls and urge them to keep marching because their souls are already continuing that march.
Second Stanza: Nothing Physical Can Halt the Spiritual
The speaker then reports that time has already smashed moons and stars and obliterated them from existence. Many cycles of creation and recreation have come and gone from the annals of eternity.
That eventuality remains the nature of physical creation: it emerges from the depths of the body of the Divine Creator and then later is taken back into that Divine Body, disappearing as if they had never been.
But regardless of what happens on the physical level, the soul remains an existing Entity throughout Eternity. The soul of each individual continues its journey. It makes no difference on which planet it may appear; it may continue from planet to planet, if necessary, as it marches back to its Creator.
That soul will continue its march to the Divine, despite all cosmic activity. Nothing can prevent the soul’s forward march, nothing can stop the marching soul, and nothing can hinder that march. The refrain shall again and again ring in the mind of the devotee who has begun this march to self-realization.
Third Stanza: The Evanescence of Nature
The speaker then reports on other natural phenomena. Marvelous, beautiful flowers have offered their colorful blooms to the eyes of humankind, but then they invariably fade and shrivel up to nothingness. The evanescence of beauty remains a conundrum for the mind of humankind.
Like the beauty yielding flowers, the gigantic trees offer their “bounty” for only a while, and then they too sink into nothingness. The naturally appearing entities that feed the human mind as well as the human body all mysteriously come under ” time’s scythe,” appearing and disappearing again and again.
But the soul again remains in contrast to these wonderful natural entities. The soul continues its eternal march, unlike the outer physical realities of flowers and trees.
The human soul will continue its march, as will the invisible souls of those seemingly vanishing nature’s living beings. The refrain must take hold in the mind of the devotee, who in times of lagging interest and self-doubt will chant its truth and become re-invigorated.
Fourth Stanza: As Physical Life Fades, The Soul Continues Unabated
All of the great emissaries sent by the Divine Creator continue to speed by. Vast swaths of time also speed by as creation seems to remain on a collision course with ultimate disaster.
The human being must remain in a perpetually vigilant state of mind just to remain alive in this dangerous and pestilent-filled world. Even human against human remains a continued concern as “man’s inhumanity to man” prevails in very age in every nation of planet Earth.
But the speaker is not only referring to the small planet at a short period of time; he is speaking cosmically of the entire history of all Creation. He is averring that being born a human being at any time in history brings that individual soul into the same arena of struggle.
As each human being lets fling his arrows in battle, the individual finds that all of his “arrows” have been used up. He finds his life ebbing away.
But again, while the physical body remains the battle ground of trials and tribulations, the soul is unaffected. It will continue on its path back to its Divine Haven, where it will no longer need those arrows. The devotee will continue to chant this truth again and again to spark his march to greater heights.
Fifth Stanza: The Refrain Must Remain
The speaker has observed that his fight with nature has been a fierce one. Failures have blocked his way. He has experienced the ravages of death’s destruction. He has had to face obstructions blocking “his path.”
All of nature has conspired to “block [his] path.” Nature has always been a challenging force, but the human being who has determined to overcome the ravages of nature will find that his “fight” is stronger than that of nature, despite the fact that nature remains a “jealous” power.
The soul continues to march to its home in God, where it will never again have to face the fading of beautiful light, the vanishing of colorful flowers, the failures that obstruct and slow one’s pace.
The soul will continue to march, to study, to practice, to meditate, and to pray until it at last experiences success, until it as last finds itself totally awake in the arms of the Blessed Divine Over-Soul, from which it has come. The devotee will continue to hear that amazingly uplifting line and continue to know that his/her “soul is marching on!”
Dedicated with my love and gratitude to my sweet Ron
The following poems appear in my collection titledIf My Words Could Rise, available on Amazon as paperback or Kindle.
