Our Past as a Dream: Edgar Allan Poe

“It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.” 

I cannot agree more with Poe’s statement here. Even within the stream of a single lifespan our distant past presents itself often as if it were a dream. One wonders: Is the life of the caterpillar a dream to the butterfly?

Let us entertain the thought that life persists after death (for myself, I believe it does). Just what will we remember of this existence? Will we remember the taste of the foods we enjoyed while we were here? Will we remember the cold sensation of winter breezes, the ancient auburn hue hovering over falling autumn leaves, the perfumed smell of loam-drenched trees after a summer thunderstorm, or the distant melodies of tiny birds greeting spring’s sunny advent?

One thing is certain, if life does persist after the death of our bodies, then Poe—at this very moment, wherever he is out there—knows the answer to our inquiry, and the truth of the above quote of his.

Edgar Allan Poe: January 19, 1809 — October 7, 1849 Happy 211th, dear poet

Luc Bat- a Vietnamese Form

Just came across an interesting Vietnamese form of poetry called Luc Bat. It starts with a six syllable line, and then an eight syllable line follows, and the pattern repeats for as long as you would like it to (6,8,6,8,6,8, etc).

But here's the challenge. The sixth syllable of every eight-syllable line has to rhyme with the last syllable of the six-syllable line before it, which in turn has to rhyme with the eighth syllable of the eight-syllable line before it. Seems tricky, but rhythmically it is practical. Here is my first attempt (let me know what you think):


Our Time

Our time is brief, I say-
An interval from day to night
Delineates this plight.

But do not shrink in fright or fear
At Night as it draws near-
Be brave, without a care to creep,
Embrace the day, then sleep.

-jwm

A Ballad of Birth

Birth

I.

I knew before I came to be
The planet I would tread,
But angels who were prepping me
Put sleep within my head-

They gathered Lethe’s velvet soup
And I (with willing heart)
Drank down the dregs before the group
And from them did depart.

With hard obliteration rife
I slipped into a shade-
Nor death I gained, nor lost I life,
But memory did fade.

II.

I entered through a temporal night
Toward light I can’t explain;
A death of sorts, devoid of fright,
Brought sleep devoid of strain.

My slumber’s dreams? - I cannot say -
I pray I wish I could ..
But I within a deluge lay-
I thought I’d lay for good.

Then amniotic fluids blew
And imminent was birth-
That planet that I former knew
Was fast approaching: Earth!

III.

There came a drumming in my chest
As slowly I awoke-
Those mortal tappings at my breast
Did thoughts of life evoke.

I drew in earthly vapors deep-
Exhaling them with ease-
And as my eyes awoke from sleep
I felt the Vital Breeze ..

Benevolence of Life I felt
The more I was aware;
And though I knew not where I dwelt,
I knew that Home was here.

-jwm



Of the Poem (Poetic Parameters):

Parameters:

Stanza: : Ballad, Common Measure, Quatrain
Meter: Alternates between a tetrameter (8 syllables per line), and a trimeter (6 syllables)
Rhyme Scheme: abab per stanza (9 total stanzas)


Note:

This poem was influenced by the very last chapter of Emanuel Swedenborg's book, Divine Love and Wisdom, where he talks about the coming into being of a human being. Some of the images, like that of Lethe, were inspired by other sources (e.g. Greek mythology).

The structure was based on the common measure and divided into sections similar to Roethke's poem, The Lost Son. I felt, as I have with a few other poems I’ve written in the past, influenced by Dickinson here.

The sections correspond- roughly and indeed symbolically- to departure from the old (section I), the process of that departure (section II), and the arrival of the new (final section).

Hope you enjoy ...