1 If My Words Could Rise
Dedicated to my sweet Ron
If my words could rise Like smoke They would form your face In the clouds They would hang In the tops of the trees Looking for a nest Where a mother bird sits On eggs The color of your eyes
2 In the Tops of the Trees
“As soon as you hear the sound of marching in the tops of the trees, then attack, for God has attacked in front of you to defeat the Philistine army.” —2 Samuel 5:25 Common English Bible
–for the moldman, who screeched, “That’s my line!”
No, dude, that is not your line! No matter how many times Or with how much spit You spew it.
Trees and their tops And the words they live in Belong to all of us. Go! Dig your hole–grovel in your slime.
3 Dreams and Days
“His tongue cuts / Slices of meat / From the hearts / And livers / Of those / Who would love him” – “Between Slices of Bread” —from Linda Sue Grimes’ At the End of the Road
I quote myself, well then, I quote myself — I include multitudes — Uncle Walt taught me that much.
The man in the poem Cannot bring himself to say Or to pray about his own lividness He shuts out spaces and commas Lives in his own relevance.
He murders his own children With his viper attitude And nibbles the ankles Of prostitutes Who erase his will to power on.
You have seen him Perhaps did not recognize him — He has sat in your parlor Sipping your coffee Dusting off his duplicitous moves —
He fears death but not yours He imagines you at the bottom Of a cold, black ocean Your tongue bait for the fishes His Bolshevik brain conjures.
Your freedom is a fantasy If you remain too close to his heat Get your life back – get your love back Where God made you in his image And you are close to seeing it.
4 Flesh and Desire
“Humankind cannot bear very much reality.” —T. S. Eliot
Into the fire of wisdom, thoughts go to perish. “Get thee behind me, Satan!” Christ commands. But we still wobble behind the Devil Hoping to be snatched from the arms of death In time for supper and for the many tomorrows We image we still possess. In the valley of dreck and poison, I have lived Even as I knew better or thought I did. No, I am not here to testify. Although a word or two of testimony May slip out every line or so! I can pound sand with the best of them. But I can also bitch and moan. Where is the beginning of joy and rectitude? One might ask. Where is the promise? O, come on! You know where the promise is . . . Yes, just testing the waters and they are warm. Every time I delay, I am warned. Just pray And wait and listen close and tight to the hum In the brain. I will follow. I will follow close. Yes, I will. And flesh with its crude desire Will no longer taint the years With their distractions. The mercy of Spirit will wipe my tears.
In dreams we happen to meet On some mystic, planetary hill — Poetry eludes us yet we commence Talking about the sham progress Bleeding hearts have inflicted.
The professor in you wants to align Wokeward but you cannot bring yourself To spring into the claptrap that clamped Shut on Ginsbergian filth, deviance And that mayhem of hairy irrelevance.
You think of your children Wading into the waters of vipers Nipping their ankles Snapping their necks Erasing their freedom and will.
You would have those you love Experience their own close calls — You crashed into your own As you flew those planes Over the Pacific, fighting that war —
Facing death, watching death Take soldier after soldier Leaving you with the intuition Outcomes cannot be guaranteed By bureaucratic Bolsheviks.
Only freedom of opportunity Guarantees free will remains free And life continues to beget life In the magnolious scheme that God Made man after His Own image.
4 Bone Couplets
“Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone…” —Anne Bradstreet
They outshine the flesh in the reign of desire Where pink like a blush goes on shining like fire. Fat necked imbeciles, brain-numbed and wrong On every backboned thought that ever ran along The confines of the apple of Adam sweetened In the birdless cage rump-driven and weakened. Greed and swagger click the gangling matter Knuckles cling and circle each limb to tatter. Hipbones narrow in the faulty weather. The bare truth flies out on filth-tinged feather. Bring me back to the place where life can stand! Let me feel the smooth relief of pounding sand! This belly swore it would unburden the green. Within the sulking skull it makes its way to preen. In the sweet toned laughter where children move And every old fart says he will not prove Until the night breaks over those who pray And every chime kinks the ear heaven to delay. Relevant as an old donkey on an extended beach The moon sinks into ripe flesh as if to teach Those angry cells to leave off all that hunger. No years will ease—no one will grow younger Than the moth whose flame has singed his wings Clacking bare truth to the mercy of things.
5 A Terrible Fish
“In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish. —Sylvia Plath’s “Mirror”
The nightmare repeats itself: A daughter clamped tight to each foot Pulling her down under The brute waters of the dark, deep lake — She gasps — imagines she’s drowning While her husband watching from the levy Wrings his hands, faints in the heavy fog. A terrible fish looms under her nose; She smells blood dripping From a dozen hooks dangling From his mouth. His eyeballs slide out easy As the drawer of a cash register. Each eye-socket a window To her own soul — $ bills With little jackpots on them Jump up and dance like clowns Poking out their tongues, Flapping signs of slogans With hammers, sickles, swastikas — She believes – ¡Sí, se puede! Morning shivers her awake again, Stumbling to the bathroom Where the mirror flashes In her face that same terrible fish That has been catching her dreams And throwing them back As she chases each $, Never quite able to grasp enough.
“When the yogi, like a tortoise withdrawing its limbs, can fully retire his senses from the objects of perception, his wisdom manifests steadiness.” —Bhagavad Gita II:58
Will you still love me if I finish first?
Slow as I am to you whose speed is your god, I move. Admiring really your shell-less existence— On my back it’s sometimes hard to right myself. In the soup they call me a delicacy, So I praise vegetarians, Though I myself sometimes snap At insects, small fish, & moving fingers.
But what’s a creature so heavy-laden to do?
O, lest I sound maudlin Or sorry for my webbed feet, I withdraw my questions Along with my head & legs And drop out of your race.
2 Starvers
for K. R.
She starves Her body & her mind Stands vacant haunted She’s dying To be thin She’s not Concerned With curves She wants Angles Points Narrow Hollow Spaces What she craves All starvers Understand A bulge around the middle Is a sin against God Thighs that spread out over a chair bottom Make you sick Breasts that mound under a sweater Make you gutter for breath Round arms full face big calves wide hips double chin A mighty army marching over your skeleton Capturing your pleasures Holding your life hostage You’re a prisoner in a guardhouse A dog in a pound Weight and measurement Are not useful tools They are obsessions She has starved Her body Thin But she cannot Exorcise that last Ghost of flesh That ghost that keeps adjusting the damn mirror that throws Back a size in your face a size that screams Just a little smaller Just a little thinner And then Everything Will be OK . . .
8 Metaphysical Reminders
Where that brain stores its loot There stands a cabin by the river, Where it dreamed a body too good For flesh and bones, Too good for breath and blood Where the clock spills stars, Hands that milk until honey flows, And a mouth that torches neck to toe.
And as it worked itself out there On that bed of river mud Squeezing and kneading Lust from every pore, As hips pushed and crushed, The end of an era seemed at hand, And if you slept through the night, You would awake with the clock And a note on your pillow Telling you to get yourself out of there— The river is rising.
24 Greek Skin
for my mother’s father, Gus Johnson
In a Kentucky coal mine he fell across the track and a loaded coal car cut off his right arm.
This world offers no shelter to nervous pilgrims; this world takes a dim view of pain even as it inflicts it, as if some people were meant to starve, as if some people were meant to speak English with a Greek accent, but my mother loved him so much that his death became her deepest grief, and when she crossed the bridge that connects this world with his, I hope he met and greeted her with both arms, he won’t let her fall through a hole in the sky, will he? And though he never had the chance to speak a word to me, I think he must have been a multitude of races and climates, my blood senses his Greek skin was tinged with Africa, my mother’s darkness and my father’s whiteness left me an odd shade of gray. It’s not so much confusion as an unwillingness to pray— Yet many fold their hands when trees lash in the violent air.
But if he knew my concern, he could wipe from my mind the dust that blew in from faraway places where they cut down all the trees and cut off the hands of innocent thieves and Greek slaves slaughtered each other to entertain a Roman tyrant.