Contemplate the Sages- A Virelai Nouveau

Remember God. Invoke him for your aid and protector, as sailors do Castor and Pollux, in a storm. For what storm is greater than that which arises from these perilous semblances, contending to overset our reason? Indeed what is the storm itself, but a semblance? For do but take away the fear of death, and let there be as many thunders and lightnings as you please, you will find that to reason all is serenity and calm

-Epictetus



Contemplate the Sages

We wouldn’t live in such dismay
If fleeing death were not our way
For oft our wisest sages taught
That we the fear of death obey
That if we overcame this thought
And fought against its cruel display
.... well, we’d be freed of its dismay

Tranquility would calm the fray
If we this fear would wisely weigh
And hardly would we here distraught
Be grieved by semblances of gray
Nor cruelest fate eclipse our lot
Beneath the beauty of this day
Provided fear were not our way

envoi

So contemplate what sages say
And understand what wise ones thought
If fleeing death were not our way
We wouldn’t live in such dismay

-jwm

That We Die- Another Virelai Nouveau

That We Die

I always thought it strange we die
That we toward death do constant ply
That many million souls have fled
In dread before the Reaper's eye
And how it lingers just ahead
And is not far, but very nigh
I always thought it strange we die

Though mortal flesh I shall not sigh
Nor weep beneath this lovely sky
No, I shall ever grateful tread
Upon this earth and beauty spy
And never look to life in dread
For this is what I do defy
That we toward death must fearful ply

envoi

Still, these three things I can't deny
That one day we will all be dead
And that we toward this constant ply
And that it's very strange we die

-jwm

Of the Poem (Parameters and Side Note):

The previous post spoke of that antiquated French form of verse called a virelai nouveau. The above poem is another attempt at this form- a form that I must say is a delightful one to work with. I envision myself playing around with this pattern quite often. The parameters were explained there, but here they are again below:

Stanza: two septets and a conluding quatrain called an envoi
Meter: this form is usually done in tetrameter (i.e. four metric feet or eight syllables)
Rhyme Scheme: below ...

1st stanza: A1.A2.b.a.b.a.A1
2nd stanza: a.a.b.a.b.a.A2

3rd stanza: a.b.A2.A1
Note: the capital letter 'A' in the rhyme scheme represents the poem's refrain

Side Note

I learned about death as a young boy learning to tie his shoes. My aunt, who was showing me how to lace them, advised me then that I should learn how to do this on my own because she "wouldn't be around forever."

Because I thought the statement strange she went on to explain the mortal aspect into which we were born. I certainly heard of death prior to this, but it wasn't until that moment that I understood death. I was terribly distraught, and remember feeling my fate to be unfair ... I thought it was strange that we die.

Now, as an adult, I've come to terms with death. Still, despite the fact that I believe in life after death, our having to die seems quite strange. Then again, from a slightly different perspective, our having lived at all is just as astonishing.

Enjoy the poem.

A Birthday Poem: by Nancy

Tomorrow will be my 38th year on this gorgeous planet. I'm very thankful to have had this chance of life- from every element of ill to the highest forms of elation. I thank God for every one of these years, and for seeking me and my well-being in them. I thank Him for my family (especially my little girl), I thank Him for my friends, and thank Him for teaching me about life while living it in the shade of imperfection at times.

*******

A good friend of mine was even so kind as to write a poem in celebration of my 38th year! Actually, as I think about it, of these 38 years here this is the first poem anyone has written to and for me ... thanks Nancy. Below is the poem (untitled for now), and the kind words she attached to it:*

*******

"… a day late and a dollar short?... how about a day early, and no money whatsoever!

To celebrate your day of birth
Cast cares away, seize joy and mirth
Reflect back on blessings great
Look future towards, no dreams abate.

The gift of life is yours today
For many more we truly pray
Forever, always, without end
Best wish go forth to you, my friend.

la'bri-ut yoda sheli



(Sorry for the early delivery. I suppose I should have waited until tomorrow to write something, but once loosed my proverbial horses refused to be reined in) "


*with her consent … תודה רבה שבעה

*******

Side Note:

I've always had this sort of strange curse of 'agelessness' since about the 7th grade: same height, same weight, same facial hair, same everything (minus the immaturity I hope). I jokingly call it a curse, but refuse to deny the 'strangeness' of it.

I wrote a stanza some time ago that refers to this 'anomaly':

It seems to me somewhat a sin
To curse this youthful look of mine.
By cursing am I cursing Him-
The Giver of this youth divine?