92 Alex as Artist
It’s a dog’s life.
When he curls up beside me on the couch and settles into steady breathing, his ease of comfort flows like a polished sonnet. He has mastered the art of comfort.
When I cook, he perfects his craft of begging. Taking bits of food off the ends of fingers requires precise placement of teeth and tongue. He’s mastered the art of eating.
Some say he’s cowardly, but he’s just careful. The artist’s eye and ear perceive the world to be a dangerous place, so he’s crafty to run from loud noises and sudden moves.
Some say he’s dumb, but he’s just deliberate. He wants to keep body and soul together and retire a well-matured craftsman.
Unlike schemers, shams, and fantasizers, he takes his art quite literally,
and he has learned to simplify: beg food, bark, and sleep sleep sleep.
Since publication of Turtle Woman & Other Poems, I have revised “Alex as Artist” into the form of an American-Innovative sonnet:
Alex as Artist
It’s a dog’s life.
When he curls up beside me on the couch and settles into steady breathing, his ease of comfort flows like a polished sonnet. He has mastered the art of comfort.
When I cook, he perfects his craft of begging. Taking bits of food off the ends of fingers requires precise placement of teeth and tongue. He’s mastered the art of eating.
Some say he’s cowardly, but he’s just careful. The artist’s eye and ear perceive the world to be a dangerous place, so he’s crafty to run from loud noises and sudden moves.
Some say he’s dumb, but he’s just deliberate. He wants to keep body and soul together and retire a well-matured craftsman.
Unlike schemers, shams, and fantasizers, he takes his art quite literally, and he has learned to simplify: beg food, bark, and sleep sleep sleep.
To Thee I humbly offer my songs That Thou hast given me
Introduction
These poems grow out of my experience serving as harmonium player/chant leader for our Nashville Self-Realization Fellowship Sunday Readings Service.
I title this collection Command Performance for I have attempted to retire from the chant leader position, offering it to other devotees, but no one thus far wishes to take it from me.
And often I have come to the chapel Readings Service, thinking I would merely be attending, only to find that the scheduled chant leader was unavailable and so the service leader would prevail upon me to fill the void; thus, another “command performance.”
I reason that Guruji Paramahansa Yogananda is commanding me to continue performing this function, as long as I am capable.
Poems from Chants
These original poem were all inspired by the chant, whose title is offered following the poem title.
Who says, She is Dark?
—after “Thousands of Suns and Moons”
Her smile beams With the rays Of a millions suns.
Her skin glows With the light Of a million moons.
Who says, She is dark?
Only those who refuse To open their eye To her light.
Joy, Joy, Joy!
—after “Ever New Joy”
Joy, joy, joy— Morning has broken in joy. Light of starlight, hiding Behind the sun.
Joy, joy, joy— Evening calls the faithful To rest from a full day’s labor Practiced by Divine decree.
Joy, joy, joy— Night covers maya’s delusion So the spiritual eye May bound in brilliance.
Thou art That
—after “Hymn to Brahma”
Beyond my thoughts, Beyond my ideas, Beyond my knowledge, Far beyond my wisdom— Thou are That.
Beyond my body, Beyond my mind, Beyond my energy, One with my soul— Thou art That.
Drowning in Glory
—after “I Am the Bubble, Make Me the Sea”
You wake my senses to clear sight, glorious sound, Intelligent touch, pure fragrance, tempered taste. You wake my senses by drowning them in Glory Inundating them in the silence of Your vastness, Spilling on them the majestic light show Of Your body, bound by boundlessness.
In the ocean of Your love, my bubble heart Contracts and expands to eternity. My restless brain shrinks and extends Its reach to unknown realms of wisdom. My soul knows itself in the crash of breaking worlds Where it stands unshaken hand in hand with You. As You do, so I wish to do forever, Drowning in the Glory of Your sacred presence.
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